“Oh, she didn’t tell you,” Blake said, his tone overly casual.
“Tell me what?” A feeling of disquiet took root in my belly. While I’d known for years that Blake had been cheating on me, I hadn’t thought he was brazen enough to do it with my own assistant.
“Just that I hired her. You said it yourself; she’s a great assistant.”
“She was,” I answered slowly. Then, “Has she by chance mentioned her boyfriend?”
He paused briefly, and I heard him swallow through the phone’s speakers. “No. Is there something I should know?”
“I’m sure it’s nothing.” I hoped my shaking voice didn’t betray me.
“Then why bring it up?” he pressed.
“There were some performance issues stemming from the relationship, but it sounds like that hasn’t been a problem for you. I’m happy everything’s working out for her,” I said, nearly choking on my words. Nothing Blake did surprised me anymore, but Janessa’s betrayal was a blow I hadn’t seen coming. “Anyway, I have to go now. Please make sure she sends the information over today.”
“Sure,” he answered curtly as the line went dead.
Feeling myself about to spiral into a deep well of self-recrimination, I pulled a breath into my lungs, held it, and then released it slowly. Closing my eyes, I flattened my palms against the tabletop to ground my thoughts and spoke the mantra my therapist had encouraged me to use in moments like this. “I cannot control Blake; I can only control my reaction to him.”
Deep breath, exhale, mantra, repeat.
When I opened my eyes, my mom was standing across the room with her mass of wild hair pulled back into a tight bun and some vaguely exercise-like clothing on her body. “You need your chakras aligned to get your energy flowing properly. Want to join me today?” She glanced down at the yoga mat in her hand. “We’re doing hatha today.”
My first instinct was to pass. Back in San Francisco, SoulCycle had been my preferred mode of exercise, but looking back, I thought that had more to do with the location and timing of the classes—in the big gym down the street with classes scheduled just after I’d shut down the gallery for the day—than whether or not I’d actually enjoyed it. If I were honest, the instructors’ overly perky inspirational tone had always given me somewhat cult-like vibes. No one should ever be that happy while sweating their asses off pedaling on a literal road to nowhere. Maybe yoga would be more my speed? It certainly couldn’t be any worse than being yelled at to find your joy.
And besides, I’d been hiding out long enough. For the past couple of months, the only time I left the house was to run errands. If I was truly going to rebuild my life here—and it very much felt like that was the direction I was leaning—I needed to start acting like it. A yoga class with a bunch of old ladies seemed like as good a place as any to start.
I pushed back my chair. “Sure, lemme go change. I think I saw my workout gear in a box at the back of my closet.”
My mom glanced meaningfully at my outfit: leggings and a baggy t-shirt hanging off my shoulder, showing off the straps to a sports bra. “I think you’re fine, dear.”
I shrugged and followed her out the door. If she didn’t care, why should I?
Once inside the car, she set the radio to an old classic rock station and made a three-point turn, heading down the long rutted drive toward the two-lane road that took us into town. After a couple of minutes of listening to Tom Petty warble about how he wouldn’t back down, she said to me, “Anything you want to talk about?”
I hesitated to bring up my conversation with Blake. For starters, I needed to get in touch with my lawyer to find out just how serious this investigation was. If it turned out that my ex was blowing things out of proportion, I would have worried her for nothing. But if it turned out there was actually cause for concern, I’d want to be armed with all the pertinent details first. In the car on the way to yoga with no information beyond my concern that things were about to get ugly wasn’t the time or the place for this piece of news.
“Just Blake being Blake. I think he’s having an affair with my old assistant. Right before the fire, she confessed that she was involved with a married man, and now it turns out that she’s working for him. He kind of tripped over his words when I mentioned the lover.”
Her lips flattened into a hard line. “I honestly have no idea what so many women see in that man. He gives off such douchey vibes.”
“He can be charming,” I said, lifting my shoulder in a shrug.
It wasn’t just me deflecting, either, or trying to make excuses for myself. In public, Blake was one of the most charismatic people I’d ever met. People—men and women alike—flocked to him. It was only behind closed doors after we’d been married for a couple of years that he’d shown his true colors. For years I’d wondered what I’d done to make him change, but I knew now it hadn’t been about me at all. That’s just who he was and always would be.
“If that’s what counts as charm these days, then we have reached a truly sad state of affairs. Smarmy is more like it.” She snorted. “You know who’s actually charming? Preston.”
An automatic smile lifted my lips and my face flushed with the memory of my foot coasting over his sizeable erection. “Yes, Mom. Preston is very charming. I like him a lot.”
She let out a satisfied sniff. “I don’t want to say I told you so—”
I started laughing, slapping my palm down onto my thigh. “That’s exactly what you want to say, and we both know it.”
She smiled widely. “But I told you so.”
19
Preston
A few days after Rosalie had nearly made me come in my pants with her little game of footsie, I was on my way out the door to meet with a potential new client at the Busy Bean when Gloria motioned me over to her porch, her arms waving in dramatic, sweeping arcs. “Yoo-hoo! Preston!”
Rosalie and I had congratulated ourselves on the early success of our plan, but after Gloria had walked in on us the other night, I’d started to worry that she might become even more intrusive in her attempts to see our “relationship” progress.
“Good morning, Gloria,” I said, walking across the yard.
She waved her hand in front of her face to bat away the greeting. “I don’t have time for pleasantries this morning, young man.”
Caught off guard, I uttered a monosyllabic “Uh …”
“Close your mouth!” she grumbled. “Do you want to catch flies?”
I took an involuntary step back, perplexed by her harsh tone. Gloria had never spoken to me that way. Hell, I couldn’t recall hearing her address anyone so rudely.
“What can I help you with this morning?” I asked blandly, crossing my arms over my chest. Annoyed as I was, she was still my landlady and Rosalie’s mom. I couldn’t just turn around and walk away—my middle finger raised in salute—like I would if she were anyone else.
She took a step closer, leaning forward to whisper sternly, “You can help me by taking my daughter out on a proper date. Or are you ashamed to be seen with her?”
“Why would I be ashamed to be seen with her?” I lifted my hand to my forehead to rub the creases out. “She’s the best.”
“You’re damn right she is!” Gloria crowed. Then, more quietly, “Is it because she’s a divorcée?”
“What? No.” I dropped my hand away from my face and shook my head back and forth, befuddled at the strange turn my morning had taken. What was going on here? I remembered the background Rosalie had shared with me about the prejudices Gloria had faced, and my annoyance softened, though not my overall confusion. Rosalie wasn’t Gloria, after all.
“What’s the problem then?” She speared me with a distrustful glare.
“I have no idea,” I sighed.
“Perfect,” she said, straightening back up and fastening her hands on either side of her hips. “Then you’ll take her out tonight. In public.”
“Fine,” I said, needlessly puffing out my chest. “I will.”
“Good,” she answered, turning on her heel and marching back into the house without so much as a goodbye.
I stood there staring after her for a few long seconds, wondering what the hell had just happened. Then I shook it off and climbed into my truck. I didn’t have time to think about wooing my fake girlfriend; I had a real client to pursue.
Climbing back into my truck two hours later, I drummed my hands on the steering wheel trying to figure out how to tell the young couple I’d met that I didn’t want the job. With work at the inn on hold, I really couldn’t afford to be super picky about my next project. Still, when the wife started every other sentence with “On HGTV, they …” I had to force myself not to push back my chair and walk right out of the Bean. It was my experience that when people watched major renovations go from start to finish in less than an hour, they tended to have unrealistic expectations around timelines and budgets.
Although maybe I needed to lower my expectations.
Not every project I did had to be magazine-worthy, even if that was the brand I’d spent years building. Quite literally. Unless I wanted to move back to Boston—where people regularly spent several hundred thousand dollars to remodel their homes—I would need to diversify my portfolio at some point. Colebury wasn’t exactly teeming with millionaires looking to burn that kind of cash. And as my current job had more than proved, even when I did find them up here, they weren’t always the best clients to work with.
As I sat in the parking lot nursing my second cup of coffee, something became very clear to me. I did not want to move back to Boston. But more than that, I wanted to stay in Colebury. I enjoyed the pace of life here. I liked the people. Some more than others, I thought as an image of Rosalie’s sinful curves wrapped in that killer black dress flashed in my mind’s eye.
I’d nearly choked on my own saliva when she’d walked into the kitchen, and I’d spent the next couple of hours telling my dick to calm the fuck down. When she’d thrown back her head and laughed at something I’d said, it had been all I could do to remain seated. I’d wanted nothing more than to round that table, fall to my knees, part the deep vee of her neckline, and take her tempting flesh into my mouth.
And when a few days later that foot of hers had made it very clear she was equally into it … well. Even thinking about it now had my dick thickening behind my denim. I groaned and adjusted myself.
Ugh. And now I’d promised Gloria I’d take Rosalie out on a date. In public. How the fuck I thought I’d manage it without popping a boner every two minutes was beyond me. Still, a promise was a promise, and I had no desire to find out how Gloria would react if I broke it.
Fishing my phone out of my back pocket, I pulled up Rosalie’s contact info and typed out a message.
ME: Your mom ambushed me on my way out this morning. I have been instructed to take you on a proper date where I can show you off to the world.
ROSALIE: Ah. That explains why she’s asked me every twenty minutes if I’ve spoken to you yet.
ME: She was very insistent.
ROSALIE: Gasp! That doesn’t sound like her at all.
I felt my lips hitching to the side in a small smile. I could practically hear Rosalie’s voice in my head as I read her words.
ROSALIE: Not to gloat or anything, but I did warn you this could happen. I believe I said something about a dog and a bone.
Like the twelve-year-old boy that every man was deep down inside himself, the word “bone” had me thinking all sorts of inappropriate thoughts.
ME: How many points do I earn for admitting that you were right?
ROSALIE: All the points. There’s nothing sexier than a man who’s willing to admit when he’s wrong.
My small smile morphed into a full-blown grin.
ME: You just called me sexy.
Those three little dots that indicated she was writing back appeared on my screen, and I waited to see what she’d say next.
ROSALIE: You had to go and ruin it, didn’t you?
That … wasn’t the response I’d expected. We’d been having fun. Hadn’t we? Or had I misread the situation? Had I been misreading all of our interactions? Fuck. Was I into a woman who wasn’t into me?
No. I shook my head. I might not be the sharpest tool in the box, but I hadn’t misread the way she looked at me. I imagined it was a lot like the way I looked at her: like I couldn’t wait to find out what she tasted like.
Still, I hated that I’d ruined the moment. Even if I wasn’t sure how.
ME: I didn’t mean—
Before I could finish typing out an apology, a new message appeared on my screen.
ROSALIE: I’m just messing with you. I think you’re very sexy.
ROSALIE: And I can’t believe I just admitted that.
ROSALIE: Shit. Forget I said that. I don’t know what came over me.
ROSALIE: Now *I’ve* gone and ruined it.
ROSALIE: Hello? Preston? Please say something. I’m dying over here.
I chuckled, and my fingers danced over the keyboard.
ME: Relax. I like knowing you think I’m sexy. For what it’s worth, the feeling is entirely mutual. I nearly fell out of my chair when you walked in the other night wearing that black dress.
ROSALIE: You liked it? I wasn’t sure.
ME: Yeah, I liked it.
I was debating whether or not to tell her just how much I’d liked it when a loud bang on my window made me grip my cup of coffee so tightly that scalding liquid erupted out of the top before the whole thing landed in my lap. “Argh!” I pushed open my door and nearly fell out of the truck in my haste to get out of the hot puddle soaking through my jeans only to find Mikey doubled over in laughter. “Look what you did, asshole.” I pointed at the wet spot blooming across my lap.
“Sorry, man. That’s all you.”
I let out a harrumph as I turned toward the Bean to grab some napkins to wipe up the mess. “Well. It’s your fault,” I said as he fell into step beside me.
“How was I to know knocking on your window was going to cause all that?” He gestured in the general direction of my dick before holding open the door to the coffee shop so we could go inside.
A small blonde woman who’d introduced herself as Audrey to the couple I’d met with earlier greeted us as we walked in. “Hey. Back so soon?”
“He spilled.” Mikey pointed oh-so-helpfully toward my crotch. “Just grabbing some napkins.”
“Oh, no. Do you want me to pour you a refill?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No, thanks. I think I’ve reached my daily limit of caffeine.”
Mikey clapped me on the back. “You should have seen him jump when I knocked on his window.”
She chuckled. “Well, let me know if you want anything else. And take all the napkins you need.”
I wondered if she was being sarcastic when I reached out to grab another one only to find the dispenser empty. “Thanks,” I mumbled, moving toward the exit while blotting up the coffee soaking into my jeans.
“And you didn’t knock,” I accused my best friend when we reached the driver’s side of my truck. “You banged.”
“You’re just pissed because I scared you.”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“Who were you texting with anyway?” he asked. “I called your name twice, but clearly you didn’t hear me.”
“Rosalie,” I answered off-handedly as I wiped the coffee up off my leather seats. If I was lucky, it wouldn’t stain, but only time would tell.
“Interesting,” he murmured thoughtfully. “You hitting that yet?”
My head snapped up. “What? No.” Not that there hadn’t been a moment the other night when I’d really thought that’s how the evening was going to end. God, I’d wanted her so badly. If only Gloria hadn’t interrupted us when she did. Now, I’d always wonder what might have happened. At least I had the memory of her foot pressed against my cock to fuel my imagination.
He peered at me with confusion. “Why not?”
“It’s not like that.” Except it totally was.
“What’s it like, then? Because I’m having a hard time understanding. You’ve ditched me three times to have dinner with her instead, and when I walked up just now, you had that look on your face.”
“What look?” I asked, gripping the back of my neck. Unfortunately, I knew exactly what look he was referring to.
“The same one you’d get whenever Janice Peters batted her eyes and asked to copy your homework. You had it so bad back then you would have done anything she asked you to.”
Yup, that was the look. And if I got the same look whenever I was around Rosalie, at least I knew she wasn’t using me the way Janice had back in high school.
“That’s not true,” I argued lamely, trying to save face even though there was no use. Mikey had witnessed all the ways I’d bent over backward to try and get Janice to like me. In the end, it had all been for naught. She’d gone to homecoming with Tyler Montgomery instead.
He chuckled. “If you say so.”
“I do. It’s not like that with Rosalie.”
“You keep saying that, and yet … ”
I threw up my hands. “Okay, fine. I want her so fucking bad it hurts.”
“And?” he prodded.
I was suddenly very tired of keeping secrets from my best friend about my feelings for my beguiling neighbor. “And we’re pretending to be dating so her mom will stop hounding us, but I’m worried I wasn’t entirely honest with her when I proposed the idea.”
Homecoming (Speakeasy) Page 13
