“I’m coming,” she hollers from inside the house.
I shove my hands in my pockets and wait for the door to swing open. When it does, I’m glad I’m not able to reach for her.
A pair of short shorts barely covers her legs, and a white tank top stretches across her breasts. I realize I’ve never seen her this stripped down. What I came here for? It’s gone. No clue.
“Hey,” she says, pulling her brows together. “What are you doing here?”
“Um . . .”
“We didn’t discuss dinner, and assuming is against the rules. But even if I do agree to spare you a meal alone, it’s like noon.”
I nod like a freaking idiot.
She leans her head against the door. “Trevor? Are you okay?”
“Me? Yeah. For sure.” I clear my throat. “I just came by to talk to you.”
She steps back and opens the door. Surprise is written across her beautiful face. “Okay. Come on in.”
The house smells like blueberries as I enter. I give her a quizzical look.
“I baked muffins this morning,” she says as if she knows the question. “It was Story Hour at the library, and the kids always ask for my muffins.” She shrugs. “I’m a sucker.”
“That’s really nice of you,” I say.
“Even mean girls have their moments.” She tosses me a wink. “So what brings you by in the daylight?”
I take a deep breath and head to the living room. The space is familiar and cozy, and without being asked, I sit on the sofa like I belong there. She sits beside me.
I give myself one more chance to come to my senses and stop this madness. While this idea may seem perfectly fine on paper, it’s not.
I know this.
I feel this.
I can’t help this.
All I can do is ask and then act like an adult either way.
Clearing my throat, I rest my elbows on my knees. “I want to ask you something.”
“You’re needy. You know that?”
“Me?”
“Yeah. You and your not wanting to eat alone. Need for fancy foods that are extremely overpriced. Need to show up unexpectedly with a question and not just call like normal people.” She starts to laugh but stops when I fail to join. “What’s going on, Trevor?”
“Well,” I say, wincing, “I’m here to break another rule.”
“Oh, geez,” she says. “Here we go. What now?”
She looks so sweet with her hair piled on top of her head and her lips tinted blue from the berries. If I go through with this, I’m going to have a hell of a time behaving myself.
But can I?
I hope so.
“I need a favor.” I look at her solemnly.
She eyes me with the care of a woman who knows better. “A favor like a slice of leftover pizza? Or a favor like give my opinion of the poodle spa? How’s that coming, by the way?”
“Lovely.” I sigh at her attempt at redirection. “It’s a favor like . . . come to Nashville with me this weekend.”
Her eyes almost fall out of her head. I shift in my seat, worried I’ve overstepped.
“What did you just say?” she asks.
I clear my throat. “Come to Nashville with me. Please.”
She tears her eyes from mine and gazes into the distance. Her guard is up, and I want to yank it down and have the vulnerable, sweet Haley back. But the protective mode is on because of me, and I hate that.
Before I can say anything else, she gets to her feet.
“I’m not sure I understand,” she says. “You’re talking about the party that you told your ex-whatever to go to with a plus-one because you . . . you . . .”
“Look,” I say, getting to my feet, too, “I know this sounds stupid, but it’s not just about Liz.”
She crosses her arms in front of her. “Then what’s it about?”
“The retirement party is a big deal.” I say it like she should give a shit, like saying this should convince her right here and now to agree to go.
“What’s that have to do with me?” she asks.
She raises a brow, showing me a crack in her tough-girl veneer that gives me hope. And as much as I’m grateful for that, I’m also grateful to see her holding on to her guns for a minute. That will serve her well with guys like me. Just not with me. I hate it with me.
“You know how pathetic I am at eating on my own,” I say. “Don’t make me go to a party all by myself.”
She laughs. “It’s a party with your family.”
I reach for her out of instinct. She stills at the contact. My hand falls from her shoulder as I shrug, but I don’t miss the goose bumps on her skin as my fingers slowly drag down her silky-smooth arm.
She blushes. “Trevor, look . . .”
“I know. I know, I know, I know,” I say. “But I need a plus-one because I don’t want to go alone.”
“Take Liz.”
“You’re so funny,” I say, narrowing my eyes.
She laughs. “You’re afraid of Meredith, aren’t you? That’s the truth.”
“I’m terrified.” I stick out my bottom lip. “Just please go with me. I know this a huge thing to ask of you, but this is a big deal.”
“It’s a big deal to whom?”
“To me.” I look her straight in the eye. “Please go. It’ll be fun. I promise.”
She paces the room, fidgeting with her hair. I want to scoop her up and kiss the shit out of her, and that makes me want to run out of here like my head is on fire.
I don’t understand this wanting to be with her like this. I really don’t understand wanting to do it, because if something bad happens, it’ll ruin this friendship we’ve struck up out of nowhere—a friendship that keeps surprising me daily. Each day I want to see her. Spend time with her. Fight with her.
It’s a weird dynamic. It works in a way I haven’t experienced before. This is uncharted territory and I don’t know what to do.
“Trevor,” she says. She stops moving in a circle and faces me. “Let me be polite at first and tell you that I’m honored you’d take me around your family. That means a lot.”
“But . . .” My heart sinks.
“But this is ridiculous.”
“Why?”
She laughs an almost angry kind of chuckle. “We’ve done an amazing job at not messing up this . . . camaraderie? . . . that we have with one another. We’ve been adults. We’ve acknowledged how messy this could get, and we’ve avoided it, partly in thanks to my guidelines that you hate.”
“I do hate them.”
I want to touch you.
“But you want me to go away for the weekend with you?”
I want to kiss you.
“Around your family? Your friends?”
I want to claim you as mine.
“Where would we stay? How will you explain . . . us? Being together but not together? Wouldn’t that be super weird?”
I don’t give a fuck.
I shake my head to free myself from the irritation. Her questions are relevant. They’re smart. And I’ll have to answer, but I’m not sure how.
“Okay, in order . . .” I pause, trying to get my mind way out of the gutter. “Yes, I want you to go, and yes, my family will be there. We’d stay at a hotel, and I’d make sure you have your own room. And I’ll tell people to fuck off if they demand to put some kind of label on us.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“It would be easy. Isn’t it always easy when we’re together?”
“Yes,” she says. “But I put a lot of energy into keeping it that way. Into not letting you get too close. Into reminding myself our little dinner events aren’t dates. I tell myself constantly that you and I are friends, because you don’t want a girl like me and I don’t want a guy like you.”
My jaw locks in place. To hell with the fact that she’s right. I don’t want her to be right. I want her to want me the same way I’m wanting her, even though I know it’s fucking stupid. And unfair. And il
logical.
But she doesn’t. And I shouldn’t.
“There’s one to make me feel good,” I grumble.
She sighs, defeated. “You know what I mean. When I decide to take a risk on a guy again, I want it to be someone emotionally available and someone who can support me. Someone who wants me and maybe could even love me someday.” She swallows hard. “That guy, by your own admission, isn’t you.”
“Well, by your own admission,” I fire back, “you aren’t the girl who can go to dinner, fuck all night, and then leave the next morning and not care if I call or not.”
By her sudden flinch, I realize that came across a lot harsher than intended.
“I’m sorry, Haley. I—”
“No. You’re right. I’m not her. And I wouldn’t want to be her if I could.”
And I wouldn’t want you to be.
She crosses her arms over her chest and steels herself my way. She gives back bravado, but I can see that my jab hurt. Yet she fires back with passion and grit, and motherfucker if it doesn’t make me want her more.
I feel like my skin is too small for my body and I’m crammed into this little space so tight I can’t breathe. Stretching my neck, wincing from the pressure across the backs of my shoulders, I try to relax.
The fact this is hard makes me pissy because hard isn’t what we are, and what we are is something I haven’t had with a woman before. If asking her to go with me is going to change that, then I shouldn’t have done it.
I have to fix this.
I turn around and she’s right in front of me, her dark eyes swirling with an emotion she tries to hide on her face.
“Fine,” she says.
“Fine what?”
“Fine, I’ll go. But make damn sure I have my own room because the guidelines are still intact.”
My face breaks into an ear-to-ear smile. “You’re afraid of seeing me naked, aren’t you?”
She flushes. “If I see you naked, I’ll call a cab and come home and bill you the fee. Because I’m not going to make myself miserable. Got me?”
“Yes, madam.”
She extends a hand and I shake it before tugging on it gently and pulling her into my chest. She lets herself fall into my arms.
Her breath hiccups as she looks up at me with wide eyes. My body freezes, relishing the contact of her skin against mine.
God, I want her.
“Jesus has no room,” she says, although she doesn’t make an attempt to step back.
“Yeah. I’m aware.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Seeing something,” I say with a smile.
“Seeing what?”
Seeing how much I can torture myself, it seems.
I stare into her eyes. The hunger for her that gnaws at me is reflected in her eyes. It would take a half of a second to kiss her like she deserves to be kissed.
I could do that. I want to do that more than I’ve ever wanted to kiss anyone. But hidden just behind that need is a vulnerability I can’t ignore and one I’d hurt, and I can’t do that. I won’t. Even if it kills me.
I kiss her cheek. Stepping back, I head to the door.
“Seeing what?” she calls after me, a hint of franticness in her voice.
“Seeing that. Be ready at noon tomorrow. If you have a fancy dress, take it. If not, we’ll get you one in Nashville.”
I stop at the door and pull it open. I look at her over my shoulder. “Thanks, Haley.”
“You’re a giant pain in the butt, you know that?”
Her narrowed eyes give up to a sparkling grin that makes everything all right again.
“It’s been said,” I say. “It’s also been said I have a giant—”
“Stop.” She covers her face. “Just go so I can figure out what just happened here.”
You and me both, Miss Haley Raynor.
With a laugh, I step onto the porch and shut the door behind me.
I pause on the sidewalk and look up at the sky. What the hell did I just do? And why the fuck does it feel so right?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
HALEY
Can we call this one a date?” Claire lies on my bed, tossing a piece of popcorn in the air and trying to catch it in her mouth. It bounces off her cheek and falls to my comforter. “It includes family. I think that makes a difference.”
“I think if I get in my bed next time and there’s popcorn in it, there will be a difference.”
“You mean, you’ll be salty?” She laughs at her own joke. “That was good. My comedic timing is getting better and better.”
Shaking my head at her, I fold the green scoop neck shirt and add it to my suitcase. “I think that’s a stretch.”
She grins and throws another piece up and misses on purpose. “Oops.”
“Sometimes I wonder why I like you.”
“No, you don’t.” She groans as she sits up. “I’m loyal and smart, and I’ll be able to clean your teeth for free unless I fail this last class. Don’t forget how expensive dental hygiene is. I’ll be a big asset to you soon.”
I roll my eyes. “How did you do on the paper you were working on last week?”
“Good. I think. Oh. Big news.” She gives me her cheesiest grin. “I have an informal interview with a dentist office in Rockery. I shadowed a dentist there a few months ago, and they called and said they’d like to talk to me. Cool, huh?”
“Look at you. Taking over the world one tooth at a time.”
She presses her lips together. “Bad joke, Hay. Bad joke.”
“Yeah. Whatever.” I head to my closet and sort through the rack. My suitcase is stuffed as it is, but I feel underprepared.
“You know, they have stores in Nashville if you forget something.” She shoves some popcorn in her mouth. “You don’t have to take everything you own.”
I bury my head in my hands, the excitement, anxiety, and giddiness overwhelming me.
“It’s gonna be fine,” she says. “It’ll actually be better than fine.”
“How do you know?” The words come out muffled through my fingers. I lift my head to look at my friend. “What if it goes terribly?”
“How could it be terrible? You like the guy. He likes you. You’re going to some schmancy party that will include free booze. If things do go bad, just drink until you forget about it.”
I grab a shirt off a hanger and hold it up to me. “Oh, that’s a responsible answer.”
“That’s not a responsible choice of a shirt.” She makes a face as she hops off the bed. “I know this one is comfortable, and I’m all about comfort. But it does nothing for your shape, or your boobs, and if you’re going to spend the weekend with Trevor, at least put some effort in.”
Whining, I toss the shirt on the floor. My bottom lip sticks out as I sink onto the edge of my mattress. Why bother? Why bother putting effort in? The bag of popcorn rustles against my side and a few kernels spill out. I’m too preoccupied to give Claire crap about it.
It’s like a bad meme where the math equations are all jumbled together on top of someone’s head. Best- and worst-case scenarios swirl around. That’s what I am—a big mess of thoughts I can’t segregate into manageable chunks.
Claire sits beside me. “Now is the time I have to do the one thing I really don’t love doing.”
“You’re going to exercise?”
“Lord, no,” she says, clutching her chest. “Don’t scare me like that.”
My chest vibrates with a chuckle I can’t quite eke out.
She puts her hand on my shoulder. “I’m going to be serious. What’s really wrong right now?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I don’t know what to do with you right now. You’ve gone with other guys to a family dinner here and there. This isn’t something new. I’m not sure why you’re so freaked out about it.”
“I’m not freaked out about it,” I lie.
“Okay. I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of putting together
a suitcase.” She chews her fingernail, scrutinizing me from the side. “Or do I know why?”
I sigh. “Claire . . .”
“Talk to me.”
“I don’t want to,” I say.
“Don’t act like you’re eleven.”
“Ugh.”
I hang my head, feeling my heart strum against my ribs. Everything is on the tip of my tongue, but I’m scared if I put my thoughts and feelings into the universe, it’ll make them real. Then I can’t take them back. Then I’ll hear how dumb they sound, and I’ll want to climb under the covers and cry.
I’ve worked so hard to get here—to the place where I’m able to get up in the morning and have coffee and worry about me. There isn’t a guy playing games with my head or a job on the line that I’m tiptoeing around. I have a job at the flower shop and not a thing in the world to worry about outside my own interests, and there’s such an unexpected relief in that. I don’t want to lose it.
Most of all, I don’t want to break my own heart. If that’s what happens with Trevor, it’s on me. I know what I’m getting into. In some ways, it feels like diving into a shark tank and hoping not to get eaten alive. But for some reason, I’m willing to risk it.
I get off the bed. Walking to the window, I peer out into the neighbor’s backyard. “I think . . .” I force a swallow. “I think I could really like Trevor, Claire.”
“I know, buddy.”
“And I think . . . I think if I don’t go on this trip, he and I can stay friends. And if I go, things might change between us, and I’ve never had something with a guy that felt normal after things got serious.”
“But is that what you’re worried about?” she asks gently. “Losing him as a friend? Maybe it is. And if it is, that’s great. But if it’s not, I do think you need to be honest with yourself.”
I turn to face her. “It is. Partly.”
“Do you think he doesn’t like you in the way you might like him?”
His smile rips through my mind, accompanied by his laugh, and I feel it light me up from the inside out.
Does he? He without a doubt wanted to kiss me. The way he looked at me as he leaned down, my breath captured by the intensity of his gaze, leaves me frazzled just thinking about it. I’ve never felt wanted, needed—craved—more than I did in that moment on my porch. But that means he wanted to be with me. Not that he wanted me. When I pair that with the truths he’s shared about his feelings on love, I have my answer.
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