Wrong Bed Baby: Crescent Cove Book 10

by Quinn, Taryn

I huffed out a strangled laugh. “Ryan, Caleb—Caleb, Ryan.”

  She gave him a small nod. “Hey.”

  I took one of the bags and crossed my apartment. “Caleb, wait one second.” I dumped the bag on my small kitchen island and crossed to my mini apothecary. I’d had to make up a little something for my own sunburn the other day. I snatched the little jar off my shelf and ran back to the door.

  He was waiting just outside my door, a polite smile on his face as Ryan blocked the threshold.

  I rolled my eyes and elbowed her aside. “Take this.”

  His brows were knit once more. “What’s that?”

  “A mix of aloe and cucumber lotion.”

  He lifted it to his nose and sniffed. “Why would I want this?”

  “For the sunburn that is going to hurt like a bitch when you’re not so numb.”

  “Oh.” He gave me a sweet smile. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He leaned to the side a bit. “Are you having Rusty Spoon food?”

  “We are.”

  He sniffed the air. “Smells good.” He rubbed his flat belly. “I could sure use some fries.” He sighed. “And Mitch’s meatloaf.”

  Ryan crossed her arms under her chest and gave me a long look. “Happens to be Luna’s favorite too.”

  “Only for hangovers,” I said and pushed Ryan back inside the door. “Okay, Caleb. We’ll see you later.”

  “You don’t want to share?” His expression was hopeful.

  He was far too attractive for his own good. Or mine.

  “Nope.” I closed my door, then pressed my forehead against it. He was way too cute and I would not be charmed.

  “He’s pretty cute.”

  Of course Ryan had to agree with me. Then again, we agreed on a lot. Minus our preferences in men. Those usually diverged.

  “He just moved in.” I gave her a breezy smile and went for the bags. “Thanks for the hangover food. I am finally starving.”

  “So, we’re not going to talk about the hottie next door?”

  I unearthed one of the tins from the bag and peeled back the paper top. “Fries come to me.” I reached for the paper bowl of gravy and took them both to the table.

  “That’s very interesting. Not even going to deny that he’s hot?”

  I shoved two more fries in my face. “I mean, you have eyes, and you know,” I stopped to chew, “attraction is subjective.”

  “I didn’t mention I was attracted, just that he was hot.” Ry grabbed a plate and unloaded her food from the containers to eat like a human.

  I stared at my fries and picked out an extra long one. “You’re not attracted?”

  Ryan set her plate down, took down glasses, then unearthed my electric wine opener from the drawer. She knew where everything was since she’d helped me move in, and she was at my apartment almost as much as she was at her own. “Jock dudes aren’t exactly my style. They actually aren’t usually yours, either.”

  I sighed. “No, they aren’t. And he’s not a jock—he’s a teacher, actually.”

  Ryan filched a fry from my tin. “Is that right?”

  I pressed my lips together, then blew out a long breath. “He’s a second grade teacher at a freaking Catholic school.”

  She choked. “Excuse me?”

  “I know. That seems crazy, right?”

  I filled her in on the meet from the day before as she poured us wine and dug into her corned beef and hash with hashbrowns, and scrambled eggs. I was pretty sure our food didn’t really go with the bottle of cabernet she’d brought over, but neither of us minded.

  Her plate and glass were half gone by the time I’d caught her up with everything. And I’d finally cracked open my meatloaf with mashed potatoes and gravy. Because one carb wasn’t enough for the level of alcohol I’d had last night—and would be imbibing with her visit.

  “Leave it to you to have two dudes interested in you precisely eleven seconds after they meet you.”

  “How did you get there?”

  Ryan rolled her eyes as she cupped her large glass in her long fingers. “Lucky? The tall dude, right? With the hair metal hair?”

  I snickered. “Yes, that’s pretty much him.”

  “You said he was blaring music after you and hot for teacher were talking in the hall?”

  “Yeah. Sinatra. Insane.”

  “Yeah, he was blaring the music as a dick move. He probably thought he called dibs.”

  “What? Where do you get that?”

  “I mean, I can pull out the cards to be sure, but you know…psychic.”

  “Shut up.” I stabbed at the buttered green beans buried under my meatloaf.

  “And you were doing your stripper pole thing? I mean, c’mon.” She gave me a look over the rim of her glass.

  “It wasn’t on purpose, and the tall one was the one who interrupted me. I wouldn’t have even gone out into the hall—”

  “Please. You so would have gone out there.”

  I tossed a fry at her. “Okay, I would have gone out to see if they were attractive. It’s been drought city over here. But still, they started it.”

  Ryan’s gaze narrowed. “How did they interrupt you?”

  I huffed out a breath. “Caleb was trying to protect my honor—or something stupid like that. The door was open.”

  “Your door was open?” She sat back in her chair. “Since when?”

  Uh oh. “I didn’t lock it.”

  She set down her glass with exaggerated slowness. “He opened the damn door?”

  “He’s harmless.”

  “Except he might not have been.” Ryan stood and paced.

  “I get it.” When she whirled to look at me, I held up a hand. “I lock my door now. Even if he’s sweet.”

  “So, the teacher opened the door?”

  “No, his friend. My music was blaring, and well, I was doing that complicated workout routine I saw on YouTube last weekend…”

  Her brow arched “The one where the chick climbed to the ceiling?”

  I gave a little shrug. “You should see the bruises on the insides of my thighs. But yeah, I did it.”

  “Huh. No shit. Congrats. Still doesn’t mean he could open your goddamn door.”

  “No, and Caleb gave him hell about it. But they’re both harmless. I know Lucky from town and the store.”

  “Yeah, but do you really know anyone? We listen to the same podcasts, dammit. Especially Asher Wainwright’s local one.” She shivered. “Small towns are only safe until some slasher moves in.”

  “I know, and I’m careful, I promise. The construction crew wasn’t here all week, and I just got a little lax. It was nice not to have strangers all over the building or making noise.”

  She sat back down and picked up her fork. “All right.”

  I reached over and placed my hand over hers. “I’m fine. Really.” I sent a few comforting vibes her way and watched her relax by degrees.

  I loved how protective she was of me. We were both on our own most of the time, and we’d defaulted to watching each other’s backs. But we both liked our space, so we’d never gone the roommate route.

  We understood the need for boundaries—especially with our work. Being a healer of any sort was draining. For as many love readings we both did for our tarot clients, there were darker aspects to helping someone on their path of self-awareness. We weren’t therapists per se, but sometimes we felt like we were. A sacred space was important, and for both of us, it meant one that included alone time.

  Especially when I also dealt with the public on the retail end of things at Kinleigh’s shop and to a lesser extent, the Ladybug Treasures line that was part of their storefront. I definitely needed time to decompress, and Ryan understood that, although she was a bit more freewheeling with her employment status than I was.

  Last week, the reading I did for her on our tarot podcast had said she had some hot sexing action coming into her life—potentially. Then the day after that, her cards had indicated a
surprise opportunity. I’d told her she should try hanging around my apartment while the workmen were here since most of those guys were fine, but she’d yet to take me up on my offer.

  Hey, two birds, one toolbelt, why not?

  “So, now that you know all my dirty details. What’s been up with you?”

  Ry shrugged. “Same old. April’s been squirrelly lately.”

  “April?” Our mutual friend was as far from chaotic as you could get.

  “Yeah. I’m not sure what’s up with her. Maybe she’s about to meet someone. The energy around her is all fizzy and frazzled.”

  “April Finley? That April?”

  Ry kicked back in her chair with her wine resting on her middle. “I know. April usually has a schedule to take a crap—at least I’m pretty sure.”

  I snorted as I rose to clear the table. “And that’s all?”

  She focused on her glass. “Yeah. I think the restlessness is just catchy. And it’s summer.”

  I knew summer wasn’t exactly Ryan’s favorite season. Her mom usually made a surprise visit and threw her life into chaos. As much as she gave April shit for her orderly existence, Ryan wasn’t much better.

  I refilled her glass. “How about we go up and watch a trash movie on the roof?”

  “On the roof?”

  “Yeah, they finished the communal space up there. Have some couches, a fake fire pit, and a projector you can hook up to whatever streaming service you have.”

  “So, what you’re telling me is that I can watch FDR on a very large screen?”

  I laughed. “So, I should make popcorn?”

  Ryan rushed out of the kitchen to where I kept my iPad then came back. “Do we need to bring this?”

  “I think I just have to log into their system up there.”

  “Man, score.” She rubbed her hands. “I’m ready for boys to fight over Reese.”

  “You know those two boneheads aren’t fighting over me, right?”

  Ryan grinned and took out the second bottle of wine she’d stashed in my fridge. “Right, but it made me want to watch This Means War. Something delicious about two dudes fighting over you.”

  “Yeah, but it’s the suck in real life.” I pulled out my air popper and all the fixings for sweet and savory popcorn.

  “Says you.” She sat and crossed her mile-long legs. “What would it hurt if you did try them both out?”

  “I’m not really looking to try either of them out, thanks.” Though the idea of it made me hum just a bit.

  But not when it came to the hair metal best friend. He was sort of a meddling puppy who would probably chew on your shoes and shit in your garden.

  Caleb was a different story. I just wasn’t sure if it was one I wanted to let play out.

  Four

  Clearly, I was a natural at this whole moving in thing.

  I shelved a bunch of books in my bedroom nightstand and then rolled out the boho chic area rug I’d just picked up at my sister-in-law’s place. She’d tried to explain what exactly boho chic meant and why I wanted it for my new digs, but in the end, I’d shoved my credit card at her and tuned out.

  Who needed a decorator? Not me. I was a thoroughly enlightened male who was not day drinking ever again. Possibly not night drinking again either.

  Alcohol was bad. Especially when you rarely drank so when you did, you made an ass of yourself in front of the gorgeous new neighbor you’d already looked like an ass in front of previously.

  I blamed Lucky, as I did for many of the social failures I’d endured in recent years. He had the tolerance level of a herd of buffalo, and he knew I didn’t so he enjoyed mightily encouraging me to “let my hair down.” Since I had a reasonable length hairstyle, unlike my best friend—I’d let it grow out for the summer, so I looked woolier than usual, beard included—it meant something different for me.

  It meant I had to be smart and keep my damn hair up, or whatever the equivalent was, whenever I had a chance of seeing Luna. The likelihood she’d allow me to make her my famous eggs Benedict was shrinking by the hour. It wasn’t exactly an ideal lunch offering, but I wasn’t counting on an opportunity to make her breakfast anytime soon.

  At least not after spending the night. Yeah, right.

  We’d met up in the laundry room earlier today, just as we had a few days ago after my tipsy proposition in her doorway after golfing with Lucky. At least I was pretty sure I’d propositioned her then, though the details were vague. I just remembered her smile, the one that indicated she believed I was a few crackers short of a sleeve.

  God only knew what had come out of my mouth in her presence. Somehow she reduced me to a hormonal dude with no game whatsoever.

  And that was when I wasn’t drinking.

  On our laundry room meetups, I’d managed not to act like too much of a jackass. We’d made casual, easy conversation, the kind that usually happened between neighbors. Talk of the weather—still hot as balls—and our work and our detergent preferences to get our whites brighter. All typical, low pressure topics.

  I’d nearly asked what she used on the purple teddy mixed in with her underwear before sense had briefly reappeared.

  Handily, she’d had on jeans and T-shirts that didn’t overtly reveal her navel piercing or her super long tanned legs or any of her many assets below the neck. Of course her face was a damn knockout too. But she was also fun to talk to with a great sense of humor as we discussed some of our other neighbors, an eclectic bunch I was still getting to know.

  Basically, we talked like people who had no remote interest in sexual congress with each other.

  That was probably true on her part.

  I opened another box and crammed more books on my shelves. These were easier to fit, since they were some of my college texts that had particularly resonated with me. Poetry volumes from Rainer Marie Rilke were mixed with a true crime tale I’d picked up a few months ago about a college teacher who stored bodies of several of the college co-eds he taught in a freezer on his property in the woods.

  That had been suggested reading from Asher Hamilton’s locally set true crime podcast, which I’d started listening to entirely on accident. So far, I’d read some creepy shit, usually when I couldn’t sleep at night, which probably explained why I rarely got back to sleep afterward.

  One way or another I had to get back in the game sexually. Back when I’d cured my occasional insomnia with non-self-administered orgasms, I’d gotten a lot more sleep.

  Spotting my bottle of antibiotics on the nightstand, I popped one and chased it with water. Had I taken one yesterday? I didn’t think so. I swallowed another with more water and wiggled my foot.

  Yet another moving casualty. I’d stepped on a damn nail while carrying in more boxes and had to get a tetanus shot and a round of antibiotics since naturally, the wound had looked nasty and hurt like a bitch. My toe was wrapped up now and didn’t ache much anymore since it had been a few days.

  Assuming Lucky didn’t drop another futon on it out of spite over the Luna door opening situation.

  He was still holding a grudge, though I’d made it clear she thought I was about as appealing as the large ficus tree I’d helped her carry in last night. Turned out when a guy spent an unnatural amount of time at his window watching for a certain woman, he could be of some service.

  Actually, I was fairly certain she had more warm and fuzzies toward the ficus that she’d named Sir Anthony.

  I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know.

  My cell buzzed in my pocket and I dragged it out, spotting our neighbor Tabitha’s name. She’d graciously loaned me a couple of pieces of bread for French toast when mine looked more like a science project than the delicious artisan bread I’d picked up at the grocery store. I was pretty sure the limping had also made her feel sorry for me.

  Luna hadn’t been home, so I’d gone knocking on other doors until someone had taken pity on my growling stomach. In return, I’d taken down some of Tabitha’s recycling, for which she’d been
very appreciative. Then she’d given me her number out of neighborly consideration.

  Or else she liked men who occasionally listed to one side.

  “Hey, what’s up? Is it your turn to ask to borrow bread?”

  “No, I bake my own.”

  “Oh, is that why yours tasted so delicious?”

  When she giggled, I frowned. Did she think I was coming on to her? Did my vocal cords agree? “I mean, it was good, but bread’s bread, you know.”

  Her laughter stopped. “Uh, yeah. I know. I’m pretty much a bread aficionado.”

  “Me too. But some days, I’d eat a stale cracker if it filled the hole.”

  “I know how that is.”

  I rubbed my forehead. I really needed to get laid if I was finding a conversation about bakery goods to be too suggestive between new neighbors.

  Unless one of those neighbors was Luna. Then I’d be happy to discuss varieties of grain products until she wanted to sample my breadstick.

  “So, um, how’s your boyfriend?” Hopefully, Tabitha would have one, and I wouldn’t have to wonder if she was scoping me out for a possible hookup.

  Not that she wasn’t beautiful. She absolutely was. She had long, wavy caramel-colored hair and a sweet smile. If I hadn’t seen Luna first, I probably would’ve been up for trying her rolls and the rest of the contents of her bread basket too. But Luna was…holy fuck.

  And since I’d turned over a new leaf about not dating in the Cove, I was highly selective. Casual or not, there was no way I’d tempt the diaper-pushing fates by getting to know two different women at one time. That was asking to be a guest star on an episode of Maury Povich right there. If that show was even still on.

  Nope, not happening.

  “My boyfriend?” Tabitha sounded puzzled.

  “I mean, a pretty lady like you must have one, right?”

  She laughed softly. “Oh, no, I don’t. Not even close. It’s so hard to meet someone nice, you know? I don’t want to do online dating. So many creeps on there and I don’t want any dick pics.”

  “Yeah, there was just a killer on one of those sites too. He used a machete to chop off—” At her gasp, I cleared my throat.

  Apparently, with some women, talking about murder and mayhem was a deterrent too. Good to know.