Dating Trouble (Grover Beach Team Book 5)

by Katmore, Anna

  Logically, I knew he was a playboy that made about seventeen hundred and then some other girls pant after him. But in my heart, there was a small spot growing fond of Chris.

  “Weird…” Ethan nodded. “He told me that he brushed off Lauren because of you the other day. He must be pretty hung up on you, if he stopped seeing that bombshell.”

  “Well thanks, Ethan!” I smacked him playfully on his arm.

  He chuckled and tilted his head, casting me a stern glance. “You know that I think you look a hundred times better than her.” He shrugged. “But she was sort of my brother’s go-to girl for quite some time. I never thought they’d stop seeing each other for fun until one of them was in a serious relationship.”

  “And Lauren is still single?” I murmured.

  “As far as I know.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t want to become Chris’s go-to girl.”

  “I didn’t think that suit fit you anyway. Do you want me to talk to him about it? Tell him to lay off?”

  “Thanks, but I guess I have to deal with him myself.”

  He nodded and let go of my hand. We said goodbye and I walked inside, kneading my temples to get the thoughts of Chris sending Lauren off because of me out of my head.

  Reading some sixty pages in the bathtub after dinner helped ease the stress about Chris a little. I smelled like gingerbread when I came out of the bath and walked to my room, wrapped in a fluffy, white robe.

  At five minutes past eight, it was far too early for a good-night text from Chris, but I checked my cell anyway. Bad habit, whatever.

  My heart did a little flip in my chest when there actually was a message from him. Just one word. Please.

  Please what? I typed and sent back without thinking too much about it. He always started conversations with cryptic things like that.

  Please come tomorrow.

  Oh no… A groan slipped past my lips. Ethan must have told him I cancelled the cooking show and dinner. Of course, I was going to tell Chris tonight, but I wanted to think of the right words first.

  Five minutes of silent staring at the screen obviously exceeded the limits of his patience, because after that time, my phone went off. Dream Guy Material was calling. My heart began to flutter with panic. I realized we hadn’t really talked since Tuesday and the thought of actually discussing my cancellation of what he liked to call our first date now turned my knees wobbly. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I stared at the screen until the ringing stopped.

  Seconds later, another text arrived. Pick up the phone! Then it rang again.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I swiped my thumb across the display and answered, “Hey.” Crap, that came out a bit raspy.

  Without wasting any time on a hi or hello, Chris demanded, “What’s up?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Yeah, sure. And my brother moved into the Playboy Mansion.”

  Damn Chris for making me laugh. He did it so easily these days.

  “Come on, Sue. What’s the problem?” he continued. “Why don’t you want to come over tomorrow? And don’t think I didn’t notice that you haven’t been at my house most of this week.”

  Okay, so he smelled that something was off. But how could I explain my reluctance to him? No way would he get the truth out of me—that I was scared of how his strange behavior this past week was affecting me. His charm, actually.

  If he found out that his little messages caused happy butterflies to flutter in my stomach, he’d totally think he’d gotten me where he wanted me in the first place. Chances were, this was true. He might even kiss me. And then…?

  He’d break my heart.

  “Things have been a little stressful with my family this week,” I fibbed, hoping he’d catch the hook.

  “Oh.” The pause that followed was long enough to make it clear he didn’t quite believe me. But my alibi was cast in iron. “I’m sorry about that,” he finally said. “But that’s even more reason for you to come tomorrow.”

  “Is it? How so?”

  “Because it’ll take your mind off the trouble at home for a while.”

  From his point of view, it even made sense. The real problem was, however, that he was the trouble that concerned me, not my parents’ everlasting fights. And spending time with him might make matters worse instead of better. But how could I argue? I’d led myself into this trap. Terrific.

  “Come on, Sue,” he pleaded after a couple of seconds. “Let me cook for you. It’ll be fun and it’ll taste good.”

  What could I say to that? After a deep sigh, I relented. “All right. Tell Ethan he can pick me up at two.” If I was going over to their place, I could just as well give Ethan a run for his money at Wii Sports. “But you better not put any peaches in that meal,” I teased Chris, said goodbye and quickly hung up with the ring of his chuckle in my ear.

  His bandana still lay on my nightstand. I grabbed it and pressed it to my chest. Yeah, this was some deep shit I’d maneuvered myself into… Now, where was a lifeline when you needed one?

  *

  Ethan was dead on time on Saturday afternoon. He honked in front of my house and waited like a chauffeur to open the car door for me. “I’m glad you’re coming after all,” he told me when he got in on the other side and drove off.

  “In the end, Chris’s arguments were smoother than mine,” I admitted with a grin. “It’s hard to say no when someone is begging.” And begging he’d been. There were seven messages on my phone this morning, all reading the same. Please don’t change your mind!

  He only stopped sending them after I wrote back: Calm down, tiger. I’m coming, I’m coming…

  When we arrived at Ethan’s house, Beverly welcomed me with a beam, but a second later she excused herself, because a difficult client wanted to see a house out of town. “Don’t wait with dinner for me,” she said and kissed Ethan on the forehead.

  We headed to his room, but crashed into Chris on the way. Well, not both of us, only me.

  Chris had come out of the bathroom, dragging a steamy cloud that smelled of shower gel with him. His hair was perfectly styled in a chaotic stand-up mess and he’d dressed in a white tee with a graphite-gray, button-down shirt thrown casually over it. The moment he caught my elbow to steady me after the bump, his mouth widened to a happy smile. “Hey now, look who found the way to our house again.”

  I let him hold my arm longer than necessary, fighting against a hoard of little fluttery fellows in my gut. It’d been too long since the last time we’d met, and facing him instead of reading a text made me all too aware of how much I’d actually missed his smile.

  Pull yourself together, Susan. Now!

  “Look who’s dressed up for cooking,” I teased back, glad I sounded normal and not squeaky or hoarse.

  “It’s how I dress up for a date, actually.”

  “Well, then you dress up nicely.”

  “Right back at you.” He gave me a once-over, his eyes returning to the deep V-neck of my snug-fit, soft green t-shirt. “I see there’s no need for a turtleneck any longer.”

  He was right, the hickey was gone, as was his black eye. Almost. The softest layer of yellowish violet adorned his right cheekbone. It would be gone in another day or two, but it still reminded me of how he’d fought a battle for his brother. Tempted to reach up and brush the spot with my fingers, I resisted the urge and clamped down on my teeth instead. This moment was all but magical, and Chris found my staring very amusing.

  “Bowling or baseball, what do you want to play, Susan?”

  Glad for Ethan’s distraction, I detached myself from his brother and headed to Ethan’s room, clearing my throat. “How about golf for a change?”

  He set up the game, but we didn’t stay alone for long. Not ten seconds, in fact. Chris came in and flopped on Ethan’s bed beside me. “Three players?” he suggested.

  Ethan sent me a questioning look. I rolled my eyes but nodded—as if I could say no to his brother joining us—and a smile appeared with that…on my l
ips, not his.

  All three of us played virtual golf for quite some time, and it turned out that Ethan and I didn’t stand a chance against his brother. When it was my turn again and I took up my position, Chris stepped behind me and reached around my body, placing his hands over mine on the controller. “You’re holding it wrong. It’ll never work with that shot.”

  Whoa, his embrace made me shiver.

  He blew my hair out of his face, reminding me of how he’d told me he liked ponytails. Maybe that was one of the reasons I’d tied my hair into one this morning.

  Afraid he’d notice my pounding heart standing so close, I raced through seven different comebacks in my mind to make him go away. The one that made it was, “Please, this is so cliché, Chris.” I waggled my shoulders to shake him off.

  Laughing, Chris backed off. When he came around, I gave him a hard stare then shot. My ball landed in the pond between the two virtual islands. “Told you so,” he taunted. “Anyway, it’s time to stop playing and get to work or we’ll be eating at ten tonight.”

  Ethan and I followed him into the kitchen, where several utensils were already placed in a nice order around the stove. The boys got some things from the fridge and cupboards, added oil to a pan and flour to a bowl.

  I didn’t know what was coming at me. Somehow, I’d expected them to dress up as chefs with huge hats and white aprons. Well, they didn’t. Dressed like they were, they started chopping veggies and Ethan seasoned some steaks. What their mother found so special about that escaped me.

  Until Chris turned on the radio.

  A catchy song blasted through the kitchen with some Italian or Spanish lyrics I didn’t understand, but the rhythm was infectious. The twins twisted from one end of the room to the other, getting what they needed, sometimes tossing things at each other and showing off how they could juggle veggies or the salt and pepper mills. My heart stopped when Chris tossed a vinegar bottle in the air, but he caught it behind his back like he was a trained cocktail bartender and this was a whiskey bottle.

  I let out my breath. Thank God, nothing shattered into a million pieces during that stunt. At my horrified face, he only chuckled. Next, he beckoned me with a tilt of his head and patted the corner of the kitchen counter. Thinking I’d only be in their way, I shook my head and remained seated at the table, happy to watch from here.

  Chris crooked his finger.

  “No,” I told him, but he wasn’t happy about that. Exhaling an exaggerated sigh and rolling his eyes, he walked to me, took my hand, and pulled me to my feet. It all happened very fast, but when he swirled me around him and caught me to his chest, a startled laugh escaped me. Thank God for the dancing lessons we were forced to take in tenth grade—I didn’t trip.

  In a way that matched the samba rhythm of the song, Chris moved me to the kitchen island. He held my right hand up, wrapping his other arm around my waist, and never broke eye contact as he made me dance with him across the room. That was probably the hottest thing I’d ever done, and with one of the two hottest guys on the planet. Did he notice how deep I breathed in his scent when I was so close to him? Hopefully not.

  The dance was over far too quickly. Dropping his hands to my waist, Chris lifted me onto the kitchen island, right where he wanted me to sit before. Feet crossed at my ankles, I clasped my hands in my lap and enjoyed the view from here.

  Spicy smells wafted around us as Ethan fried the meat and bacon-wrapped veggies. From the other side, a sweet scent crawled toward me from where Chris was mixing a cream of yogurt and mascarpone.

  When he was done, he stuck his finger into the cream and held it out to me.

  “Seriously?” I grimaced. “Gross.”

  Laughing, Chris shrugged and stuck the finger in his mouth, sucking off the cream. Seconds later, he startled me once again as he grabbed my hips without warning and slid me along the edge of the island. The music muffled my shocked shriek, but he just wanted to get me out of the way so he could fetch a kitchen knife from the top drawer that I’d been blocking with my dangling legs. Really, he could have asked me to move. Instead, he placed his hands on my hips again and slid me back to my original spot. This time, I didn’t shriek but giggle.

  “I need the oven in a minute,” Ethan said, filling a ceramic bowl with the meat and pouring some creamy sauce over it.

  Chris went to retrieve a baking tray from the oven to make room for his brother’s dish. From the look of it, he’d prepared a cake base earlier today. I loved the biscuit smell that crept up my nose when he placed the tray next to me on the counter.

  After Ethan shoved his part of the cooking deal in the oven, he wiped his hands on a dishtowel and announced, “Half an hour.”

  Chris, who’d smeared the cream on the cake by now, picked a few oranges from the fruit bowl and juggled them, singing along to “All About That Bass,” until one of the oranges dropped to the floor. Ethan picked it up for him while Chris grabbed a few other fruits. He dug a little deeper into the bowl and finally turned around to his brother, a frown on his face. “Where are the kiwis?”

  Ethan sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Crap.” He gave me a guilty look. “I completely forgot about them.”

  Annoyed, Chris suppressed a groan. “Go get me some, now.”

  Of course, he’d asked me about my favorite fruit, but I didn’t see what was so tragic about not having any kiwi on the cake. As long as there were no peaches in my dessert, I was fine with any fruit. But Chris seemed to want everything perfect.

  “How about you go get them yourself?” Ethan taunted him.

  Chris braced his hands on the counter and leveled Ethan the same mocking look. “I’m grounded.”

  Grimacing, Ethan let go of a sigh. “Right.”

  “Hey,” I said, drawing their attention to me. “I can go get them.”

  About to slide off the counter, Chris put a hand on my knee and held me back. “Ethan can go. You stay right where you are.”

  My heart knocked against the base of my throat. Last time I was alone with Chris, I ended up with a hickey on my neck. It would be wise to insist I run to the store. But Ethan was out of the kitchen before I even had a chance to argue. “Be right back,” he shouted from the hallway. The sound of the front door slamming shut drifted to us.

  Oh shoot…

  Chapter 15

  MY NERVES IN a sudden tangle, I eyed Chris hesitantly. To his credit, he didn’t act as if he had any hidden motives or as if he planned to roast me and have me for dinner. No, he just turned off the music and fished for another stainless steel bowl in a cupboard.

  In this one, he dropped several bars of dark chocolate and a chunk of butter. Heating the mass in a bain-marie, he stirred it nonstop with an egg beater. Every now and then, he dipped his finger into the melting chocolate and tasted it.

  Strange that he wouldn’t talk to me now that we were alone. It heightened my tension, but like hell would I let him notice that.

  The next time he dipped his finger into the chocolate, he jerked back his hand, wincing. A stain landed on the collar of his white t-shirt. “Damn,” he murmured under his breath, trying to wipe the chocolate away, but the dark spot remained.

  He turned off the burner and pulled the bowl aside—the chocolate was probably hot and liquidy enough now. Shrugging out of his shirt, he pulled his tee over his head and tossed it across the room. It landed on one of the empty chairs.

  I stopped breathing, my chest gone too tight at the sight of his toned body. Heck, did I need to wipe some drool off my lips? Hopefully not, but I couldn’t guarantee. Chris certainly noticed my gaze on him. With a smirk, he pulled the dark gray shirt on again and buttoned it up, leaving only the top two buttons unfastened. His set of silver chains glinted against his skin.

  Unaware he’d left me feeling a little woozy with his unintentional strip show, Chris calmly continued stirring the chocolate sauce, improving it with a splash of rum and some grated orange peels. A sweet, warm smell spread in the room, reminding me of bir
thday cakes and Easter candy.

  Next, he peeled an orange and a banana and plucked some grapes from the fruit bowl. Between chopping the fruits on a board, he continued to stir the chocolate and occasionally tested the temperature with his finger. It looked so delicious, I wished he’d let me dip my finger into that bowl, too.

  When he finally seemed pleased with the consistency, he retrieved a small plate of strawberries from the fridge and set it on the counter next to me. “Close your eyes and open your mouth,” he said softly, his attention on the food in front of him rather than on me.

  I did, but a moment later, I opened one eye again to scrutinize him. “You’re not going to stick your finger in my mouth, are you?”

  Glancing up, he laughed. “Now that would be a little gross, right?”

  It would so be, but he’d offered me his cream-dipped finger before, so who could know with him? I closed my eye again but shot both open the next second. “And you’re not going to kiss me, either?”

  Chris, still working the molten chocolate with the egg beater, cocked his head and gave me a funny look. “I wasn’t thinking about it.” A short pause. One corner of his mouth tilted up to a crooked smile. “But now I’m wondering why you were.”

  Very funny. “You better play nice, if you want me to stay through dinner.”

  “I always play nice, little Sue,” he promised with a touch of mischief in his voice. “Now close your eyes.”

  The back of my neck tingled, but I did as he told me.

  I could hear when he put the egg beater away and I could feel the warmth of his body as he moved closer. He took his time preparing whatever he was going to put in my mouth, and with each second that ticked away, my heart galloped faster. My knees trembled, so I pressed them tightly together. If Chris saw my shaking legs…that would be the death of me.

  “Open your mouth,” he repeated in that same soft tone as before.