by Lexi Scott
I knock the beer in my nervousness. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry!” I say, grasping at the stack of cheap napkins and blotting every surface. “So, so sorry.”
Cohen is on top of it, grabbing napkins. Maybe the floor will open and suck me away from this utter humiliation.
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” he’s saying. “I’m sorry if I pried. But the guy’s profile looks like bad news. I know I’m kind of straight-laced, and maybe I’m just overreacting,” he says in this way that lets me know he doesn’t think he’s overreacting in the least. “The reason I wanted to tell you is because Rocko said he’s pretty sure this Murdock guy is into heavy drugs. Dangerous stuff. And I know your father is having a hard enough time dealing with his drinking.”
Chills run up and down my arms, and I can’t rub the goose bumps away. This explains the tiny packet of powder I found while I was sweeping under dad’s bed. The fact that two of our spoons had bent handles and suspicious dark marks on the backs. The marks up and down Murdock’s arms.
I haven’t noticed any marks like that on my father’s arms. Was I just avoiding looking? Is it just a matter of time?
“Drugs. Oh God. That’s really scary. That’s…”
“Illegal,” Cohen says softly.
And it all shifts, every hope, every worry jumbles and realigns right at this table with this news. My entire world tilts on its axis.
As awful as my father is when he drinks, he’s not technically breaking the law by getting hammered. His messes hurt us financially, socially, emotionally, but not legally. There’s no real threat of jail time beyond the occasional overnight stint for public intoxication or some mild drunk and disorderly. Drugs? Drugs would be prison. Drugs would rip my dad from me in ways I could never, ever fix.
“Holy shit,” I say, feeling shell-shocked. “I never liked Murdock, but I didn’t say anything because I hoped the music would save my father,” I admit, my fingers shaking. “Murdock is a scumbag, no question, but he’s also a really talented musician.”
“I hate to even bring this up,” he says slowly, “but the governor has been on an outspoken zero tolerance kick, even for first offenders lately, especially after that drug ring was discovered operating through the local high school. If there’s anything in your apartment, your car, if your father gets booked and tests positive, that’s a whole different kind of trouble.”
I press the heels of my hands to my eyes and pant. “Oh shit. Shit. What’s going to happen, Cohen?” I ask, like he has the answers.
“You’re going to find a new place to stay. My parents have spare rooms if you need to crash for a while until you get back on your feet,” he says, his voice steady and calming. I drop my hands from my eyes, nod along, even though I don’t entirely agree with his plan. “We’ll get your dad in a good detox program, get him away from the people who are dragging him down. And when everything settles down, you can decide what you want to do. For yourself.”
A million thoughts are bursting through my brain at once. I can’t stay with Cohen’s parents. That would be way too weird. My father won’t agree to another detox program. Can we even afford it? What if Murdock is there when I get home? What if he’s pissed I flushed his little bag down the toilet the other night? What if my father is deeper into all this than I realize?
“Maren?” Cohen asks, his voice snapping me out of my panic.
“Yes?” I ask, taking a sip of beer.
“We’ll figure it out. I promise you. I’m here for you.”
“Okay,” I say, my voice shaky. “Thank you, again, for everything. I just need… Can we talk about something else for a little while?” I beg.
“Actually that’s perfect,” Cohen says. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you about.”
“Good,” I say, relieved to avoid thinking of all the new ways my life can splinter and self-destruct. “What do you want to know?”
“I want to know you, Maren. Everything. Every story, every detail, everything about you.”
The entire place just recedes, and it’s like all I can focus on are the words coming out of his sinfully perfect mouth.
I grasp at frantic straws, trying to make sense out of what he’s saying, but not daring to hope he might mean what I think he means.
“Don’t be crazy. You know me. We talk every day.”
He raises one dark eyebrow. “Right. We talk about recliners and spreadsheets and topical crap that’s going on in our lives, but I want to know more about you. The real you. If you’ll let me.”
“I’m not all that interesting,” I say with a breathless laugh. My God, I sound like a moron. “What do you want to know?”
Cohen rubs his hand across the scruff of his cheek, and I fight back the urge to lick my lips.
“For starters? I want to know what a gorgeous, intelligent woman dreams about. What do you want?”
“What I want?” I puzzle to myself, then slowly check off my safety list. “Well, for starters I want some stability. I want my check to cover my bills. I want to have a second to breathe.”
But those are the basic answers, and he’s not going to be satisfied with them.
“That’s what everyone wants,” he says, reaching out to take my hand, lock our fingers tight. “Say everything is taken care of. You’re in a good place, and you have the basics covered—what then? What do you want?”
This is exactly why I was afraid of getting too serious— A booty call doesn’t ask complicated questions. It’s always been so much easier to dodge the emotional stuff, push it back, and not face how I’ve put my life on hold for so long.
I can’t be totally honest with him because the first item on my list of wants is Cohen Rodriguez. I want this sexy, capable man like I’ve never wanted anything else in my life. But I obviously can’t tell him that.
“I want to have time to do things for myself,” I admit. “When I was a girl, I’d dream about having my own cute little apartment, curling up on the couch to draw in a patch of perfect sunlight. That sounds pretty lame, right?”
He shakes his head. “No. It sounds pretty damn amazing. I have a set of leather armchairs right by a cove of windows in my house. I like to sit there and watch the sunset, drink a beer, read a book, whatever. Much as I like doing that alone, I think I’d love to have someone in the other chair, enjoying the solitude with me.”
I bite my lip to stall the smile. “It’s not really solitude if you have someone sitting there with you, is it?”
“I think when you meet the right person, you know because you can even enjoy alone time while they’re right there next to you,” he says.
In my mind, I’m curled in that leather armchair opposite him, looking up now and then to meet his eyes and smile, waiting for the sun to dip low enough that we have an excuse to take ourselves to his bedroom.
“And I want to go back to school,” I rush, mostly to block thoughts that will get me too worked up for this little place. “I don’t ever want to be in the position my parents were in, where they were dependent on each other at different times for financial stability. I want to know I could take care of myself if I needed to.”
“I get that,” he says, running his thumb over my knuckles and along the curve of my thumb. “That way you know you’re with someone because you’ve chosen them, not because you need them.”
“Exactly,” I whisper. “And I want to see things beyond Silver Strand. Travel. Leave this place for a while so I can come home with fresh eyes.”
He sits quietly, like he’s mulling over my words.
“I’ve never really thought about it, but that’s exactly why I travel. This place will always be my home, but I like going away and feeling like I’m seeing things fresh. I think it makes me appreciate everything more.” He nods my way. “So downtime, education, travel. Those are good goals.”
“I guess they’re okay,” I say, drawing in a deep breath. “But I need to work on the basics first, and I don’t think it’s going to be as easy to
get that all figured out. I know you’re offering to help, but I really do need to handle most of this on my own, Cohen.”
“Fair enough. But do you know what I think?” He leans in, and I feel like I might be getting slightly hypnotized by him. I hope he doesn’t think I should get up and cluck like a chicken or something, because I don’t know if I’ll be able to deny whatever it is he thinks I should do. “I think after you get things back to some kind of normal, you should make this year the year of Maren. The year you figure out exactly what you want and only do what makes you happy.”
His request actually makes a public display of the chicken dance sound like a fun time.
“That sounds like a dream.”
It’s cornball to put it that way, but that’s the sad truth. Just a dream, I should add. And one I’m not about to torture myself with. Real life is hard enough without lost dreams to make it more unbearably depressing.
Cohen reaches up and brushes his thumb across my bottom lip. It’s a soft touch that’s over way too quickly and leaves me aching for more.
“Make it happen.”
The words sound like a demand, but the tone of his voice makes it more like a mantra, like advice or just plain old encouragement. God, what a simple thing encouragement is.
“I’ll try.” And I mean it. Cohen is right, and I’ve known it for a long time, long before he spoke up.
Something has got to change with Dad. I love him, but our relationship is so unbalanced and one-sided. I can’t spend my entire life taking care of him like he’s an invalid.
Cohen clears his throat and interrupts my thoughts of evicting my dad. “So, I have a confession to make.”
“Really?” I lean in, dying to hear it.
“I Facebook stalked you a little,” he says, covering his eyes with one hand. “Is that creepy?”
Hell no, that’s flattering. Also I hope he saw those shots of my sister and me on the beach from last summer, because I know damn well I looked amazing.
“That depends. What kind of dirt did you find?” I ask with a quick wink.
“Well, I found out that your Aunt Dorothy doesn’t quite get how Facebook works. I think she thinks it’s Google. Also, she’s having a lot of problems getting her Pomeranian to stop bringing dead mice in the house, and she’s using a new lotion on her knees that’s really working to get rid of her dry skin. This is all on your wall if you want to double check.”
I can’t help cracking up. “Poor Aunt D. She kind of stopped with technology when she got a rotary phone. And Pebbles was always a deranged killer, not the sweet lapdog she wanted him to be.” I look at him from under my lashes. “So… Was that all? I guess my social networking life is pretty lame.”
“There were some very nice pictures,” he says. I can tell from the way his voice dips he totally saw my bikini shots. “And a pretty important life event. I hear it’s your birthday tomorrow. And I’d love to take you out.”
I suck in a quick, nervous breath. “I don’t know…”
Cohen drags his eyebrows down and looks disappointed, then looks up with a determined glint.
“I’m going to argue my case here. We know each other, so it’s not like going out with a stranger. You’ve been to my place; I’m not a crazy ax-murderer. It’s just me and you and some good food and wine. I know a place, or my sister recommends a place that’s supposed to be amazing.”
“You talked to your sister about this?” A tingle of warmth travels through my limbs and fills me with bubbly hope.
He shakes his head. “Not about you, just asked for some dinner recommendations. Just in case.”
I cut my smile short by catching my bottom lip between my teeth. “If we didn’t run into each other today—”
He doesn’t try to hide his smile. “It’s like you want to make me say it. All right. The answer is yes. Yes, I was still planning to track you down and ask you out. So, what do you say?”
And then that awful saying, be careful what you wish for, singsongs through my brain. Is this not what I was hoping would happen? Isn’t this even better than what I was hoping for?
But the weird thing is, with Cohen, I don’t mind telling him what scares me. So I do. No matter how terrifying it is.
“I’m scared. I’m scared of how I feel about you now, and can’t imagine how much more I’ll feel if we go out-out, on a real date.”
Cohen nods like he understands, then moves his hand up my arm, along my neck, and cups my face. My heart skips and thuds at his fingers on my skin.
“I’m taking chances here, too, Maren. But you’ve got to give me one.”
I could drown in those eyes, big and bold and dark. But with Cohen, it’s like I’m okay with letting go and diving deep. Maybe because I sense that he’s going to show me how to swim out of the shallows and grab for something more.
His voice coaxes me. “Come on, it’s your birthday. Let me take you out and show you a good time.”
Maybe, possibly, this just might work. Maybe I’m wrong, and my life is fixable. Maybe, with Cohen’s help, I can stop wasting time and start living again.
“Okay. I’d love to.”
Chapter Seventeen
Cohen
“This place is incredible.” Maren looks around at the brightly painted red walls of the little Thai place Lydia swears has the best pineapple fried rice she’s ever tasted. Plus they make their own Panang sauce and rice noodles daily.
I feel like maybe I got the vibe wrong. Maybe it’s too impressive. Maybe I should have just bummed out a little, the way I usually did with Kensley. But I realize this isn’t about my own comfort. It’s about effort and showing Maren she’s worth it.
Awesome as I thought things were with Kensley, I never tried things that were new and different, and I think that might be because I was fine with just settling when it came to her and our relationship.
But Maren makes me brave. She makes me want to try new things. With her. For her. And that’s gotta be a good thing.
“I’m glad you like it.”
“And about my dad and Murdock…” she says.
“I don’t want you to worry about that right now,” I tell her. “Rocko asked around, and Murdock is supposed to be meeting with some PR guy out of town this weekend. Just relax, and I promise we’ll figure out a more permanent solution together.”
“Right. Okay.” She takes a deep, nervous breath.
I’m glad she’s here with me, her skin glowing, her eyes shiny, like she’s got some kind of happiness running like sunlight under her skin. I’m glad she wore the dress she picked. It’s the same deep blue as her eyes, and the top dips a little low, letting a tiny bit of lace bra show every now and then when she leans toward me. One strap is looser than the other, and it keeps sliding down her shoulder. I don’t know what the hell it is about her outfit exactly, but she somehow looks sexy and innocent at the same time, and it’s a huge turn-on.
We order too much food and wine that’s so expensive I have to work hard to keep from looking panicked when I order it. But when the waiter pours a few deep red splashes into her glass and she takes a sip, I know it was worth every dollar. The face she makes is exactly the face I imagine she’ll make when we finally wind up in my bed together again.
It may be unromantic as hell, and I don’t mean to sound like a pig, because it’s not like that with Maren, but getting her in bed with me again has definitely made it to position number one on my bucket list.
“So, your sister was telling me you’ve got this big New Zealand surf trip planned?” she asks, adjusting the strap on her dress. I keep one eye on that creamy shoulder, just so I can enjoy watching the fabric slip down her skin again in a minute.
“Deo’s been my best friend since we were in diapers, and he asked me to be the best man in his wedding. He’s not into strippers or Vegas or any crap like that. We’ve been surfing together since just after we learned to walk, pretty much, so I thought it would be cool to go to New Zealand and have one last major surf w
hile he’s still a bachelor.” I move my feet under the table and love when my foot brushes hers. More than that, I love that she rubs her foot up and down along my calf in a slow, gentle motion. “It’s partly your fault.”
“Really?” She squints at me. “I’m pretty sure I never told you to pack up and head to New Zealand.” The way she smiles behind her wine glass, kind of shy and sweet, yet so damn sexy? It makes my head go places it definitely shouldn’t.
“Talking about your dreams and goals got me thinking. I need to stop being so predictable. I need more adventure in my life.”
I look at Maren, biting her lip and toying with her napkin across the table, and feel a sense of pure determination. I want to keep her interested in me. I don’t need to make the same mistake I made with Kensley.
“I know I said that.” She looks up, her blue eyes wide and serious. “But you know I think you should do what you need to do for yourself, right, Cohen? I think New Zealand is an amazing idea, and I love that you’re making these goals and lists. But you? You are perfect the way you are. You’re not predictable. You’re dependable.” She grins and leans forward, and like we’re connected by an invisible string, I move forward, too.
Her voice caresses my ear. “You are adventurous. You don’t need to be racing motorcycles and diving with sharks to prove that. Everything I do with you feels like an adventure.” She laughs to herself and ducks her head like she’s embarrassed. “So, do things that make you happy. No question. But don’t you dare change.” This time her expression looks ferocious, and her voice matches it. “Don’t change.”
I can’t help smiling at her when she gets all tough like that. “I don’t think you’d be so sure that I should never change if you got to know me better. Deo always says I’m the biggest tightwad. He might be exaggerating a little, but I do kind of worry. Maybe I over-worry.”
She closes her eyes like she’s savoring my words.
“Worry?” She shakes her head, her dark hair shining in the light of the flickering candles on the table. “Do you have any idea how perfect that word is? Do you know how incredible it would be for any girl to have someone like you worrying about her? I feel like my entire life is comprised of people who don’t worry about anything except themselves. And I feel like I’m left doing all the worrying for everyone. And it sucks. I’d love to worry with someone.”
