I’m not disrespectful to women. The ones that I mess around with all know the rules ahead of time. I may not want anything long term, but I don’t make a habit of hurting people’s feelings. But fuck if I didn’t disrespect and hurt Clover just now.
Raking my teeth over my bottom lip, I gather my thoughts. Loaded with frustration and the self-loathing assailing me, I shake my head, and the words that leave my lips surprise me. “I’m sorry, Clover. I’m way out of line. I was being protective of you and then I acted like a disrespectful asshole. It won’t happen again.” I brace myself, waiting for her to hit me literally or figuratively.
She studies my face for sincerity and must be satisfied with what she finds. “Apology accepted.”
Raising my eyebrows, I give her my best pleading look. “Can I please get a sandwich?” I ask.
She points the knife at me. “Don’t push your luck.”
Chapter Three
Clover
“You look hot,” Maddie tells me, reclining on my bed.
“Thanks.” I take a final glance in the mirror, surveying myself from head to toe, unimpressed with what I see.
“What’s wrong?” Maddie asks. She can always recognize the smallest changes in my mood.
I sigh. “I’m not even sure I want to go over there.”
She rises to her feet, making her way to where I’m standing and meets my eyes in the full-length mirror. “Come on. You’ll have fun, and if not, we’re right next door. You can come home whenever you want.”
“Yeah,” I half heartedly agree. I’m not certain why I’m so unenthused about my date. I was looking forward to it earlier. What changed? Marshall being here?
“By the way, thanks for being so great about Shaw and my brother showing up uninvited,” Maddie says.
Speak of the devil. Does Marshall’s presence really factor into my lack of enthusiasm?
Kent seems genuinely nice, and he’s definitely easy on the eyes. And I haven’t been on a date in too long. So what’s my problem?
I should be jumping at the chance to spend time with him. Instead, I’m standing here silently hemming and hawing.
Turning toward Maddie, I ask, “Why is Marshall here, anyway?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. But we shouldn’t be surprised since he and Shaw are best friends. If the situation were reversed, I’d want you with me too.”
“Hmm,” I hum, unconvinced. I still don’t understand why he acted so strange when Kent spoke to me. He seemed possessive of me, but that can’t be right. Most of the time, he acts like he can barely tolerate being near me. I must be misinterpreting his behavior.
This is Marshall “no strings” Winters we’re talking about. He doesn’t do feelings at all. If he wasn’t Maddie’s brother, I might think he was a robot programmed to be as attractive as possible to the opposite sex, yet remain outwardly emotionless.
Sometimes, I’ve even wondered if he has a heart beating inside his muscular chest.
Where Maddie is warm and affable, Marshall can be sharp and biting. At least with me he is, and that’s all I’m concerned with. He can be nice to every other person at Boston University, but if he treats me like crap, then he’s an asshole in my eyes.
Thankfully, most of our communications center around Maddie. He can be an obnoxiously overprotective brother, and I call him out whenever I witness such behavior from him. But he’s been noticeably better since he accepted Maddie and Shaw’s relationship. Which has been great for me because I’ve barely had to deal with him.
But now he’s here screwing with my vacation vibe and I’m not happy about it at all.
“What’s got you thinking so deeply?” Maddie questions, carefully studying my face.
“Nothing important, really. I’m just lamenting the passing of the summer months. Why must it go by so freaking fast?”
“Right?” she agrees. “At least we’ll be juniors this year. We’re officially halfway to our bachelor’s degrees.”
I nod. “True. But I’d kill for an extra month of summer. Winter in Boston comes way too early.”
“I like winter. Cuddling in front of the fireplace is one of my favorite things to do,” Maddie replies.
“Sure it is, now that you’re with Shaw. Just don’t forget who you cuddled with before.” I tap my chest.
Maddie laughs. “You are an excellent cuddler.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Speaking of ‘cuddling,’ should I expect you home later?” Maddie inquires, looking at me expectantly. Is she hoping I’ll say no? That’s not gonna happen.
“Of course. When have you known me to stay over on a first date?”
“Never. But you know the saying—never say never. And Kent is extremely attractive.” Her shoulders pop up toward her ears in a shrug. “This could be the exception to the rule.”
“I won’t say absolutely not, because I don’t want to make a liar out of myself just in case. But it’s highly unlikely. If I decide to stay, I’ll text you, so you’ll know for sure.”
Maddie leans in to hug me. “Have fun. You deserve a great night.”
I squeeze her tightly. “Thanks. What are you going to do?”
“Hang out here. Shaw’s gonna man the grill, and who knows what Marshall has planned. He’s probably collected the phone numbers of every available girl on this street by now.”
Keeping my upper lip taut, I barely keep back the sneer. What she suggested isn’t out of the realm of possibilities. Marshall moves fast, and I’ve yet to see a female resist him. Aside from myself, anyway—and I probably shouldn’t make such a claim since it’s mostly by default. It’s not like he’s pursued me and I’ve turned him down. Although, I like to think if he did, I’d shut him down so fast his head would spin.
I glance at the clock. “I guess I should head next door.”
“Yes, get out of here.” With a hand on my back, Maddie ushers me all the way to the stairs. “Relax and have a fantastic time. Hopefully, I won’t see you until tomorrow.” She grins so cheesily, I can’t hold in my laughter. She gives me a quick hug. “I’m going to shower. Can’t wait to hear all the sordid details.”
My sandals are loud, clacking against the wooden treads as I descend the stairs and continue the racket as I transition to the hardwood floors throughout the downstairs. I’m out the back door, onto the deck, and about to breathe a sigh of relief when I see Marshall kicked back in one of the loungers. Crap. My forward momentum stutters for a moment, and he pounces on the opportunity presented.
“Look at you, Lucky.” His eyes leisurely travel up and down me, making note of every detail, as if he’s taking inventory. All that’s missing is a tablet for him to jot his findings on.
He clamps down on his bottom lip, and I imagine those same teeth grazing over my nipple and then tugging on the taut flesh. A wave of heat consumes me. Gathering my loose locks, I raise them from my damp nape. His continued staring becomes unbearable and I snap. “What?”
His lips creep into a smug twist. “You look good enough to eat. But maybe that’s your plan.”
“Is that supposed to be your idea of a compliment?” I raise my hand up, stopping his reply. “Don’t bother, Marshall. I don’t have time for your games.” Continuing down the deck stairs, his deep answering chuckle follows me, getting under my skin just as he wants. I won’t let him ruin my night.
Stepping onto Kent’s property, I pull in a long, calming breath and paste a pleasant expression on my face just in the nick of time, because he’s waiting for me.
“Clover.” His smile is genuine, which makes me answer with one of my own.
“Kent.”
Taking my hand, he assists me up the final step before pulling me in for a brief hug. “I’m glad you’re here.” His gaze glides over me. “You look amazing.”
“Thank you. Something smells fantastic.”
“Me?” He grins and raises a brow.
“No. I meant whatever you’re cooking.” Oh God. Palm meet face
.
“Dinner’s finishing up now.”
“You smell good too,” I rush to say.
A sharp laugh echoes over from next door. Fucking Marshall. Can’t he just disappear and let me make a fool of myself in peace?
“Thank you. I wore my favorite cologne for you.” Kent touches my arm. “You know how tequila makes women’s clothes fall off?” I nod, although I’ve never personally had that problem. “So does my cologne.”
My brow furrows. Was that the punchline? He can’t be serious.
“Dude, you can’t be serious,” Marshall yells over, echoing my own thoughts. I hate that he overheard and is calling him out on his lame remark, but at least I know I’m not the only one who found it so fantastically lame. Kent’s head tips toward Marshall. “Is he talking to me?”
I wave my hand. “Nah, he’s on his phone. Ignore him. He’s no one important.”
“Why don’t you have a seat while I finish up the grilling.” He pulls a chair out for me.
I hesitate. “Can I help you with anything?”
“Just sit down, babe, and be the eye candy you are.” He pats me on the head, and I sink down on the cushioned seat.
There’s so much wrong in that one sentence. Babe? I’m not a fan of nicknames being given by someone I don’t know. And babe is so unoriginal. Eye candy? I find this to be so insulting. I’m more than my appearance. I have a 3.8 grade point average at Boston University—I’m no slouch. And patting me on the head like I’m a dog? That just reeks of condescension. It smells almost as bad as his no doubt expensive cologne.
Kent is acting like a different person compared to our other interactions. And though they were brief, he was extremely polite. Does he have an obnoxious twin brother who’s impersonating him?
Maybe he has a split personality syndrome like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
I silently watch as he checks the grill, moving strips of steak around. “Be right back, babe.” He pats me on the head once more before heading inside, and I’m tempted to growl like the dog he seems to think I am.
I’m not sure I can move past his weird behavior. This date might be over when it’s barely begun.
As soon as the door closes, Marshall calls out, “Lucky, let me know if you want me to extricate you from the situation. I’m perfectly willing to be your knight in shining armor.” My only reply is to hold my middle finger up high enough for him to notice. “Okay, but don’t say I didn’t offer,” he replies, and I hear him so clearly, he might as well be sitting on the deck with me.
As large as these houses are, available land is hard to find. Many of the houses take up most of their lots, but with the beach as your backyard, no one minds.
Sitting there, I silently stew in my anger and watch the waves roll in and out. You’d think the beautiful sight would be enough to calm me, but it’s not. Kent is acting strange, and the fact that Marshall is witnessing this disaster makes it so much worse. I can feel his mocking gaze on the back of my head. I swear my blood pressure’s rising with each passing second. If Kent doesn’t come back soon, my head might explode like a cartoon thermometer.
My phone’s text alert beeps from my pocket. Slipping it out, I stare down at the screen. I don’t recognize the number, so I open the text.
Lucky, do you want a beer? I’ve also got popcorn for the show.
My teeth clench together. Of course it’s Marshall. He’s the only person who calls me Lucky. I switch my phone to silent mode before replying.
Me: How did you get my number?
Marshall: I’ve had it forever.
Me: Then why are you using it?
Marshall: You look lonely over there all by yourself. Did you scare your date off already?
I shake my head. Calm down, Clover, I remind myself.
It’s pathetic how quickly Marshall can get to me. Why do I let him under my skin? He’s always been an asshole, and he always will be. I shouldn’t give him any power over me. I shouldn’t care what he thinks.
But I do.
And I always have.
Even though I seldom admit this to myself.
Marshall: Maybe he went to find another personality.
I read his latest text and my lips itch from the urge to smile. If anyone else had sent me this message I’d be laughing right now, but coming from him it’s less amusing. It just serves as another reminder that he’s a fully engaged witness to my bizarre date.
Me: Don’t you have anything better to do?
Marshall: Than watching this train wreck? Hell no.
Kent returns with his arms packed full. He sets a bowl of salad down, a bottle of dressing, a basket of rolls, and a tub of butter. That leaves him with a wine bottle and two glasses that he places on the table.
“Wow. Were you a waiter at some point?” I ask, setting my cell phone in my lap. I don’t want to be rude.
“No, I just didn’t want to make extra trips when I could get it all at once.” He moves to the grill and picks up a set of metal tongs, then uses them to place the steak on an white oval plate.
My screen lights up with a text alert, and I glance down to read the words.
Marshall: For a minute there, I thought he might pull a couple of ears of corn out of his ass.
I snigger. I can’t help myself.
Kent sets the plate down on the table. “Help yourself. I hope everything is to your liking.”
I dish out a bit of each option while he pours the wine. As soon as my glass is filled, I take a large gulp. I’ve never needed alcohol so badly before.
“How is everything?” he asks when my mouth is full.
I finish chewing before answering. “Delicious, thanks.”
It feels like I’m eating dinner with a different person than the one who greeted me. We went from him saying he smells so good my clothes are going to fall off to him acting condescending, and now we’ve progressed to stiff pleasantries.
What the hell is going on?
Chapter Four
Clover
After too many minutes spent in awkward silence that seems even more painful than the stiff pleasantries, I decide to try to draw him into a conversation.
“Where did you learn to cook?” I question.
“Our cook taught me.”
“You had a cook?” I squawk.
He chuckles. “We have one at every one of our houses.”
“How many houses does your family own?”
“Only six.” He shrugs as if that’s the norm.
“Six? Who needs six houses?”
“One who travels often,” he replies.
I take another large sip of wine as I search for another possible topic of conversation. “Where did you go to college?”
“Harvard, of course,” he states, as if there’s no other choice.
“Of course,” I agree, but he doesn’t seem to catch my sarcasm. The delicious food and palatable wine are the only things saving this from being a total shitshow.
My phone lights up in my lap.
Marshall: Haaarvard, of course. Only peasants go to B.U.
Before I can clear the message,another one comes through.
Marshall: Pardon me. Would you have any Grey Poupon?
I quickly shovel another bite between my lips before I laugh.
Marshall’s texts are another thing saving this fast sinking ship. They’re breathing life into me while Kent slowly sucks it out with one stilted remark at a time. This date is painful. I still can’t fathom how I misjudged him. He wasn’t like this before. He was cool and charming. Tonight, he’s arrogant and condescending—two qualities I despise. I’ve already decided this will be our first and last date.
If the meal weren’t so good, I would’ve left already. But the steak is tender enough to cut with a butter knife, and the marinade he used has my taste buds dancing. There’s no way I’m not finishing what’s on my plate. Maybe I can at least get the recipe, so this won’t be a total wash.
“What did you use for a marinade? It’s
delicious.”
“It’s a secret family recipe that my grandmother came up with,” he tells me.
A secret? Dammit.
“How much of a secret are we talking about? Is there any wiggle room in there for me to get a copy?”
Hey, it doesn’t hurt to ask.
“Unfortunately for you, there’s no chance of me sharing the recipe. Are you familiar with Grand Barbeque?”
“You mean the nationwide chain of restaurants?”
“Yes, that one. My family owns them. The marinade is the same one we’re famous for.”
“Oh, wow. I had no idea.”
“How could you? I just told you.” His tone is a teeth-clenching level of condescending.
“You know, I’ve never been to one of your family’s restaurants.”
How do you like them apples?
“You haven’t? For real?” He doesn’t seem to believe me.
“Yes, for real.” I widen my eyes. “Shocking, isn’t it?”
“I’ll say. Did you grow up under a rock?” he asks.
“Nope. My parents didn’t bring me.” I shrug. “I guess they’re not fans.” I can’t help myself. Anyhow, he deserves it and more. “So, do you work for the family business?” I slip another bite into my mouth, restraining the ecstatic moan as I chew. He may be an asshole, but his steak is grade A.
“Yes, I’m Vice President of Marketing and Sales.”
“Sounds like a lot of work,” I offer before devouring another piece of meat.
“You can’t even imagine. I work long hours and travel more than I’m home. Sometimes, I barely get to sleep in my own bed.”
My phone lights up.
Marshall: Poor baby.
“Are you on vacation now?” I question.
Marshall: Calling him out. I like it.
I’m actually not trying to call him out. I feel obligated to find something to contribute to the conversation and that’s what popped into my mind. It’s not much, but it’s better than uncomfortable silence.
“I am. I’ve got two weeks, and I’m spending every minute here.”
HOOKED: Boston Terries Hockey #4 Page 3
