I blink at her. “I fucked Boone in the back seat—”
“No, nope I got that part, thanks. I just mean … what in the ever loving hell? I thought you two hated each other. I … no offense, I thought he hated you.”
“Well, thanks, sis. Makes me feel a lot better.” I roll my eyes.
“Sorry! I just mean … what are you two? Have you talked about any of this? And why was he the one who brought you to the hospital?”
I shrug, kind of needing to vent about this. Usually, I would keep this balled up inside and let it fester until I became more of a raging asshole than I already am.
“Well, the hospital was a fluke. He just happened to be there when I fell down the stairs. Scooped me right up and put me in his car to take me to the hospital. And then stayed with me and held my hand while they set my wrist.”
“And kissed you on the forehead before he left,” she adds.
“Yeah … that too. I have no idea, to be honest, what we are. Or what we’re doing. We talked a little bit about it, more like vented at each other about each other. He basically hates me, and I am not proud of what I did, but we’ve talked about why I did it. I’m not pleased with him either … he didn’t treat me like he should have.”
Harper gives me an anxious glance. “I know he didn’t. But at the risk of you scratching my eyes out with your cat claws … have you ever apologized for what you did to him? I know that there were issues before you cheated … but, you cheated. That is damaging, Anna.”
I look down at Harper and Cain’s navy blue bedspread. “I’m not sure I was ever really sincere about it.”
“Maybe you should start there. Because I think you want a second chance … am I right?”
I think about the night in the ballpark, and then the night in his car. I would be a liar, liar pants on fire if I didn’t admit that I want another chance at something with Boone. He’s the only man I have ever felt a spark with, the only one who can coax me out of this ice castle I’ve built inside of myself.
“Yeah, I think maybe you are.”
Harper smiles knowingly, as if she feels bad for me but also holds hope.
“But for now, I think another cookie will be the best remedy. For broken wrists and healing hearts.”
Nineteen
Annabelle
We’ve been going on filming for six hours now, and my head is throbbing almost as much as my wrist.
“Darlin’, you’re hurting. If you need to go home—” James attempts to rub my back in a fatherly gesture.
“I don’t quit on a shoot, but thanks.” I give James a pointed glare.
“All I’m saying is, no one would blame you.” He walks away, shaking his head.
He and Ramona have been circling me like protective mama bears all day. Not to mention the owners of this house are making it particularly difficult to make any progress on the design or construction. It’s a 1950s ranch-style four bedroom that hasn’t seen an upgrade since it was built, probably. Vinyl flooring, an outdated heating and air-conditioning system, and tile kitchen countertops so disgusting that I would use my casted hand to take a sledgehammer to them.
But all the while, these people keep screaming at Ramona about budget. I never enjoy couples like these. The ones who think it’ll be easy-peasy to buy a house and renovate, and who love Hart & Home, so they just sign up without actually understanding the process, time and money that is involved. Ramona and James are not just going to pay for your renovation, but you’d be surprised at how many people think that.
Guiltily, I think about the contract that was delivered to my house two days ago. I’m typically the total opposite of a procrastinator, but I just can’t bring myself to open the big, sealed envelope. Does that mean my icicle of a heart is thawing?
“And you know, you all did not tell us that the floors were going to cost this much! And another thing—”
I cannot listen to these hillbilly morons go on for one more second. Marching up to them, cameras rolling and all, I put a hand on Ramona’s shoulder.
“Shut it, Bobbi-Jo. Just shut it. These people are doing spectacular work for you and for a house that you decided on. You made the decision to come on this show, to spend the money, to have industry professionals suggest the best kind of renovation materials and designs. You don’t know all of the time and labor that is spent on these projects, nor do you seem to care or appreciate it. So just stop nagging at Ramona and James and let them do their jobs. Trust me, you’ll be singing their praises when you’re sitting on your one-of-a-kind suede couch eating beef jerky with curlers in your hair!”
Stomping off after my tirade, not bothering to let the moronic clients get a word in, I press my good hand to my chest and rub hard. The frustration I feel, at those clients, at my injury, at the world right now, is threatening to bubble up to the surface. I can’t afford, and would never let, a breakdown like the one looming happen on set.
Behind me, I can hear Ramona apologizing and saying something about passionate interns. I don’t mind that she plays my little outburst off. We’ve done this countless times, and I don’t mind being the scape-bitch. I was kind of like the scapegoat, but I was put in an evil light.
“Hey, hey, are you okay?” Someone grabs my elbow as I try to brush past them.
I yank it away, looking up, and am stunned to see Boone.
Boone Graham, here. On my turf.
“What’re you doing here?” I say softly, my entire mood shifting.
“James said I could come down to set anytime I liked, and I wanted to come thank you for the pie.” God, he looks good in his white long sleeve, jeans and workman’s boots.
Like he could be my own private handyman.
“Oh, that? It was nothing.” I think I might be blushing, and I curse myself. Turn your devil on, girl.
Boone smiles an actual, genuine smile at me. “It was delicious, is what it was.”
I wanted to thank him for helping me the day I broke my wrist, and for taking such good care of me until Harper and Cain got to the hospital. So, I’d summoned the inner-pageant queen in me and baked a good ole southern pecan pie and dropped it on his doorstep. I may have had to pull a few strings behind the scenes of the show to get his address, and I felt like a stalker creeping up to his apartment door and stealthily leaving a bakery box there, but clearly it had been appreciated.
“I just wanted to thank you.” My eyes cast down, because I suddenly feel shy.
So much has happened between us, and that’s just in the last two or three months. I am no longer angry about how we’d broken up, but I was semi-shattered about him leaving me after what happened in his car and then never calling.
“Well, don’t mention it.” It’s clear he’s trying his hardest to be nice. “I’m going to say hi to James and get out of here. Don’t want to get in the way, you’re clearly busy.”
I look back at Ramona. “Oh, that? Just high-maintenance clients.”
A beat of silence passes. “You’re really good at what you do, Annabelle. I’ve … caught a couple of episodes when sports isn’t on.”
That makes me laugh. “Thanks, I think. Glad I can be your non-athletic entertainment.”
It’s the first non-confrontational conversation we’ve had in over four years. And at the risk of ruining it, I know I need to follow Harper’s advice.
“Listen, Boone … I just want to say that I’m sorry. I know that I hurt you, I know that I made a huge mistake and that I cost us both a lot of heartache. I just need you to know how truly sorry I am. It might not make it better, but from the bottom of my heart, holding my guilty hands up in surrender, I am sorry.”
Those large, caramel eyes blink at me, searching my face for something. I take a shaky breath, because that was a lot for me to admit to, and the apology has been lodged in my chest for far too long.
“I didn’t think I’d ever get that from you. I know it probably wasn’t easy. Thank you.”
I nod, unsure of what to do now. My body,
all aquiver within from the sight of him standing there in front of me, wanting him to envelop it. The pull between us is magnetic, and I have to actively fight stepping into him. Especially after the night in the car.
And I was about to do something even crazier than either of us imagined I could. Because I was typically the hard-to-get girl. I didn’t ask boys out or even chase them. I was the frigid bitch they needed to win over.
But when it comes to Boone, I found that all of that went out the window.
“Do you think … could we maybe get dinner sometime?”
I don’t go into detail. Maybe he thinks I mean as friends. Maybe he thinks I mean as more. Maybe he can never get to a point of forgiveness to even share a bread basket with me. I hold my casted arm behind my back and cross my pointer and middle finger on my good hand.
Threading a large hand through his hair, Boone smirks at me. “Yeah, yeah I think we could do that.”
Twenty
Boone
I have managed to escape her orbit for years.
I’ve been clean and sober, I don’t shake every time I come within fifty feet of her. I only think about her in those dark, quiet times when I can’t help it.
But the minute I stepped foot back in Texas, my addiction was back. I can’t stay away from her, even though I hate her. Even though I know she wrecks me every time I get a taste.
Should I give in? Can I change her? Can I control this … need if we decide to see where this can go? Can I ever truly forgive her for what she did to me?
Is it against everything I’ve sworn up and down for years if that answer is yes?
Right now, I am too fucking cold to think about all of that. I step out of the cryotherapy chamber, my nuts so shriveled that I am scared to look down for the fear that they may have fallen off. My toes are numb and frozen, the rest of my body shaking with the ice that had just clung to it.
This kind of deep freeze treatment is a bitch while you are in it, but afterward, it feels amazing. And it gives me quicker recovery rates after practices and games. I’m serious, people think I am a crackpot when I say that, but it really does work.
“Man, now I can’t chicken out because you did it. And now you saw me. So now I have to go freeze my balls off.”
Cain walks into the room where the three cryo chambers stand, opposite from the wall of white leather couches I’m now huddled on wrapped in a fur-lined blanket.
“Have you tried it yet?” I shiver, eyeing the guy who used to be enemy number one in my book.
“Nah, I’m a little chickenshit.”
“Trust me, man, it’ll do wonders for your rebound rate. You’ll come off a game and be able to go right into another a day later.”
Cain rolls his shoulders a couple of times. “In that case, balls, meet ice.”
I chuckle as he eyes the chamber up and down. “Just do it, man. It’s best to jump in the deep end.”
He nods, sprints in, and strips off his boxers when the door closes. “Holy fuck, this is like fucking death. I can’t make it three minutes.”
I shiver just looking at him. “Yeah, you can, dude. Just distract yourself.”
Cain nods. “So, what’s going on with you and Annabelle?”
I can feel the stern look that comes over my expression. “Do you want to get punched in the face again?”
“Come on, dude, I’m so wifed up it’s not even funny. And Annabelle is practically my sister-in-law, as fucked-up as that is. You said distract myself, so I want to know what your intentions are.”
My knuckles crack. “Really? This is how you want to distract yourself? Gossip? I thought you were better than that. And why the hell do you think I’d talk to you about this?”
The guy slaps the side of the chamber, as if that’ll stop the icy air from sinking it’s fingers into his skin. “Yep, this is how I want to distract myself. Now you have two minutes and thirty seconds to lay out your love troubles.”
I sigh. “Dude, really?”
He flips me off. “Yes. You act like you have another person to vent this out to.”
“I certainly have one who hasn’t slept with the girl in question. While she was my fucking girl, I might add.”
He rolls his eyes. “Man, seriously, it’s all in the past. You need to just forgive her for that and move on, because anyone within a fifty mile radius of you two can see you want to fuck like bunnies.”
I still can’t wrap my mind around how he, Harper and Annabelle are just so casual about this. This guy, and his cockiness, still pisses me off. He’s a superstar, one of those shiny athletes who uses his smile and interview personality just as much as his talent. Sure, he’s a hell of a quarterback, but our game and play style are completely different. I’m the strong, keep-my-nose-to-the-grindstone type who lets my work speak for itself. He’s a boaster, one of those guys who thinks he’s a god.
And how they can all just hang out together is beyond me. It seems, to my injured heart, that I’m the only one truly affected by it.
“How can all of you just be so cool with this?” It boggles my mind.
The clock on the chamber is now down to a minute left. “Look, dude, it took a while. With Annabelle and I, it honestly wasn’t personal. We didn’t really like each other, and I regret sleeping with her. Even before I met Harper, I regretted that. We went through some shit as friends, but then I met my girl. And damn, at the sake of sounding like a whipped pussy, I am head over heels in love with her. And her mom is married to Annabelle’s dad. Believe me, those two girls hated each other at first. We both know Annabelle does not like hot new girls stepping into her territory, and although Harper can be a quiet one, she is not one to back down. But now they’re family, and that shit runs deeper than petty feuds. Annabelle is actually the one who convinced Harper to give me a second shot when I fucked-up. So yeah, it took a while, but love and family are worth more than bullshit.”
The beeper on Cain’s chamber buzzes and he grabs his boxers, dances into them, and then scurries out, grabbing a blanket and jumping up and down to keep his legs from going dead with the shock of warm air on them suddenly.
I’m finally regulated back to normal temperatures, and I lean forward, setting my elbows on my knees. “So you’re saying I should give her a second chance, even though she fucked-up.”
“Hm, you’re not as dumb as you look.” He chuckles, still hopping back and forth from foot to foot.
I walk past him, clapping a big hand on his shoulder. “Watch it, Kent. I could still knock you clean out. But … thanks for the advice.”
My trip to the cryotherapy chamber took an unexpected turn. It might have frozen each and every one of my blood cells, but it seems to have thawed one muscle in particular. One that has been falling rapidly back under Annabelle’s spell.
Twenty-One
Annabelle
“I’m so happy it’s warm enough for espadrilles again. They’re like, the perfect footwear. They look sexy with all of the straps and open toes, but the cork and level bottom make it not even feel like you’re wearing heels at all.”
Thea struts happily along beside me, our matching smoothie cups in one hand and designer purses in the other.
“It was only cold for all of three months. And don’t you know that wedges are out. The Queen says so.” I roll my eyes.
“Just because Meghan and Kate aren’t allowed to wear them doesn’t mean I’m not. I’m a Texas princess and will dress to my honky-tonk’s delight, Daisy Dukes and all.”
This is why I love her. “You’re impossible. But yes, I’m glad it’s warm. I don’t know why anybody likes sweater weather. Give me maxi dresses and rompers any day.”
We stroll along campus, weaving in and out of fellow students as the sun shines over my bare shoulders. Finding a table outside in the quad, we set our stuff down wordlessly and take out our laptops. The purpose of our get together is a study session. There is a huge exam coming up in our Design of the Early Twentieth Century course, and I don’t intend
on failing. School has never come easy to me. Sure, I get good grades, but I don’t enjoy learning or sitting in class. I’m not a competent test taker; I literally have to browbeat the information into my head by hours upon hours of studying the material.
“All right, so what notes do you have on the model houses and architecture lecture that I missed because of shooting?” I pull Thea’s notebook toward me, my brain slipping into study mode.
For the next hour and a half, we sit at our table under a shady oak tree and quiz each other, talking out each session of the course we’ve participated in and trying to figure out what surprise essay questions might be featured on the exam.
“Hey, Annabelle.”
A gruff voice floats over my right shoulder, and I look up, the sunlight filtering past the figure standing above me. The light around the person makes their face dark, and I have to use the hand not wrapped in a cast for four more damn weeks to get a better look.
My heart jumps when the face comes into focus. “Boone, hi.”
He sits down next to me on the concrete bench on my side of the table. “What’re you ladies up to?”
Thea is already licking her chops. “Studying for a test. But we could be persuaded to stop.”
Even though she’s my friend and has no idea that Boone is my ex, the big green monster of jealousy still hops up on my back and starts beating its chest to assert that Boone is mine.
Boone chuckles, and I eye him for flirting with her. “I won’t interrupt for long. I’m Boone, by the way.”
“Thea.” She extends her hand and bats her lashes.
I roll my eyes. “Down, girl. He only has room enough in his life for one drama queen.”
She pouts at me, but I can see the interest in her eyes. Clearly, I’ll have a lot of questions fired at me as soon as Boone gets up and leaves this table.
Turning to me, Boone’s knee grazes mine and I try to stifle the delicious tingle that shoots down my spine. “I was wondering if you were free for dinner tonight? I know it’s last minute, but the season will be starting in three days, and I wanted to get out with you before my life turns into a chaotic mess.”
You’re the One I Don’t Want Page 8
