by J. A. Little
I don’t even have to think about it. “No.”
“That’s all I meant. It doesn’t just turn off because I’m not there.” His jade eyes are pleading with me not to be pissed off. I’m not pissed off, but I’m not happy either. I just wish he would take a second to think about how the things he says might sound to a woman he’s just slept with.
We finish eating, and Dean helps me clean up. He keeps “accidentally” lifting up the hem of my shirt—his shirt—and apologizing profusely with that cheeky grin of his. I eventually have to go put on clothes so I don’t end up tackling him to the ground. He doesn’t have much time before he has to leave. He sulks playfully the whole time.
After I get dressed, so does Dean. When he comes out, he’s got his bag with him. That can only mean one thing.
“I gotta go,” he says, walking toward me.
“I know,” I answer, disappointed that it’s time for our little bubble to pop.
I walk him to the door and open it before looking up at him. His hand caresses my jaw reverently. He leans in, pressing his lips against mine. There’s no movement. No frantic, passionate tongues. Just the gentle pressure of the man I never want to let go, but have to. It’s nice and comforting to be reassured that everything that has happened between us the last two days is more than just insane lust. He takes in a deep breath through his nose before pulling back.
“I’ll talk to you later.”
I watch him walk down the driveway and get into his car, ignoring the pain in my chest, the ache in my heart. I don’t want him to go. I don’t know where we’ll be after he does. Are we dating? Friends with benefits? Something in the way he was looking at me told me not to ask him. I want to be cool about this—let him take the lead. I’m just not sure my feelings for him will let me.
When his car finally disappears from sight, I close the door. The house is completely silent.
* * *
I’m vegging on the couch watching some ridiculous Lifetime movie when I hear a car pull into the driveway. The door flings open, and my bestie is standing there with a huge grin on her face.
“Hi!” I greet, standing up.
“Helloooooo!” Sara squeals, throwing her arms around me. “Oh my God. You have to tell me about the gala! Was it fantastic? I bet it was fantastic.”
I look over at Andy, who has just set their bags down.
“I made the mistake of forgetting the ‘decaf’ when I ordered her a venti vanilla latte. She’s been like this for two and a half hours. I’m pretty sure we were this close to getting thrown out of the airplane.” He holds his fingers up so that they’re only about an inch apart. I laugh at my brother. He looks tired, but happy.
“Whatever,” Sara scoffs. “That guy totally thought I was funny. He laughed.”
Andy shakes his head behind her and mouths, “No, he didn’t.”
“Come on, sister. We got gossiping to do,” Sara says, dragging me away. “So, how was he?” she asks, flopping onto my bed and sitting cross-legged like a little kid.
“It was good,” I answer with shrug. “Well, I mean, it was interesting.”
“I didn’t ask how the gala was, Kayla.” Sara smirks. “I asked how he was.”
“He?”
“Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I’m asking.”
There is no way she’s going to let me get away. She knows me too well.
“Oh my God. It’s so obvious. You might as well have the words ‘I finally got laid by a fuck-hot man’ tattooed on your forehead.” She frowns. “It was Dean, right?”
I don’t say anything, partly because I’m messing with Sara and partly because the thing with Dean is all so new and I’m not sure what to say.
“Kayla!” she shouts.
“Yes! Okay, yes, it was Dean, and yes, we had sex. Lots and lots of sex. Happy?”
“Yay! Now we can trade stories. Andy was so romantic and sweet. He had champagne and strawberries delivered to the room.”
“Sara, honey,” I interrupt before she goes too far. “I’m thrilled that you’re happy and sated and all, but I am absolutely not going to talk about this with you.”
“Why?” she asks, frowning.
“Because he’s my brother!”
“Oh. Well, shit.”
I start laughing. “I’m sure Warren would love to hear all about it, though.”
Sara’s face lights up like a little kid’s on Christmas morning. “We can still talk about sex with Dean, right?”
“Um, that depends.”
“On what?”
“What you want to know.”
“You’ve always told me everything, right down to the funky curve in Brody’s shorter-than-average penis.”
I snort loudly. It’s true—Brody’s penis was a little weird.
“At least tell me he’s got a big dick, please?”
My eyes widen. I don’t know why. Sara’s right—ever since we’ve been friends, I’ve always told her everything about my dates. But for some reason, I want to keep Dean’s details to myself. Sara’s pouted lip and puppy-dog eyes make it hard for me to deny her entirely, though. I roll my eyes.
“He’s larger than average. How’s that?” Her face drops into a fierce scowl. I let out an annoyed breath. “Fine. It’s lung piercing. My vagina’s gonna ache for at least a week.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” She grins. “Oh! Maybe we can go out on doubles and stuff.”
“Dean and I aren’t dating. We were just letting off a little steam together.” It physically pains me to say that out loud. It makes it sound like what happened between us was casual. I’ve done casual. What Dean and I had—the way it felt—that wasn’t casual. But there’s no way I’m going to admit that I want something more serious with him. Not even to my best friend. I don’t want to get my hopes up.
“Huh?”
“We’re still just friends.”
She narrows her eyes, studying me for way too long. “Was he bad?” she gasps. “Holy shit, he was terrible, wasn’t he?”
“What? No. No! Why would I have lots and lots of sex with a man who was terrible?”
“Hoping it got better?” She snickers, and I glare at her.
“No. He wasn’t bad. It was…” I can feel my cheeks heating up a little thinking about our weekend together. “It was extremely nice.”
Sara frowns. “Was he an asshole?”
“No.”
“Then I don’t understand. How do you have amazing sex with a guy you’ve been lusting after for months and not want more?”
I sigh. I don’t know what to tell her. It isn’t as simple as wanting more. Of course I want more, but I’m not sure Dean does.
“It’s okay,” Sara says, taking my hand. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pried. I didn’t realize.”
“It’s fine.” I shrug. “I don’t know what’s going on, and I’m not going to force it. We’re having fun.”
“Well that’s good, then.” She grabs my hand and lies back on my bed, taking me with her. We lie next to each other in silence for a second before she turns her head to look at me. “I’m in love with your brother.”
I grin while staring up at the ceiling. “I know.”
* * *
I don’t hear from Dean for the rest of the day or night. Not that we agreed on a specific time or even day that we would talk. Sara and Andy recall parts of their trip to Napawhile we eat dinner and drink a bottle of wine they brought home from one of the vineyards.
I watch them together—smiling, laughing, holding hands. What they feel for each other is palpable, written in every movement. They gravitate toward each other without realizing. It makes me both happy and sad at the same time. I don’t know why. Maybe I’m envious. Is that what I want? Is that what I want with Dean? I honestly don’t know. We are so different from Andy and Sara. Andy was raised by a successful single mother after his father passed away of leukemia when he was two. Karen loved him and cared for him. They’ve always been close. He wa
s a straight-laced kid and never got into any trouble. He played sports, went to college and then law school. Sara was raised in a middle class, two-parent household. She was a cheerleader in high school and on the dance team in college. She’s never done anything harder than alcohol and nicotine.
Dean and I have baggage—emotional and physical. We’re like vases that were once shattered and put back together with glue. There are cracks everywhere. Dean’s are jagged and chipped. Noticeable. Mine aren’t as visible, but if you look closely, you can still see them. In the eyes of people like Richard, we’re trash, useless and unsightly, but I don’t care. I like who I am. I like who Dean is. I just wish Dean liked who he is.
I smile unintentionally as I think about what my stepfather’s reaction would be to Dean. I can just see the vein in his neck popping out, his face turning red, steam pouring from his ears. The vision in my mind is comical.
“What are you smiling at?” Andy asks, tilting his head.
“Nothing,” I answer with a shake of my own. “Sorry.”
Sara goes home to sleep in her own bed tonight. I turn away as she and Andy say their good-byes. When she’s gone, he sits down next to me on the sofa.
“I’m glad you had a good weekend,” I say quietly. “You look tired, though. Why don’t you go to bed?”
“I am tired,” he admits. “But I want to talk.”
“About?”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I sigh. “Why?”
“I don’t know. You seem a little off. What happened?”
“Nothing happened.”
He shakes his head and lets out a breath. “I miss you, buttercup. It feels like we don’t see each other very much anymore.”
“Yeah.”
“I know it’s mostly my fault. I’ve been spending a lot of time with Sara.”
I smile at him. “You’re allowed to have a life, Andy. That’s what happens when you get into a relationship.”
“Are you in a relationship?” he asks bluntly.
“No,” I answer without pause.
“Really? Because I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Kay.”
“It’s complicated. We’re friends. Did you and Sara plan dual attacks or is it just a coincidence?”
“Huh?”
“The sixty questions? Did you split them up to tag team me?”
“No. Jesus, Kayla. What the hell?”
I sit up, a sudden and intense irritation slicing through me. “When you told me about you and my best friend, what did I do?” Andy opens his mouth, but I interrupt his answer. “I supported you. I didn’t question you. I didn’t question her. You’re adults, you can make decisions for yourself. The only thing I ask is that you don’t hurt each other, because I don’t want to have to choose sides.”
“Kayla, I—”
“What have I gotten since I’ve started hanging out with Dean? Warnings and distrust. I get that you’ve spent the last ten years taking care of me, Andy. I know that I’ve made bad decisions and gotten into big messes, but I don’t deserve this.” I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing the tears not to fall. I miss one. I feel my brother wipe it away with the pad of his thumb.
“I’m sorry, buttercup. You’re right.”
Guilt flows through me. I know a big part of this mini-meltdown is my own frustration. I’m taking it out on Andy, and I don’t mean to. That isn’t to say I don’t mean what I’ve said, however.
“I won’t butt in anymore,” Andy promises.
“Thank you.”
I sit next to him for the next half hour watching television before finally giving in to my exhaustion and heading to my room for the night. I strip down to my underwear and am about to pull on a pair of sleep shorts and a tank when I see Dean’s shirt flung over the arm of my chair. That’s not where I put it.
He left it here. Did he do it on purpose? I pick it up and bring it to my nose, inhaling. His scent is intoxicating. I hum happily and slip it on over my head. I’m even happier to find that my sheets smell like him, too. Not just his aftershave, but him. Us. Memories of last night flood through my head. The way his hands explored my body, ghosting in some places, needy and urgent in others. The way he held my hips as he entered me over and over. He seemed so focused on bringing me to the edge, holding me there until I couldn’t stand it anymore. Then he pushed me, and I fell. I’ve never felt like that before with any man, and I can’t imagine feeling it with anyone else. And I have no idea where to go from here.
Chapter 38
Kayla
Monday morning comes hard and fast.
“This is not even funny,” I groan, stumbling into the kitchen. I didn’t sleep well. A nightmare about Logan crashing his car woke me up at 2:00 a.m., and I tossed and turned for the next four hours. Then I fell into a deep sleep precisely thirty minutes before my alarm went off.
Andy laughs. “Oh, it’s kinda funny. Rough sleep?”
“I feel like someone put a two-ton rock on top of me last night.” I pour myself a cup of coffee. It burns my tongue as I chug it, but all I want is the jolt of caffeine to hit me as quickly as possible.
“You’ve got sheet marks on your face, buttercup.”
“Shut up! I don’t care. Do you think it’s possible to consume caffeine intravenously? Because I’d pay out of pocket for that.”
“No,” he snorts. “Go take a shower, it’ll help. I’ve got to be in court this morning. I’ll see you later.”
I grunt a reply and refill my mug.
I’m half an hour late to the office. Everyone is already there, working—everyone except Warren, mysteriously. I sit down at my desk and power up my computer just as Kate walks in with a case binder and hands it to Sara.
“New case.”
Sara’s lip curls up in annoyance. “Thanks,” she says sarcastically. “I’ll put my other thirty cases on hold.”
Kate ignores her. “Good morning,” she says to me. “You okay?”
I must look as rough as I feel. I nod.
“Where’s Warren?”
“He called in.” Kate frowns.
“Sick?” I asked, arching a curious eyebrow. Warren never calls in sick.
“In Brazil. Apparently, he felt he needed to escort his gala date home.”
I snort. Now that’s exactly the kind of calling in Warren would do.
“She must have done some pretty amazing ego stroking,” I joke, realizing quickly that no one else has a clue what I’m talking about.
“Go ahead and laugh, Kayla,” Kate says with a shake of her head. “He was supposed to be on call today. You all get to cover his cases.”
“Well this day keeps getting better and better,” I grumble.
“How was the gala? I saw your picture in the paper. You looked beautiful.”
“Thank you. It was good.”
“You also looked very cozy with Dean Wyatt.” I clench my jaw together and force a smile. “I trust that your personal relationship with him isn’t going to get in the way of your professional one.”
I shake my head. I’m irritated that she’s questioning me. I’ve always done my job impeccably. “Nope.”
“Good.” Kate turns around and heads back to her office, while I let my forehead fall to my desk.
“Aw, come on, honey. It’ll get better.” Dana says, trying to cheer me up.
“I hate Mondays,” I whine.
I’m extremely busy for the rest of the day. I have to supervise three parental visits. The first one is across town at a private family reunification agency we contract through. The other two are at the office, but one of the mothers shows up high, and then throws a fit when I refuse to let her see her child. She’s finally dragged out of the waiting room by security, so I sit around trying to entertain a one-year-old until I get the okay to return him to his foster home. In the meantime, I have to change a shitty diaper. What the hell do these kids eat that makes them smell so bad?
I have two court reports to type up and send off and a termination o
f parental rights meeting. Somewhere in the middle, I get a phone call from a pissed-off father who just got out of jail and wants to know why he wasn’t contacted when his kid was removed from his girlfriend’s care. This caught me off guard, because the man that called me is not the man I was told was the father. It takes me half an hour to get a word in edgewise, and when I do, it’s basically to tell him to stop screaming profanities at me.
All day, I try not to think about Dean and why he hasn’t called me. I’m not that girl. I’ve never pined over a guy, and I won’t start now. By the time I get home, all I want to do is take a hot bath and climb into bed. But I’ll have to wait—Andy’s made dinner, a lemon chicken recipe from Karen’s stash. We sit down to eat, just the two of us.
“Where’s Sara?”
“At her sister’s.”
“Oh.”
“Didn’t you see her today?”
“For like two seconds this morning.”
My phone starts ringing from somewhere, but I have no idea where I put it down, and Andy and I are in the middle of dinner. So, I fight every single urge in my body to get up. I do, however, eat a little faster, giving myself heartburn. Did I mention how much I hate Mondays?
When we’re finished, I do the dishes. Now I’m avoiding my cellphone. I’m afraid to get my hopes up. Andy sits down to do some work while watching TV, and I finally set out to find my phone. It’s in my purse and takes me a minute to dig out.
“Hey, I’m going to take a bath and go to bed,” I announce.
“All right. Good night.”
Once in my room, I glance at the screen. One missed call from my dad. I turn on the water and listen to the message he’s left while waiting for the tub to fill.
“Just calling to check in and see how you are. Karen would like to give Claire a little gift for her birthday, but wants to run it by you first, so give us a call. Love you, honey.”
I’m not disappointed, I’m not disappointed, I’m not disappointed. I’m…a little bit disappointed.
I try to focus on the phone call. I love that Karen is thinking of Claire. She and my dad have been so caring toward my little sister. It can’t be easy for my dad, knowing that she’s the product of my mother’s affair, but he never lets it show.
