He shakes his head, his voice strained. “I can’t do that.”
“You have two feet. Yes, you can.”
He signals to my body. “Are you serious? You, in there, naked and wet in front of me, and you expect me to keep my hands to myself?” He repeatedly shakes his head. “I’m not taking any chances.”
I grin, proud of myself.
Seduction plan working.
One point, Carolina.
“I need help with my hair, and I’m not getting out of this shower until you do it.”
He’s as stunned as I am that I’m being this bold.
Champagne and not being miserable at the singles table gives me courage, I see.
“Fine.”
He shoves off his jacket, discards his tie, and plucks off his shoes, one by one, before removing his socks. I stand there, unmoving and shivering while he rolls his pants up.
“Scoot over,” he instructs.
“Seriously?” I ask, falling back a step when his large body joins me—him wearing his pants and white button-up. “Your clothes will be soaked.”
He shuts the shower door, deep breaths expelling from his muscular chest, while we stand inches apart. “If these clothes come off, something will happen that shouldn’t. This way”—he signals down his body—“there’s a barrier between us, and my cock will stay to himself.”
I frown and slump my shoulders. “Will something happening between us be that stupid?”
“Yes.” There’s no hesitation in his answer.
“Why?” I gulp, terrified of hearing his response.
I should’ve never fought for this shower party.
“You aren’t someone who has sex just to have sex … only for the pleasure.”
I’ve never seen his face or heard his tone so gentle as he continues, “It’s not in your heart, in your soul, to have random sex. You want a relationship, and that’s something I can’t do because I’ll fuck it up.” His eyes squeeze shut, as if his words pained him.
“Rex,” I whisper, “you’re a good guy. You don’t know what you’re capable of. How can you knock commitment without trying it first?”
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this convo is happening in the shower.
Me totally naked.
Him fully dressed.
His eyes drink in my face, and he presses his icy palms to my cheeks, cradling my face. If we weren’t standing so close, I wouldn’t make out his words. “I’m a good guy as a friend. In a relationship, not so much.”
My heart aches at the pain on his face. “You don’t know that.”
He shakes his head. “I refuse to lose you for my stupidity. You mean too much to me. You’re the first person I talk to when I wake up and the last person I talk to before I go to sleep. I called you before anyone when I got my game offer—before my family. I want to spend every damn minute with you I can. If I touched you, if I fucked you, and screw everything up—which I would—I wouldn’t have that anymore. If you were some random chick, I wouldn’t hold back, but I am because I love you. I hold myself back day after fucking day because I will never, ever in my goddamn life fucking hurt you.”
I nod as tears slip down my cheeks alongside the water. “Okay. I’m sorry.”
His lips brush the top of my head. “Nothing to be sorry about.” He chuckles. “Now, turn around, so I can wash your hair, you pain in my ass.”
I can’t help but laugh while doing what he instructed.
“Help a guy out here,” he comments from behind me. “There are four bottles of different shit in here. Which one’s shampoo?”
My shoulders shake when I laugh again before handing him the shampoo.
“Mmm … this shit smells good. I’m jacking it for my next shower.”
My knees weaken at the mention of him taking another shower. He massages the shampoo through my hair better than my hairdresser, and as the sound of water falling takes over the air, shame grips me. I was unfair to push him into the position I did.
“You’re on your own with the body washing,” he says after rinsing out my hair. “Since you’re only tipsy, I think you can handle it.”
I grab the washcloth from him, cleaning myself off, and then shriek at the sudden coldness. When I twist round, he’s walking out of the shower. His clothes are dripping wet, and he snags a towel from the hook, opening it wide. Carefully, I step out of the shower, and he drapes the towel around my shivering body, drying me and being careful not to touch anything over PG-rated.
“Will you at least stay with me tonight?” I whisper as he slips my shirt back over my head before releasing the towel.
The shirt reaches my knees, and he doesn’t get any glimpses of my goods.
Not that I didn’t have them on display earlier.
He awkwardly wraps the towel around my hair, doing a terrible job, but I’ll give him an A for effort. “Only if you keep your hands to yourself, tipsy shower girl.”
I feign annoyance with a huff. “All right.”
He exits the bathroom, comes back with my pajama pants, and hands them to me. When we return to the room, I hop onto the bed while he starts taking off his clothes.
“Oh, so now, you want to get naked,” I comment, unwrapping the towel from my hair and licking my lips as his shirt falls from his broad shoulders.
He drops his pants, wearing only his boxer briefs, and then scans the room.
“You should’ve thought that through,” I remark. “Feel free to wear the teddy you found earlier.”
He chuckles. “I’m certain there’re sweats of mine somewhere in here.” He starts rummaging through the drawers before finding my favorite pair of his sweatpants and turning toward the bathroom.
“Wait!” I toss him the towel to take back with him and then make myself comfortable in bed as he disappears.
“You’re going to feel like shit tomorrow,” he says, walking back in before joining me in bed.
Facts.
I twist on my side, scoot closer, and rest my head on his shoulder. “I know, and you’re going to take care of me.”
He blows out a long, exaggerated breath. “Fine, but I want two batches of cookies when we get home.”
I pat his chest as my heart warms. “I love you, best friend.”
He swings his arm around me. “And I love you.”
How can Rex think he’d be such a horrible boyfriend when he’s been the best friend a girl could ask for?
He takes care of me, makes me feel special, and would do anything for me. He’s an amazing man, and from what I experienced this weekend, he would be an amazing boyfriend.
I sigh. One of these days, he’ll realize that.
He’ll realize it with another girl and leave me in the dust.
Unless … I become that girl who wakes him up.
12
Rex
Carolina is asleep when I wake up.
Carefully, I pull my arm off her, grab my wallet and keycard, and tiptoe out of her room. I’ll come back and grab my suit later.
I’m struggling to wrap my head around last night. When I slid into bed with her, my fingers tingled as I remembered how they’d felt when running along her soft skin while I helped her undress.
I should’ve kept my hands to myself.
My stupidity is what started last night.
When I noticed she wasn’t wearing a bra, I should’ve walked away.
Instead, I became a dumbass, and my dumbass move lit a fire inside Carolina … a fire I had to fight like hell to put out. It was torture, turning her down. My hands balled into fists as I kept my eyes everywhere but on her body while in the shower. When I washed her hair, there was no stopping the few quick glances I took. Her perfect, round ass was so close to my cock … warning me but also tempting me with how easily I could’ve bent her over and taken her from behind.
And boy, was it a motherfucking challenge.
I’m not sure what got into her last night—definitely not me … unfortunately—but the only other time I’v
e seen that side of her was the night I took her virginity.
I couldn’t …
I can’t.
Losing Carolina scares me more than being in love with her.
My hands have to stay to myself, so she remains in my life.
Softly, I shut the door behind me, walking into the hallway, and head to my room.
“Morning.”
I still at the sharp morning greeting.
Oh shit.
The air is thick as I turn on my heel to face Pastor Adams. The crease in his forehead and disapproving expression on his face confirm he thinks I’m doing the walk of shame from his daughter’s room.
If he only knew.
I straighten and slap on a cheerful grin. “Good morning, Pastor Adams.” I gulp, stopping myself from adding, This isn’t what it looks like.
The shorter our conversation, the better.
Thank fuck I changed out of my suit last night.
Me wearing sweatpants looks far more believable that I slept in my room than me sneaking out in my suit.
My grin stays intact as I jerk my head toward Carolina’s room. “I ran over to wake Carolina up and ask what she wanted for breakfast.”
“Oh, really?” His lips press together in a grimace.
He’s calling bullshit.
I look him in the eyes, establishing I’m not a rude little shit who spent all night banging his daughter. “Yes, sir.”
He cocks his head to the side, his face twisting in displeasure. “What did she say?”
“She doesn’t feel well.”
“She’s sick?”
I nod.
Carolina owes me a shit-ton of cookies.
I’m lying to a preacher.
Okay, Lord up above, it’s not a full lie.
She will feel like shit when she wakes up.
He advances a step. “I should check on her.”
My hand darts out as I rush closer to stop him from knocking on her door. “She went back to sleep and asked me to wake her in an hour.”
He fixes a hard stare on me. “Why don’t we have breakfast then? We can bring Carolina back something when we’re finished. It’s no fun to eat by yourself, and my wife is at the spa this morning.”
I jerk back, a sudden headache slamming into me.
Oh, man.
Not a coffee date with my fake girlfriend’s father.
How do I get out of this?
“Uh, yeah, sure,” I mutter, knowing I can’t decline without looking like an asshole. “Let me get dressed.”
“Good idea,” he deadpans and stops me as I whip around. “I suggest you refrain from roaming public hallways shirtless in the future … especially on a Sunday morning. It’s disrespectful.”
I peek back at him. “Appreciate the advice.”
I shuffle into my room, change into jeans and a shirt, brush my teeth, and hurry back into the hallway where he’s waiting. I was hoping he’d bailed on me. We make small talk while taking the elevator downstairs to the restaurant. Lucky for me, we have plenty of time for this coffee chat since our flight doesn’t depart until this afternoon.
“For someone who’s been close to my daughter for years and is now dating her, you sure don’t come around often,” he says as we sit down at the two-person table, and he smooths a napkin over his lap. “We’ve never shared a one-on-one conversation.”
He’s right.
Even in high school, Carolina came to my house when we hung out. Sometimes, her parents knew of her whereabouts, and other times, she told them she was studying at the library.
Carolina’s exact words about hanging out at her house after I suggested it was, “We’ll have to sit in the living room on different couches and watch a documentary about the sins of having sex before marriage.”
The preacher is an old-school man. He’s around my father’s age, but unlike my father, his age shows. He’s slender, a man who wears loafers on the regular, and his brown hair is peppered with gray strands. He’s been the preacher of the town church for as long as I can remember. They’re a religious family with strict rules and deep values. He’s a good man who’d probably be more welcoming to me had Carolina and I not been such great friends … and boyfriend and girlfriend now.
How are we going to fake break up without me looking like an ass?
With my reputation, everyone will assume it was my fault, and I’ll look like an even bigger asshole for breaking the heart of the preacher’s daughter.
“We haven’t, sir,” I answer to his one-on-one time comment and pause, allowing him to take lead on this torturous chat.
“You don’t frequent church,” he sternly adds. “And no need to call me sir. I’m Rick.”
“I’ve been busy with my job and school—”
He cuts me off, “You never attended when you were in your teens either with the exception of holidays.”
“You’re right.” No need to dispute facts. It’ll only make me look dumb.
Our waiter, Bobby, arrives at our table to save me from this awkwardness and takes our order. As soon as Bobby leaves, Rick is back to his interrogation.
“Is there a reason for that?”
“No.”
Bobby comes back with Rick’s coffee and my espresso—because I’m extra—and sets them in front of us. “Your order was put in and will be out shortly.”
We both thank him.
“How are your parents doing?” Rick asks, pouring creamer into his coffee.
I’m unsure of which conversation I want to avoid more—me and Carolina or my shitshow of a family.
“Good.” I take a long sip of my espresso, wishing I’d declined his breakfast offer. I should’ve told him I was sick, too. I’d planned to take the morning to digest what had happened with Carolina. Now, I’ll be digesting last night and this conversation with Rick.
“How are you coping with their divorce?”
I never asked for this counseling session.
“Coping perfectly fine,” I reply at the reminder of what an asshole my father is. “My mother is a strong woman and did the right thing.” She should’ve divorced him a long-ass time ago.
“You think that’s the right decision to make?” He raises a brow. “Giving everything up?”
I focus on my drink, avoiding eye contact to shield my annoyance. “When someone hurts you as much as my father did my mother … my family, then yes, I excuse her for leaving him. He cheated and hid secrets too large to heal from.”
He waits until I look at him again before replying, “You know, I counseled them before she made the final decision to proceed with the divorce. I tried to help them reconcile.”
Why is he telling me this shit?
Shouldn’t he have to keep that confidential?
“Marriage is sacred,” he goes on.
My hand clenches around the handle of my mug. “I agree.”
“Do you plan to marry my daughter?”
I choke on my drink, and it takes me a moment to swallow and clear my throat before I can reply, “What?”
“You are dating my daughter now, correct?” His face tightens, as if the thought pains him.
“Yes.” And I love her.
“What are your intentions with her? Marriage? A quick fling?”
My pulse races as I work my answer through my mind before relaying it. “I care about Carolina. She’s been my best friend for years.”
“Best friend? What about girlfriend?”
“It’s new. We’re trying it out. We’ve had feelings for each other for years, and we decided it was dumb to keep holding ourselves back from happiness.”
Uh-oh. This fake relationship will definitely be following us home to Blue Beech.
“Do you plan on breaking her heart?” Worry is etched along every feature on his face. This interrogation isn’t him being an asshole; it’s him protecting his daughter’s heart.
I repeatedly shake my head. “No, of course not. It’s never my intention to hurt Carolina—ever.”
>
“She’s in love with you.” There’s no bullshit in his tone.
I go quiet for a moment. I know she loves me, but I pretend to be blind about it.
“This is typically the part where boyfriends say they love their girlfriend back.”
I stutter for the right words. “I love Carolina. She’s the most amazing person I know.”
My answer doesn’t satisfy him. “I’ll ask again, what are your intentions with my daughter?”
“For us to be happy.”
He leans back in his chair, his eyes suspicious, and points at me, moving his finger back and forth. “Guys like you, they don’t date the preacher’s daughter.”
I can’t help but scowl. “Carolina is more than just a preacher’s daughter, and I don’t think it’s fair to put that label on her.”
Bobby becomes my favorite person when he interrupts us again with our food. Dude is getting a good-ass tip from me this morning.
Hopefully, Rick worries more about his food than talking to me.
I splash hot sauce onto my Spanish omelet and take a large bite.
“Tell me why Carolina dropped out of school,” Rick urges, not even giving his pancakes a glance.
I swallow down my bite. “She didn’t feel it was right for her.”
“She had no issues her freshman year.” He takes a drink of coffee and wipes his mouth. “Out of nowhere, she decided to drop out and move home. Was it for you? Did something happen to her?”
I understand his concern. I had one hundred questions for Carolina. She answered some, lied about some, and refused to answer the others.
“Carolina hasn’t told me the entire truth on why she moved home,” I honestly answer. “Whatever she’s going through, I hope she’ll open up to us when she’s ready.”
He frowns. “Don’t break my daughter’s heart, Rex.”
“I won’t.” I’ll try not to.
“And I expect the next time I catch you sneaking out of her room, it’s after you’re married,” he says, giving me a pointed look. “My daughter has values.”
With that, he pours an excessive amount of syrup on his pancakes and takes a large bite.
Just Friends (Blue Beech) Page 10
