by J. A. Little
“Oh, dear. I’m sorry,” she startles. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Kayla.”
I chat with Joe for a few more minutes while Maria stays silent. I get the impression she’s studying me, and it’s a little unnerving. When they finally excuse themselves, I let out a deep breath.
“You just got Maria’d,” Emily laughs.
“What?”
“Dean must have mentioned you to her. She’s desperate for him to settle down, so she does this weird examination thing whenever she meets a girl he’s talked about for any reason—like she’s trying to see your thoughts or something. She did it to me the first time Aiden introduced me, too. Don’t let it get to you.”
“Okay.” I push back the slight giddiness I get from the idea of Dean’s mother assessing me as possible girlfriend material.
“I need to go get the cake ready. Are you going to be okay?” Emily asks. “I know you don’t really know anyone, but—”
“I’ll be fine,” I assure her. “Thank you.”
I glance over to my brother, who is now talking with Joe. Claire is playing cars with Caleb. It’s cute. I wonder if Richard and Mom would allow Claire to babysit or if that would be considered beneath the Graeme name.
“Can I talk to you?”
I jump slightly at the sound of Dean’s voice in my ear as his fingertips just barely graze my elbow. When I turn my head, he’s right there, his green eyes boring into mine. His face is clean-shaven, and he smells so good.
“Yeah,” I breathe. I turn, and he starts walking away from the main room. I hurry after him. “Where are we going?”
“I don’t want to be interrupted.” It’s all the explanation he offers. At the end of a hallway, he opens a door to the left and steps in. It appears to be a bedroom that was converted into an office. There’s a desk with a computer perched on top and a printer off to the side. Bookcases filled with books line the wall. A lot of them look like schoolbooks and reference guides. There are two leather chairs and a sofa. Covering the walls are family photographs. I walk over and scan them curiously.
There’s a picture of Emily and Aiden on their wedding day. Emily is dressed in a gorgeous slip dress, her hair long but pulled up and in ringlets. Aiden is dressed in a traditional black suit. His eyes are focused intently on his bride as if there is no one else in the world.
Next to it is a picture of what looks like their family. Aiden and Emily are in the center. Emily’s parents are to her left along with another man who looks just like Emily, albeit several years older, so I’m guessing it’s her brother. Maria and Joe stand to Aiden’s left. However, what draws my attention more than anything is the sight of Dean standing next to Joe. He’s wearing a suit and looking so handsome. Something’s off, though. While everyone else is radiating happiness, Dean appears to be forcing it. A smile is plastered on his face, but his eyes are completely blank. Like the life has been sucked out of him.
He clears his throat, and I’m momentarily embarrassed. Fortunately he’s behind me, so he can’t see which photo I’m focusing on. I quickly scan the rest of the photos on the wall before turning around.
“Sorry,” I say quietly. “I love looking at photographs.”
“It’s fine. Those are from the wedding. Uh, Aiden and Emily’s.”
“I gathered,” I say pressing my lips together and nodding. “You know, from the wedding dress and all.” I’m teasing him, but it’s hard to tell if he realizes that until I see his lips twitch slightly. “So, what’s up?”
He shifts his weight. “I just… I wanted to apologize. For last Saturday.”
“Oh?” I ask, walking toward him. I stop about two feet in front of him, looking up. His hand goes to run through his hair, but he seems to realize that he still has his knit hat on, so he slips it behind his neck instead.
“Yeah. I shouldn’t have… I didn’t mean to be such a…” His eyes are darting all around, but finally they meet mine. “I’m sorry.”
I don’t say anything in response—not because I don’t have anything to say, but I’ve learned that most people don’t like the awkward silence, so they keep talking. I want Dean to keep talking. There’s got to be more to him than the persona he puts on.
He doesn’t disappoint.
“It’s just that Emily really likes you,” he mumbles.
“Emily…likes me,” I repeat.
“Yeah. And, uh, she doesn’t have a lot of girlfriends, so…”
“So you’re apologizing to me for the sake of your sister-in-law?”
“Yeah—I mean, no.” Dean furrows his brow and scratches the back of his neck. “I…well, we have to work together, too.” I stare at him incredulously. Dean closes his eyes and lets out a groaning sigh. “I can’t say shit right, so I’m just going to shut the fuck up.” He looks flustered. I grin at him. “What?” he snaps.
“Nothing,” I giggle.
“Are you laughing at me?” he asks. His voice is a little abrasive, but I can see his mouth fighting against the urge to smile.
“No.”
“Yes, you are.” He loses his battle—one side of his mouth curls upward.
“Okay, I sort of am, but you’re kinda cute when you ‘can’t say shit right.’“ I use my fingers to quote him. Dean glares at me, but there’s no malice behind it.
“Cute?”
“Uh-huh.” I nod.
“I’m not cute.”
“Yeah, you’re kinda cute.”
“Kayla,” he warns in a low, gravelly voice that makes my heart speed up a bit.
I throw my hands up, palms out in acquiescence. “Okay, I’ll stop.”
“Thank you.”
My phone buzzes and I pull it out. It’s a text from Andy.
Where are you?
I type back quickly.
Talking. I’ll come find you in a bit.
Shoving the phone back into my pocket, I return my attention to Dean.
“For what it’s worth,” I say. “I’m sorry, too. I overreacted. Brody…well, let’s just say he’s not a very nice guy. I was upset.”
Dean nods. He pushes the sleeves of his shirt up slightly. “Do you want to talk about it?” It’s such a simple gesture—the offer to listen—but it feels like more. I’ve never told anyone what happened with Brody. I was hurt and just wanted to forget about it. But now this man I barely know is asking me if I want to share something incredibly personal. And while most of me would rather just shake my head and walk away, a part of me really wants to tell him.
“Are you just asking to be polite, or do you really want to know?” I ask.
Dean sits down on the arm of the couch and folds his arms across his chest. “I don’t ask things just to be polite.”
“Somehow I don’t doubt that,” I mumble. I briefly consider what to do before realizing that my mind is already made up. I sit down on one of the leather chairs and clasp my hands together in my lap.
“Okay. Uh, well. Brody and I ran in the same circles as teenagers,” I start. “His father is a friend of my stepdad. I guess that should have been my first hint.” I shake my head, thinking about how stupid I was. “I saw him a few times in college and over the years at parties thrown by mutual friends. Last year we hooked up at a bar.” Dean is looking at me, his jaw tight, but gives me a nod to continue.
“He seemed like a decent guy,” I admitted. “He was fun. I wasn’t looking for anything serious.” I roll my eyes. “I guess he thought we were more serious than we were. He asked me to move in with him, and I said no. I thought that was the end of it, but one day he just showed up at my house and started packing my things into boxes.”
The memories flood back as I speak. My chest begins to ache as my throat dries up.
“I asked him what he was doing. He laughed at me—I mean, I guess it was a pretty dumb question since it was obvious what he was doing, but I didn’t know why.” I sniffle and shove my thumbnail into my mouth briefly before returning my hand to my lap. “He got pissed when I told him I wasn’t
going anywhere. We started fighting. He accused me of sleeping with Andy.”
“Your brother?” Dean asks, looking confused.
“Yeah. Stepbrother, but still. I thought he was joking. I told him he was crazy and tried to walk away from him, but he yanked me backward. I pulled away, but the next thing I knew, his fist connected with my stomach. He knocked the wind out of me. At first I was angry. I screamed at him. And then he backhanded me across the face. I’m not sure how many times he hit me before I ended up on the floor.”
I don’t look up at Dean as I say this. I’m afraid of what I’ll see. The whole incident was embarrassing. I’ve always been a strong, independent woman. But in that moment, I didn’t feel like one. Just the memory of it is enough to strip every bit of confidence from me.
“When he was done hitting me, he just stood there like he was expecting me to do something. But I was afraid to move. His boots were right by my head, and I closed my eyes and waited for the next blow.” I shake my head. “It never came. I stayed on the ground until I heard his car drive away.”
I take a deep breath in through my nose and let it out slowly between my lips. Straightening myself up, I finally glance up at Dean. The expression on his face is hard to read. There doesn’t seem to be any emotion whatsoever. But his eyes are on fire—like he’s staring right through me. I look away.
“He tried to call me the next day,” I continue. “I guess after he realized what he’d done… I don’t know. He texted and sent emails and flowers. I never responded. I had nothing to say to him, and I didn’t want to give him the opportunity to make me feel that way ever again.”
“Did you tell Andy?” Dean’s voice is strained.
“I’ve never told anyone. Not before now.” I let out a nervous chuckle. “Sara still thinks he’s this amazing guy with asshole tendencies. But all men have asshole tendencies, so she thinks I overreacted. She doesn’t understand why I let him ‘slip through my fingers.’”
Dean’s breathing gets a little louder, and I wonder what’s going through his head. His hands are clenching and unclenching.
“Why’d you tell me?” he asks quietly.
I shrug. “I don’t know. You did me a favor. I guess I thought you deserved to know why I reacted the way I did.”
“I should’ve kicked his ass,” he growls. “If I had known last weekend, I would have.”
“And where would that have gotten you?” I scoff. “It doesn’t matter. He won’t bother me now. He thinks we’re together. You were pretty convincing.” I feel my body heat at the memory of Dean pressed up against me. He raises his eyebrows.
“But we’re not together,” he says flatly.
“No, we’re not,” I reply, lowering my eyes. I hadn’t really considered my attraction to Dean as more than a physical thing. But the ache in my chest is telling me that there is so much more to my desire. Despite his rapid mood swings and occasional episode of foot-in-mouth disease, I like being around him. I like the way he makes me feel—the fluttering in my stomach, the racing of my pulse. I almost feel like a teenager again.
“What happens if you run into him again?” he asks.
“I hadn’t seen him in almost nine months,” I continue, shrugging. “This is a big city. The chances of me seeing him again are pretty low.” I stick my thumbnail in my mouth again. “I shouldn’t have bothered you with my shit.”
“You can bother me any time you like, Kayla,” he says firmly. “Besides, you didn’t bother me, I asked. Look, if we’re going to be friends—”
“You want to be friends?” I interrupt, raising my eyebrows.
He lifts one shoulder and offers me a sexy smile. “I know I’m not the easiest guy to get along with, but sure. Why not?”
I consider what he’s saying. What exactly is he offering? Men and women have different definitions of friendship, and, without knowing more about who he is, I’m not sure how to take his suggestion. All I know is that my curiosity to find out more about him is overwhelming. “I don’t know anything about you,” I finally answer, pressing my lips together.
He hesitates for the briefest of moments; I can see him thinking. “What do you want to know?”
I’m leaning forward as well, now. We’re staring at each other.
“I want to know a lot,” I say quietly.
His eyes flash with what looks a little like fear. He swallows, his Adam’s apple sliding down his throat and then slowly back up.
“A lot would take a long time.”
“So tell me one thing. One big thing.”
Dean smirks. “You want to know one big thing about me?” he taunts. It takes me a minute, but I figure out what he’s insinuating, although after his “problem” last weekend, I pretty much already know how big that thing is.
“Oh, Jesus,” I laugh, another rush of heat flooding through my body.
“I’m not sure my niece’s birthday party is the place to talk. Chances are people are already wondering where we are.”
I nod, realizing he’s right. “We’ve got to make up for last Tuesday anyway. Do you want to meet for lunch this week?” I ask hopefully.
“When?”
I look at my phone calendar. “Wednesday? At one o’clock? Then I can meet with Logan for his IL session when he gets home from school. Will that work?” I look up at him.
“I’ll make it work.”
It’s so hard to pull myself away from his intense gaze, but I force myself to look down at my phone again. I type “Lunch with Dean” into my calendar, trying to hide my grin. When I stand to leave, Dean follows me. I open the door, but he grabs it just above my head and holds it in place. He’s looking down at me with questioning eyes.
“What?” I ask.
“Were you trying to avoid me this week?”
I close my eyes and open them back up slowly. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“It’s stupid.”
“I thought we were friends. You can tell me anything. Even stupid things.”
I shake my head in amusement. “I was embarrassed.”
“Because you almost kissed me?”
I scoff. “I did not almost kiss you. You almost kissed me!” His chest is vibrating with laughter. He’s just trying to get a rise out of me. Bastard. “You’re a jerk.”
He stops, and his face becomes slightly more serious.
“As my friend, do me a favor.”
I nod cautiously, not sure what exactly he’s going to ask of me.
“Don’t avoid me. If we have a problem, come talk to me. It was really frustrating not knowing what happened with you this week. It almost drove me crazy.”
His words cause my breath to stutter. I know he must hear it, but he doesn’t react. He simply watches me, waiting for my answer.
“I promise,” I whisper.
Dean lets go of the door, and we rejoin the party.
Chapter 16
Dean
Friends? What the fuck am I thinking? I cannot be friends with that woman. She makes my balls ache ten different kinds of blue. And not just because she’s gorgeous. Every little thing about her—the way she bites her thumbnail when she’s nervous, the way she teases me—makes me want to grab her and press her up against the wall and kiss the shit out of her. And I wouldn’t be able to stop at just kissing her. I’m pretty sure doing that would take us right out of the “friend” category.
While I realize that my brother is right and it’s not technically against the rules to date a worker, I know that it’s strongly discouraged on both sides. But using that as an excuse not to pursue her is easier than admitting the real reason: I’m not good enough for her.
At least being her friend gives me a reason to tear that fucker Brody’s throat out if I ever hear that he’s put his hands on her again. Friends do that—protect each other.
I hear a throat clear and turn to see Andy standing next to me. He’s a couple of inches taller than me, but he’s thin and doesn’t look nearly as strong. I hate that I auto
matically size people up, even when there’s no threat. After all these years, you’d think the habit would wane.
“Hey.” I nod.
“Hey,” he responds. I can tell by the tone of his voice that his approach was not coincidental.
“What’s up?”
“What are you doing with my sister?” he asks bluntly.
I take a few breaths before I answer. “She’s a friend and a colleague. Why?”
He narrows his eyes at me and lets out a breath of air through his nose.
“Look. I don’t know you all that well and I can’t control who Kayla spends her time with, but don’t fuck with her.”
“Why would I fuck with her?” I ask, tilting my head to the side. I’m not sure what he’s heard about me, so I don’t know how to take his statement.
He shrugs. “Maybe you wouldn’t. I’m just sayin’.”
“She’s a big girl. I’m pretty sure she can handle herself.”
“She’s still my little sister. You fuck with her, I fuck with you.”
“We’re just friends, but I gotcha.” I chuckle. I could take this guy any day of the week, but I have to appreciate his protectiveness.
He nods. “Good.”
The rest of the party passes in a blur. Opening presents is a chaotic and insane experience, but Ashley takes time to thank each person before tearing into the next gift. Aiden and Emily are good parents. Both their kids have more manners than me.
I find myself frequently drawn to the vicinity of my new friend. I bump into her more than once—”by accident,” of course. She glares at me, but there’s always a smile hidden in her eyes, so I know she’s not mad. When I’m not near her, I watch her. She’s animated and laughs frequently; it’s clear people are drawn to her. When she notices her sister getting bored, she includes her in the conversation. They seem to be such different people.
Glancing around the room at the dwindling party, I catch my mother’s eye. She’s looking at me, but I’m not sure she’s actually seeing me. It’s hard to tell. She looks deep in thought. I wave at her with a sarcastic smile. Apparently, she does see me because she responds immediately with her own little finger waggle. Sometimes I wonder if my mother has completely lost her mind.
