by LJ Evans
“No?” I said, pushing myself up on my knees, running my hands under his T-shirt, pressing my body to his.
“I hadn't exactly planned this,” he said, continuing the scene we both knew by heart.
“Well, do you plan everything?” I asked, but I already knew the answer. Mayson was most definitely a planner, but unlike Julia Roberts, who only pretended to be spontaneous, I really was.
“Always,” Mayson said. His hands on the skin at my waist mimicked my motions on him. A slow tease of fingertips. But where mine didn’t stop, his lingered over my nipple, flicking it.
I gasped as I responded with, “Yeah. Me too.”
I leaned in and kissed the tender spot where his ear joined his jaw, licking it, nibbling it, and he groaned. I kept going. “No, I'm not a planner. I would say I was, um, a kind of fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants gal. You know, moment to moment. That's me.”
“Grace.” It was a guttural plea and a command to stop, but I didn’t. I’d barely gotten a taste. A mere whisper of what it would be like. We’d opened the door, and there was no way I was shutting it.
So, I changed tactics. I used a different movie. I used a different line and hoped he wouldn’t remember how the movie had turned out and would just focus on what I was suggesting.
“Let's have sex like we're playing tennis.”
He blew out a breath and looked up at the ceiling as if he were debating my offer, or maybe he was just trying to remember Mila Kunis’s response to Justin Timberlake’s offer to treat sex like a game they played. A sport. Merely a way for two friends to pass the time. I was Justin, and he didn’t even bat an eye at playing the Mila part, tagging onto my movie lines liked we’d been doing since first meeting each other.
“You swear you don't want anything more than sex?” He said it with a different emotion, doubt getting mixed in with the words.
“No relationship. No emotions. Just sex,” I responded with ease.
“Whatever happens, we stay friends.” His voice had gone down a whole octave as he contemplated what we were doing, but his hand slid underneath my bra to touch the nipple that was still aching for him.
My phone ringing jerked me back to the present. To Cole having left and the Asshole sitting in front of me. I couldn’t blame it all on him. I’d said the words, knowing I didn’t mean them even as I’d said them. Knowing I already had emotions tied up in him.
I just hadn’t expected him to take me at my word and then literally walk out of the bedroom with me still naked, tangled in his sheets. To shove items in a bag and rush to the airport without ever coming back. I’d thought maybe when he came back to pack up his room, I’d see him, but instead, he’d sent a moving company.
My dad’s face on the screen of my phone had me hitting the accept button with shaking fingers. “Hey, Dad, what’s up?” I said, trying to keep any and all emotions from my voice because Dad would read it in a heartbeat.
I turned away from the Asshole, hoping that when I turned back, I’d remember my anger and not the feel of his touch on my skin.
Mayson
I’D LIKE YOU FOR CHRISTMAS
“I'd like you for Christmas
Please make my wish come true.”
Performed by Julie London
Written by Bobby Troup
She was so damn angry. She had a right to be. With every word I spoke, I dug myself deeper into the grave I was already standing in. I didn’t know when things had changed so much that I couldn’t speak to Grace without screwing it up. It wasn’t how we’d started. From the very beginning, we’d flirted and teased as we shouted ideas at each other, but it hadn’t been fueled with the sexual tension and pent-up desire that lingered in the air with us now. That caused me to say and do inane things.
I was grateful Cole had given us time to talk, but I also wasn’t sure I could do it without him here helping me to not screw it up. Maybe that had been the problem the night everything had gone to hell. Maybe it was because Cole hadn’t been there to stop us both from doing things we knew we shouldn’t have. Things we knew would change everything.
She turned away from me as she talked with her dad. The tension that had her holding her body like a wall of rock was only increased as she kept from her voice every ounce of anger and frustration she’d been directing at me. I just stood there, taking in every little nook and cranny of her that I’d missed like hell. Like I’d missed from the moment I’d gotten on the plane when I’d left L.A. six months ago.
I should have known as soon as she’d thrown out the “Let’s play tennis” line from Friends With Benefits, I was screwed. I should have known that, just like the movie had proved it to be impossible for Mila and Justin, it would be impossible for me to sleep with her and not have my feelings tied up in it.
For years, I’d acknowledged and put aside the physical attraction I felt toward Grace, not only because of my friendship with Cole and her, but also because our working relationship was too important. But when she’d offered tennis and kissed me like there was never going to be an end to our match, I’d dived right in. I’d not only entered the game, I’d ramped it up with my lips finding every inch of her, from toe to tip. We’d spent the night repeating the performance, getting better with each round, until she’d collapsed after arching and calling my name for the third time. My real name. Not the Asshole she was calling me these days.
She hung up with her dad and turned to me.
“I can’t believe Cole left.” Grace turned shocked eyes on me before quickly looking away. She pulled out her phone and texted a message. I assumed she was chewing Cole out for leaving.
I watched as she banged out the words while my body remained flooded with images and senses and sounds of the night we’d spent tangled together. My body responded―just as it had this morning in the kitchen―and I grabbed a throw pillow, shoving it into my lap and slouching down as if I were relaxing. As if my pants weren’t tenting at the sexiness of her, both in reality and in my dreams.
Grace looked up from her phone, eyes narrowing.
“Come sit down,” I said.
She didn’t come over, nor did she respond. She crossed her arms over her chest, pushing up her breasts like she’d done earlier, showing her cleavage. Making me ache even more to kiss it. To kiss her. To pull her into my arms and force her to acknowledge the one thing that was true: we were good together.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” I said quietly. She flinched. It was such a small, almost imperceptible movement that if you didn’t know her, if you hadn’t spent years of your life with her as I had, you wouldn’t have seen it. But I did, and it was all I needed for my body to go limp. The thought of her in pain.
When I’d agreed to “tennis,” I’d thought if anyone was going to be left broken, it was going to be me and not Grace. Not only because she’d been the one to propose it, but because Grace was a rock. I’d seen the men she’d left underneath her boots strewn behind her in college. The guys had been there every step of the way, right up until we’d all graduated together. She may have started a year behind us, but she’d worked her tail off to walk down the aisle at the the same time as us. The volume of classes and her single-minded focus had barely been broken by the men who’d tried to become a permanent fixture in her life.
She’d responded to them with sass, sarcasm, and a bite that left them bruised.
It wasn’t until she refused to respond to my calls and texts that I recognized Grace’s bite for what it had been all along: her armor. She wasn’t damaged like Mila Kunis in that goddamn movie, but she’d definitely hid her feelings from me…from everyone. She’d hid them so well that I hadn’t known until it was too late. Until I’d walked away and not called for weeks. Until I’d realized how much more than just physical attraction had been between us.
I got up and moved around the coffee table toward her, but she took two steps back, and I stopped.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you. Hell, I didn’t even
realize you felt differently than you said.” She glared at me, at my words, and I corrected myself. “Differently than we said.”
She swallowed and looked away, and I knew that at least my words were impacting her. She fiddled with the layers of leather and silver wrapped around her wrist and then looked up at me.
“That’s part of the problem, isn’t it?” she asked. “We didn’t even get a chance to talk about it before you cut and run.”
“I didn’t run,” I said—calmly this time—instead of letting her provoke me. Because she wanted to get under my skin. She wanted me to get riled up so she’d be justified in yelling back. “How could I tell Derek no? After everything he’d taught me? After everything he’d done to make sure my application saw the light of day at UCLA? He was—is—more than an uncle. He’s my mentor. My inspiration. My friend.”
“I know that,” she said back.
“If you do, then you tell me. How was I supposed to say no when he called and asked me to take Mitch’s spot? How was I supposed to say no when it was an emergency? It wasn’t like they had time to find a replacement before Mitch had a heart attack.”
“I understood joining him,” she said, meeting my gaze. “What I didn’t understand was you not even calling for a week.”
“Grace, I—”
“Your chariot awaits, oh mighty king of the pianos!” Dalton’s voice rang out from the back door, and before I could say anything else, my cousin sauntered into the room.
He stopped on seeing Grace, whistling as he took off his cowboy hat and placed it over his heart. “Damn. No wonder you didn’t want to come to Mc’s,” he said, but that didn’t stop him from taking his swagger all the way over to Grace and sticking out his hand. “Dalton Abbott. Screw this jerkwad, the chariot is all yours, Miss…?”
I sighed. “Not now, Dalton.”
“Your name is Dalton?” Grace said with a smirk she tried and failed to hide.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. He pulled her hand up to his lips, kissing the back of it.
My entire body tightened up into a ball of anger. “Not. Now. Dalton.”
He took both of us in as he dropped her hand. “Yeah, I can sense there’s a lot of tension here, Cuz, but I’m under strict orders not to allow you to escape the celebration. And now that I’ve seen this fine lady, I’m afraid I have to save her from your wimpy L.A. artistic ass.”
Grace snorted.
Dalton grinned, turning on the famous Abbott smile every one of us males in the family had been blessed with. It was a smile I knew could make Grace smile back, and it did. The quirk of her lips directed at my cousin tore a hole in my withering heart.
“It’s Grace,” she told him.
“Gracie-Lou? In the flesh, really?” Dalton asked with mock surprise.
She rolled her eyes. “Please, not you, too. It’s just Grace.”
“I was commanded by Ty to bring Mayson and any people who were with him to McFlannigan’s. And while I’m pretty damn sure I could take Ty in a wrestling match, he won’t fight fair. Then, I’ll end up with a broken bone I can ill afford to break with rodeo season about to start.”
“Jesus Christ, your season just ended,” I said, stepping in between him and Grace. I looked down, and now that I was closer to her, the closest I’d been since she arrived, I could see the dark flecks that swam in her vivid blue eyes. My heart ached all over again because I’d seen those black flecks deepen with every passionate kiss I’d given her, and that was what I wanted to see again. Passion. Desire. Love. Not this anger and teasing flirtation with my damn cowboy cousin.
“Don’t believe a word Dalton says,” I told her.
She backed away from me, grabbed her computer, shoved it into her bag along with her phone, and then turned to Dalton and me who’d watched her every move. Watched as her skirt moved up when she bent over, watched as she flung the strap of her bag over her shoulder so it landed square in the middle of her breasts. My breath left my body. She was stunning. Sexy. Mine. She was mine, and I intended for her to make that claim back. That I was hers.
“Okay, cowboy, let’s go,” she said to Dalton.
He grinned.
“Grace,” I said, part plea and part warning, but she ignored me.
She headed toward the door, and Dalton followed.
“Grace,” I said again. She turned to look at me with anger still radiating from every part of her. “We haven’t finished our talk.”
“There really isn’t anything left to say, is there?” She turned to Dalton. “Please tell me that this McFlannigan’s has alcohol. Hard alcohol. Tequila or vodka. I’ll even take whiskey.”
“I do believe Mc’s has all of those and more.” He opened the door, and she walked out in front of him. Dalton turned back to me with a grin. “I think you better come along, Cuz. I’m damn sure it’ll be impossible for me to keep my hands off of that one, and it seems like you might want to castrate me if I don’t.”
I grabbed my phone, picked up my wallet and keys from the table by the door, and followed him out. No way in hell was I letting my playboy of a cousin anywhere near Grace. Not if I could help it.
♫ ♫ ♫
Two hours later, and all I’d been able to do was watch my fucking cousin play with Grace. Literally. Figuratively. She was drunk. Drunker than I’d seen her since she turned twenty-one. I watched as Dalton’s hands caressed her shoulder as he went by her to the other side of the pool table, and I suddenly wanted to take the stick and shove it so far up his ass that he wouldn’t ever be able to sit on his horse again.
“Wow, that’s some glare,” Edie said, drawing my eyes briefly from Grace and the way her skirt barely covered her underwear as she bent to assess the balls on the table. I was going to absolutely lose my shit.
“What happened?” Edie asked.
“What do you mean?”
She laughed. “Between you and Grace. It’s obvious you’re in the thick of some lover’s quarrel, so tell me, what happened?”
I sighed, took a huge swig of the whiskey in my glass, and then, without even looking at my cousin, told her the truth. “Friends With Benefits happened.”
She scoffed. “You’re too old to believe that ever could work.”
“You’re right. But that’s what she said she wanted, and I was the asshole who let myself believe it.”
“But it’s clear you don’t want that either, so what’s the problem?”
“The night Uncle Derek called to ask if I could replace Mitch, I literally walked out on her. Like…left her in my bed…and didn’t call for a week.”
Edie punched me in the shoulder.
“You shit,” she said.
I nodded. I was. “It’s worse.”
“How can it possibly be worse?”
“That was the first time we’d ever even kissed. It was the first we’d let ourselves give in to the attraction…and I just walked away.”
“You’re worse than Ty,” Edie said.
I hated myself because it was true. Ty was actually just an asshole on the outside. I was an asshole on the inside. It was a much worse situation.
“So you’re just going to let Dalton make the moves and not try to fix it?” she said quietly, as if she could see my insides and the self-battery I was doing. Maybe she could. Edie was almost as good at reading us as our parents.
“What am I supposed to do? Lock her in a room, tie her down, and force her to listen to some one-liners about needing her more than air and not realizing it until she was gone?” I asked.
Edie smiled. “That’s a pretty good line. I’d definitely use it.”
I looked back at Dalton and Grace in time to see him whispering in her ear, wrapping an arm around her bare middle, and before I could blink, he had his lips on hers. It wasn’t the color red that filled my eyes. Or green. It was black—like, death kind of black—because I was going to kill him and my mama and Uncle Matt were going to hate me.
There
was no way he was going to touch her and make it out alive.
Grace
NEVER KISSED ANYONE WITH BLUE EYES BEFORE YOU
”You're getting these brown eyes seeing color, it's so true
I never kissed anyone with blue eyes before you.”
Performed by Gwen Stefani
Written by Stefani / Tranter / Busbee
I was drunk. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d actually been this drunk. Maybe not since Mayson—I mean, Asshole—Cole, and I had downed three bottles of champagne on New Year’s Eve after I’d turned twenty-one.
The dark wood panels of the bar blurred a little as I turned back to the pool table where I was still—even drunk—beating the pants off Dalton. Dalton, the flirty cowboy who, if I squinted my eyes, looked enough like Mayson—Asshole—to ease my shredded heart.
I could pretend it was his hands that kept grazing my arm, my hip, and the exposed skin below my crop top. I was drunk enough that I wanted him to touch me. Not the cowboy, but the Asshole.
I risked a glance in his direction. He was sitting at the bar, but he hadn’t taken his eyes off of me since Dalton had suggested we play. He wasn’t smiling. Mayson hardly talked at all until Edie sat down next to him.
Damn.
I knew as soon as I said his real name―even in my head―instead of the Asshole I’d been calling him for months, I’d weaken. I’d cave. I’d let him apologize. I’d forgive him. But forgiving him would mean letting him back in. Opening my heart again. And I wasn’t sure I could take it if he stomped all over it like he had before.
One night. We’d had one incredible night. A night I’d been longing for as much as I knew I shouldn’t. It was so ridiculous. Falling for your older cousin’s best friend. Like the clichéd “brother’s best friend” trope I’d always disliked.
Dalton eased in and whispered close enough to my ear I could feel his warm breath on my skin. “Are we succeeding yet?”
