by Kaylee Ryan
“You caught that, did you?”
“Yep. Is it because of my sister?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
“You’re pretty good at this. It must be the dad thing.”
“Knox can date whoever he wants.”
“And the new baby? What if it’s a little girl?”
He growls into the phone. “She’s not dating until she’s thirty.”
“Good luck getting that past Kendall,” I goad.
“Fuck me. We have to have a boy.”
“I thought you wanted a little girl who looked like her momma?”
“I did. I mean, I do. Fuck.” I can hear the frustration in his voice. I feel a little bit guilty about it, but not enough to apologize. This is real-life shit he needs to be thinking about. A boy you worry about one penis, just one. With a little girl, you deal with hundreds. I shudder at the thought.
I keep my thoughts to myself, though. No need in freaking him out even more. “Yeah, I’ll help you enforce it,” I tell him.
“Yeah,” he says, distracted, and I know it’s the thoughts of fighting off all the boys from his little girl. The one we’re not sure he’s having. She’ll for sure be a looker if she looks anything like her momma.
“So, we’re good. You and me? You’re good with me pursuing Reagan?”
“What if I said no?”
“I’d do it anyway,” I say without thinking. “She’s… yeah, I’d do it anyway.” I know I sound like a shit friend, but I’m not going to lie to my best friend. That’s the point of this call in the first place.
“Good answer. Yeah, I’m good with it. You know where I stand.”
“Thanks, man.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just be good to her.”
“Always. I guess I’ll see you on Monday.”
“See ya then. Good luck, my man.”
“Thanks. I have a feeling I’m going to need it. She’s worried.”
“Prove to her you’re a risk worth taking.”
“I plan to.”
It’s ten minutes until six and I’m pacing my living room. After talking to Ridge, I’m relieved, as if a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I’ve wanted her for so long, and it’s more than just physical. Truth is, she’s beautiful, and her eyes, I could get lost in them. But it’s the whole package. It’s the way she loves her family, the way she dotes on her brother, and loves her nephew as if he was hers. She’s not just a girl you pick up at a bar to have a night of fun. She’s the one you take home to meet your parents. As a matter of fact, my parents love her.
I’m so lost in thought, wearing a path into the hardwood floor, that I startle when there is a light knock on the door. “Hey,” I say, pulling it open and stepping back so she can get through.
“I brought dinner.” She holds up a bag of Chinese food.
“Perfect. I have snacks and beer, so we should be all set.” I follow her into the kitchen. My condo is an open concept so you can see the living area from the small island.
“What are we watching?” she asks, pulling items out of the takeout bag.
“I’m leaving that up to you. Lady’s choice.”
“Really? You sure about that?” There’s a wicked gleam in her eye.
“As long as your ass is on the couch sitting next to me, I can endure anything.”
Her cheeks glow the slightest shade of pink. “That’s… unexpected.”
“Is it?” Reaching out, I place my hand over hers so she’ll stop and give me her attention. “Is it so unexpected?”
She shakes her head. “But saying it out loud…” She swallows hard. “That makes it real.”
“It is real.”
“There is so much at stake, Ty.”
I nod. “You’re worth it.”
“Hungry?” she asks. I know she’s changing the subject, so I let her off the hook.
“Yeah, let’s take this to the living room. You go on and pick whatever it is we’re watching. I’ll bring this in. Beer?”
“Yes, please.”
“You staying here tonight?” I ask.
“I-I don’t know. I wasn’t planning on it. Why?”
“I’m not going to drink unless you’re staying.”
“It’s one beer. I can drive home.”
“Not on my watch.”
“Fine. I’ll stay. I mean, if that’s okay.”
“Good.” I motion for her to head to the living area and to my surprise, she doesn’t argue or give me a hard time about being a worry wart. I’ve heard her call Ridge out on it many times. Doesn’t matter. She wouldn’t win. Keeping her safe is my number one priority. A drink with dinner is not worth your life or anyone else’s.
Grabbing a serving tray that my mom bought when I moved in—insisting that I’d need it to entertain—from the small cabinet over the fridge, I pile the boxes of Chinese as well as forks, because chopsticks suck for me, and some napkins. I reach into the fridge and grab two bottles of beer, and head to the living area.
“Look at you, all prepared and proper,” Reagan teases when she sees the tray.
“My mother,” I tell her. “She insisted I would need it to entertain. This is the first time I’ve ever used it.”
“Aww,” she coos. “She’s spoiling you. You should take a picture and send it to her.”
“She’d love that,” I say, laughing.
“Do it.” She starts moving things around on the tray.
“What are you doing?”
“Making it photo worthy. We need to make Mamma Helen proud.” She grins and goes back to what she was doing.
“She’s going to know I didn’t do that.”
She shrugs. “She won’t care. You can tell her it was me.”
A feeling, this fluttering in my gut happens when I think about telling my mother that I’m spending time with Reagan, just the two of us. There will be no way around that conversation if I admit to her Reagan staged the tray. “You sure you’re up for that?”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s going to ask questions, knowing that you’re here and all that.”
“Is that a bad thing?” she asks cautiously.
“No. Not for me. But it could get… messy. You know my mother has always loved you.”
“Okay, so maybe don’t tell her it was me,” she backtracks. “We don’t want this to get out of hand and more complicated.” She steps away from the table, satisfied with her creation.
Pulling out my phone, I snap a couple of pictures and send them to my mom with a message.
* * *
Me: Reagan is putting your tray to good use.
* * *
I then turn my phone to show her the screen.
* * *
“Tyler,” she scolds slightly, slapping me on the arm. “I thought we agreed not to tell her.”
“Nope. You suggested I didn’t, after suggesting that I did. I just went with the suggestion that I liked best.”
“What about complicated?” she inquires.
I shrug. “Don’t care. I want you here. That’s all that matters. I couldn’t care less about the rest.”
“She’s going to assume we’re dating.”
“And?”
“And? You don’t want that. Word gets out and you lose your street cred with the ladies.”
“The only opinion I care about is yours.” My eyes bore into hers, willing her to believe me. My phone pings with a new message.
* * *
Mom: I’m so glad. Tell Reagan she did great and that Dad and I said hello.
* * *
Mom: Is there something you should tell me about the two of you?
* * *
I don’t even try to hide my grin.
“What? What did she say?”
I type out my reply and hit send before showing her the screen.
* * *
Me: I’m working on it.
* * *
I turn the screen so she can see it. Her wide eyes find mine
. “She replied,” she says, looking like she’s seen a ghost. Worried that my mom has said something to offend her, I turn the phone back around to read what she wrote.
* * *
Mom: The two of you would have beautiful babies.
* * *
I can’t help it. I laugh. It’s more than just a laugh. It’s the kind that comes from deep within your soul. The kind that has others around you laughing just because you are. I have proof because Reagan’s lips tilt just a fraction and I can tell she’s over the shock and now trying to hide her amusement. “She’s not wrong.”
“You think so?” she asks, now full-on grinning.
“Look at us,” I say teasingly. Full disclosure, my mother is spot-on with her analysis.
“Give me the remote.” She holds out her hand, shaking her head.
Grabbing the remote from the side table closest to me, I hand it to her and settle on the floor, my back to the couch, and pull the table toward me. “Where do I start first?” I ask, eyeing all the food.
“All of it.” She takes a seat next to me on the floor. “I want some of all of it.”
“You got it.” I start filling her plate and then mine with a little from each container. Once I’m done, I twist off the cap to both bottles of beer, setting one in front of her. “So, what are we watching?” I then take a huge bite of sesame chicken.
“Hmm,” she says, pointing the remote at the TV. “There’s a series Dawn and Kendall keep nagging me to watch, so I think I’ll do that,” she says with amusement.
“I don’t care. It’s your call.” I shovel in another huge bite of food.
“You might regret that.”
“Nope.” I take yet another bite. It’s been ages since I’ve had Chinese; I can’t seem to help myself.
Chapter 7
Reagan
* * *
I’m nervous. I know it’s crazy because it’s just Tyler—Ty, the guy I grew up with. Only, he’s more than that. He’s the guy who’s become more than just my brother’s best friend. He’s mine too. He’s the man I can’t stop thinking about. I often wonder what it would feel like to have his large arms wrapped around me, holding me tight. I found out last night and now that’s all I want. To be wrapped up in him.
“You sure you’re up for it?” I tease him.
He nods, taking another bite of his food. I know Chinese is one of his favorites and he mentioned it a couple of weeks ago that it had been ages since he’s had it. Hence the reason I brought it over. It makes me happy knowing I gave that to him. It’s just food, but to see the object of your affection, or should I say fantasies, enjoying something you hoped they would, well, it creates a warm tingly feeling in the pit of my stomach. Then again, that could just be Ty. That feeling seems to present itself whenever he’s around.
“All right,” I say, pressing Play on The Hart of Dixie. Both Dawn and Kendall have been telling me that I’m missing out with this show. I read more than I watch TV. “It’s a chick series,” I tell him.
He wipes his mouth. “I told you, Reags, I don’t care what it is.”
“Can’t say I didn’t warn you,” I say, diving into my food. The show starts to play, and I keep my eyes glued to the screen. By the end of the first episode, I’ve cleaned my plate, much to my surprise. “I’m stuffed.” I pile my plate on top of his.
“Me too. You want another beer before we watch another episode?”
“Yes, please.” He stands, gathering our trash, and heads to the kitchen, returning in no time and handing me another bottle of beer, already opened.
“Let’s move to the couch, more comfortable,” he says.
He takes a seat in the middle and pats the spot next to him. I sit next to him, leaving a little space between us. He surprises me when he drapes his arm over my shoulders. I hit Play, and sit stiffly, even though all I really want to do is relax into him.
“Hey,” his soft, deep voice greets me. I turn to look at him, and he lifts his hand, brushing my hair out of my eyes. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”
“N-No.” I hit Pause on the remote.
“Then, relax.” I take a deep breath and relax into him. He pulls me closer, and I feel his lips press against the top of my head. “That’s better,” he whispers.
With sweaty palms, I hold onto the remote and push Play once again as the second episode starts. As each minute passes, I relax more and more. So much so that I pretend that this is real. That he and I are legit, not just two people who are close friends who wish it could be more.
“She kind of looks like you,” he says. “Well, except for the eyes. Your beautiful hazel eyes put hers to shame.”
What do I say to that? “Our hair is the same color,” I say, ignoring his compliment.
“She’s a tiny thing just like you.”
“Hey.” I swat at his leg playfully. What is it about him that makes me feel like a teenager again—all nervous and not knowing how to act? “I’m not that small.”
“Right.” He chuckles.
We grow quiet as another episode comes to an end. “I need a restroom break.” I stand, missing the warmth of his body pressed to mine immediately.
“I’ll grab us another beer.” He saunters off toward the kitchen. I watch him go, my heart doing a little pitter-patter in my chest.
By the time we finish the first season, we’ve finished off a twelve-pack of beer and opened a bottle of wine from his fridge, my favorite from the local winery. We’ve also snacked on chips and salsa, my buffalo dip, and to my surprise, Ty had some of my favorite ranch dip. It’s been a perfect night of just hanging out. Filled with casual touches and hand holding. It feels like we’re together, but we’re not. I want that more than anything but I’m not sure where to go from here.
“What do you think? Call it a night or keep watching?” I ask, turning to look at him. I’m still sitting close, leaning into him, so his face and mine are a breath apart. I lick my lips and glance at his. I wonder if they’re as soft as they look. It’s not the first time that question has ever filtered through my mind.
“Stop it,” he says huskily.
“Stop what?”
“Biting down on this lip,” he says, lifting his thumb and gently tugging my lip free from the torture my teeth are causing. My tongue peeks out, wetting my lips again, and he growls. Growls! “Reagan, stop me now if you don’t want this.” His large calloused hand cups my cheek.
“S-Stop what?” If it’s what I think it is, if he’s going to kiss me, no way in hell am I stopping that.
“This.” He leans in, closing the distance and pressing his lips to mine. I don’t even hesitate to kiss him back. I could easily blame it on the alcohol, but that’s not it. It’s just Tyler. It’s the man he is. It’s how important he’s become to me, and the thought of us being more. It’s the feel of his hands as they cup my face with the gentlest of touch. It’s him, and no way am I passing up this opportunity.
He deepens the kiss and moves to hover over me, effectively maneuvering me on my back on the couch. Not once do his lips leave mine as his tongue explores our combined taste for the first time. Stroke after stroke, his tongue caresses mine, his hand still cupping my cheek. The other balances his large frame over my small one. His facial hair scratches my sensitive skin, but I don’t care. All I care about is that he keeps kissing me.
My hands grip his biceps. His muscles twitch under my touch, and a moan presents itself from deep within his throat, which causes him to tear his lips from mine. He doesn’t move, just stares down at me. His blue eyes hooded with desire. “Reagan—”
My index finger over his lips stops him. “Please don’t talk. Don’t think. More kissing,” I say, trying to pull him down to me.
“Baby,” he says, shaking his head.
“If I think about it, I’ll talk myself out of it. If we talk about it, I might chicken out. I’ve wanted this, wanted you for far too long to pass up this chance. Tomorrow. Tomorrow we can talk about it, or not. We can just have
tonight. Right here, right now. You and me. Everything after is the same.”
“Re—” he tries again.
“Please, Ty. I need you.” I lift my hips to rub against his hard length.
“Fuck.” He releases a heavy breath before lifting himself off me. I’m ready to grab my stuff and leave, call a cab, anything to get away from this humiliation. I thought he wanted me too. In fact, I was certain of it. However, before I can get too far in my mental freak-out, he scoops me off the couch and into his arms. “Not fucking you on my couch,” he grumbles, carrying me down the hall toward his room.
The room we enter smells like him. It’s dark so I can’t see, but I know it suits him. The room is simple. Manly. Dark grays and blues. I can see it clearly in my mind, just like every memory with Ty. He makes his way through the dark room and sets me on the bed. Once again, his hands hold my cheeks as his lips descend on mine.
My hands slide underneath his T-shirt as they travel the ridges of his abs. It’s as if my hands have a mind of their own, as they explore on their own accord. “Off,” I mumble against his lips. He removes his lips from mine, but only to trail them down the column of my neck. “Ty,” I breathe his name.
“Yeah, baby?” he asks. My heart does that thing again where it flips over in my chest at him calling me baby. I can’t believe we’re here. That we’re finally here in this moment.
“Too many clothes,” I say, tilting my head, offering him full access. His tongue is wreaking havoc on my hormones. “Naked. Now.”
“Together,” he says, standing back to his full height from where he was leaning over me on the bed.
I sit up and pull my T-shirt over my head, tossing it behind me. I’m not sure where it lands, and I don’t care. No, all I care about is getting more of him. Naked Tyler. That’s all I can think about.
