by R. C. Martin
“Oh, my god, Coder—hey!” cries Brooke.
I whip my head around to see her standing beside me, her gaze trained on Motorcycle Boots, and then I look back down at him. I watch as he looks from Brooke to me, that smirk that makes my stomach clench tugging at his lips when his eyes lock with mine.
He stands to his feet without a word, leaning down to scoop a toddler up in each arm. Neither of them protests when he holds them with their backs against his chest as he closes the distance between us. He’s still tall, and gorgeous, and the practiced way he holds those kids makes my insides go squishy, and I almost forget that Motorcycle Boots is Coder.
Crap!
My Motorcycle Boots is Brooke’s Coder.
I ignore the fact that I just referred to him as mine, too overwhelmed by the fact that now—even in my dreams (of which there have been, admittedly, a few over the last several days—in both my waking and sleeping hours)—he never will be. Not so long as Brooke has her eyes set on him. He’s as good as hers. It’s the Brooke way. He’s the whole reason why we’re here.
“Hey,” he says in greeting, still smirking at me.
“Uh, hey,” I stammer, feeling totally awkward and lame. I sweep my hair behind my ears as I look away from him, anxious as I’ve ever been. The last thing I need is for Brooke to catch on to the fact that Motorcycle Boots—err—Coder makes me nervous.
Then I remind myself that he’s bad news. Even worse news than he was before. Not just because he wears motorcycle boots and he’s gorgeous and girls chase after him, but because Brooke is chasing after him.
“I met you last weekend, right?”
My cheeks heat in a blush as my head shoots up. I could have sworn he recognized me after the way he looked at me. I’m just getting ready to speak when I hear Brooke. That’s when I realize, he wasn’t speaking to me at all.
“Yeah. I’m a friend of Will’s.”
“Right. Brittany, was it?”
“Brooke.”
“Better,” he replies with a nod.
Brooke unleashes her brilliant smile with a low giggle as she says, “You have no idea.”
“Tell me I’m seeing this wrong,” demands a deep voice from behind us. I twist and spot the huge, muscle man covered in tattoos that was just out in the parking lot. He glowers at Coder as he goes on to say, “Tell me you are not using my son as bait.”
Coder laughs, the sound piercing me straight through—like a dagger into my side. Turning my gaze back to him, the amazing sound of his laugher is immediately drowned out by the memory of Brooke’s words.
“Babe, I’ve seen his smile. I don’t need to know his last name.”
She was telling the truth. His smirk makes my stomach clench, but his smile melts it, making me all squishy inside.
“Get real, Harvey,” says Coder as the muscle man walks around us to take his son into his arms. “Axel is not bait. If anything, he’s a fucking cock block—stealing my thunder with that goofy smile.”
Harvey’s scowl dissolves as he chuckles, rubbing his big hand over Axel’s hair. “That’s my boy.”
“All right, Brooke—I just have a few things for you to sign before Pete sees you,” calls out the woman from the front.
“One of you getting pierced?” asks Harvey, looking between Brooke and me.
“That’d be me!” she sings.
“You’re in good hands,” he tells her before he starts to head further down the hallway. Just before he disappears into a room, he yells, “Yo, Trev—Coder’s using Caroline as chick bait!”
Coder yells back to defend himself as Harvey chuckles, winking at Brooke and me before he’s gone. Just as Brooke turns to head back to the front counter to sign paperwork, a woman, who looks vaguely familiar, comes strolling from the farthest end of the shop. As she draws closer, I notice that she’s sporting a little baby bump, one she runs her hand over before she reaches Coder’s side. She looks up at him, then over at me, then back up at him.
“Well,” she starts to say, reaching for Caroline, who goes willingly into her arms, “she’s pretty. I’ll give you that.”
My eyes grow wide as I look from the woman to Coder, who folds his now empty arms across his chest and winks at me.
Oh, crap.
I drop my gaze back down to the woman, but she’s already making her way toward the other end of the hall, murmuring sweetly to Caroline as she goes.
“So, Mack—getting any work done today? Or are you just along for moral support?”
“Um,” I mutter, meeting his eyes once more, my heartrate picking up speed when I register that he just called me Mack again. “Support. I’m, uh, the hand holder, I guess.”
He smiles, nodding as he tells me, “She’ll be all right. My brother knows his shit.”
“Your—your—”
“Hey, Grace, is my three o’clock here?”
I turn my attention to the man who fills the doorway beside me. There’s no mistaking him—he’s definitely Coder’s brother. He’s bulkier and older, but they look so much alike, it’s almost eerie.
“Whoa. Okay. So—all that hotness is genetic, I see,” says Brooke as she approaches. She grins, flicking her eyes toward Coder before focusing them back on Pete. “I’m you’re three o’clock,” she tells him.
He chuckles, glancing at his brother before he tells Brooke, “I’m Pete. Come on in.”
Only Brooke could pull off cute while whimpering in pain, squeezing the life out of my hand as she looks away from Pete’s fingers while they work at her belly. I know Coder is standing behind me, witnessing the whole thing, his shoulder pressed up against the doorjamb with his arms folded across his chest. I know this because that’s where he planted himself after Brooke and I entered the room; and between the encouraging phrases that Pete murmurs to Brooke, the two brothers are having a conversation.
“Rigs back this weekend?” asks Pete, screwing on the bottom piece of the hook that now exists in my best friend’s stomach flesh.
“Yeah. You coming over?”
“Uh,” he mutters, sitting up as he pulls off his black, disposable gloves. “Maybe. Maybe not. I have to see what Willow’s up to.”
Coder laughs subtly before he replies, “I’m going to go ahead and count you out.”
Pete smiles, looking over at his brother, and I can’t deny that his expression is almost as handsome as Coder’s. Though, it doesn’t exactly have the same affect on my insides.
“I didn’t think she’d get so into this wedding thing.”
“I didn’t think you’d get so into this wedding thing.”
“Can’t help it,” he says with a shrug. “My fiancée is kind of the shit, and this wedding is going to be the best party you’ve ever been to in your life.”
“Yeah, well, it’s still months away. Our party is on Saturday, so, if you change your mind…” He trails off, his open invitation implied, and Brooke—being Brooke—jumps right in.
“Did you say party? I love parties.”
“Kind of got that impression last weekend,” he muses.
Brooke drops my hand, pushing herself up on her elbows as she says, “You know, it’s not nice to tease two college girls with talk of a party if you aren’t going to let us join the fun.”
I stifle a groan, wishing she hadn’t included me in any of this, and then I listen as Coder’s boots carry him further into the room.
“This isn’t some frat party, you know?”
“Even better.”
He comes to a stop just beside me, but I don’t look at him, hoping to go unnoticed as this conversation progresses. My hopes are dashed when he nudges me with his elbow, making my heart skip a beat before he whispers, “Eyes up, Mack.”
My head jerks, my neck twisting in response to his call, and it dawns on me, as I look into his dark, soulful eyes, that he still doesn’t know my name.
“Kenzie,” I murmur.
He pauses for a moment, staring at me, and my muddled brain is at war—battling between look
ing away from him, like the coward that I am, or staring right back, knowing that moments like these will soon cease to exist. When he belongs to Brooke, he’ll forget that I’m even in the room. She has that effect on guys, being the beautiful, golden fairy in heels that she is. But right now—I’m not invisible. And for just this one stolen moment in time, I feel stupid enough to take what he’s giving me.
Then he smiles, the skin around his eyes crinkling as his lips curl, and a blush fills my cheeks—not because I’m embarrassingly shy (or, rather, not just because I’m embarrassingly shy)—but because he’s so incredibly gorgeous that I can’t stop my body from responding to him.
“You coming, too?” he asks, nudging me with his elbow again.
“Of course she’ll come.” Brooke speaks before my brain can conjure up a response, and I tear my gaze away from Coder’s as I turn to glare at her. I start to protest, but she beats me to the punch again as she slides her phone out of her pocket, sitting up as she unlocks the screen before she hands it to Coder. “Save yourself to my contacts and shoot yourself a text. You can send me the address later.”
My shoulders slump, absolutely positive that I don’t want to go to this party in order to watch Brooke chase after Coder. When he reaches for her phone, doing as she has instructed, Pete offers up instructions of his own, schooling Brooke on how to take care of her piercing as it heals. I tune it all out, my thoughts too busy trying to think up an excuse as to why I fully intend on bailing Saturday night. When I remember that I have that night off, I decide homework is my only option. Then, I’m yanked back into the room when Coder nudges me with his elbow—again.
I look up at him and notice that he’s holding out his hand. I furrow my brow in confusion, looking from his open palm to his face in question.
“Phone, Mack.”
“What?” I squeak out.
“You’ll need my number.”
My jaw falls open in surprise, and he chuckles, nudging me yet again.
“Hand it over,” he coaxes.
His insistence is undeniable, and for reasons I can’t exactly explain, I reach into my purse, grab my phone, unlock the screen, and hand him the device. When he’s done with it, he doesn’t even bother handing it back to me. Instead, he slips it into my bag before he starts backing out of the room.
“I’ve got a three-thirty to prep for, so I’m out—but I’ll see you two Saturday.”
“See you!” Brooke calls out excitedly.
I only stare, my stomach tightening and my mind whirling as he winks at me before turning his back and exiting the room. I stand frozen as I replay the last ten minutes, wondering if I’ve imagined it or if perhaps my brain has somehow twisted my reality into the unbelievable—because what I think just happened couldn’t have possibly happened.
Sure that I can prove that I’m making the whole thing up, I thrust my hand into my purse, reaching for my phone. I unlock the screen and open my text messages, spotting the one at the top sent to Coder. When I tap on it, I see that all he wrote was, This is Mack. I breathe a sigh of relief, now sure that what just happened wasn’t flirting. But then, just as I’m about to black out the screen, a new message comes through, causing my heart to skip a beat.
Those eyes were a nice surprise, Mack. Drop by any time.
I press the phone against my chest, holding it as I look at Brooke, who is standing to her feet and gingerly straightening out her clothing. What she is not doing is checking her phone for new messages. When Pete mentions payment, he starts heading for the front, and she follows, her phone still unchecked.
I pause for a minute, watching them go, suddenly feeling too nervous to walk out into the hallway—afraid that Coder might spot me. I pinch my eyes closed tight, ignoring the way my entire body feels as if it’s buzzing with the anticipation of hanging out with him on Saturday. I’m in awe of the fact that he wants me at his party. Yes, Brooke all but invited us herself—but he made sure I was coming, too.
Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, I bite down hard, furrowing my brow as I seal my eyes closed even tighter—fighting harder to combat my growing excitement. Excitement is the last thing I should feel. Guys like him—they’re bad news. He’d squash me like a bug. I’m not like Brooke. I’m not bold or brave, and he would take advantage. I’ve seen it before, and I know me. I know I can’t handle the likes of him. Not to mention the fact that he’s forbidden. Brooke considers him boyfriend material, which means I don’t have a chance anyway.
I repeat that truth over and over until my heartrate slows and I feel calm and unaffected. Then I open my eyes, take a deep breath, drop my phone into my purse, and leave the room to join my best friend.
I sigh, looking down at Lena as she sleeps, wondering if she’s dreaming.
In an instant, thoughts of her dreams shift to thoughts of mine, and I can’t stop myself from falling into yet another daydream. It’s been happening a lot lately. Too much. Each and every dream filled with visions of Coder. Over and over again, I replay the scene of him crawling around on the floor, playing with those kids. I hear their joyful laughter, I see his gorgeous smile, and my subconscious reminds me—for the billionth time in the last three days—that guys that are bad news don’t play with toddlers on their hands and knees.
Then, just as quickly as I fell into the dream, I force myself out, knowing it does me no good to indulge my thoughts. Furthermore, I should be practicing my excuses as to why I won’t be going to that party tonight. I haven’t yet thought of anything convincing, and something tells me I won’t. It’s not that I don’t have the imagination, it’s that I can’t deny that a part of me wants to go.
“Want to talk about it?” asks Maribel.
My head snaps up and I glance across the room at the sound of her voice, noticing that she’s abandoned her tablet onto her lap, her gaze fixed intently on me.
“Pardon?” I murmur, sitting up straighter as I nervously smooth my hands over Lena’s bedsheets.
Maribel’s face breaks out into the softest of smiles as she repeats, “Want to talk about it?”
“Talk about what?”
“Whatever has you lost in a daze.”
“I—oh—it’s nothing,” I mutter, closing the picture book I was reading to Lena before returning it to my bag.
“Oh, come on. I’ve known you for months, and I’ve never seen your eyes glaze over like that. It’s not nothing; and by my watch, you’ve got ten minutes to spare. So—want to talk about it?”
I look over at her again before reaching up to run my fingers through my hair, anxiously tossing it to the side. In all honesty, I’ve been dying to tell someone about Coder. I can’t tell Brooke, for obvious reasons. Ditto for Owen. As things stand, I’m the only one who knows my current dilemma, and I’m not offering myself any sage advice. On the contrary, I’m indulging in my fanciful dreams of the gorgeous tattoo artist who has a smile that makes my insides go squishy.
“He makes my insides go squishy,” I blurt out. Maribel grins, leaning forward in her chair as I continue, the words spewing from my mouth without restraint. “He’s totally hot in that casual, cool, sort of Dave Franco kind of way. He’s older—I mean, not that much older—but his confidence makes him seem older than he is. He winks at me a lot. And I think he likes my eyes. I met him last week at a party, and he’s invited me over to his place for another party tonight.”
“Wow,” she says on a chuckle. “I love everything about this. You’re going, right? Oh! What are you going to wear?”
I inhale, my mouth open and ready to respond, and then I immediately deflate, realizing that I know exactly what I want to wear tonight, which makes me feel totally and completely guilty. Then, because I have no one else to confide in at the moment, I admit, “I want to go. I keep telling myself that I don’t, but I do. I shouldn’t, but I do.”
“Why shouldn’t you?”
“My best friend Brooke…she’s kind of into him.”
“Oh-kay,” she mutters, furrowing her bro
w at me. “But it sounds like he’s kind of into you.”
I open my mouth to protest, but my words get stuck in my throat. I purse my lips together, staring at Maribel, unable to deny how good it feels to hear her say what I’ve been trying not to believe since he sent me that text on Wednesday. It’s silly to get my hopes up, I know, and I’m trying so hard not to. Even if he isn’t the bad news I assumed he was, he’s still way out of my league.
Finally, my voice no louder than a whisper, I tell her, “I don’t know what to do.”
“Oh, sweetie, you’re thinking too hard,” she says, smiling at me endearingly. “You just met him, right?” I nod before she asks, “And Brooke? She just met him, too?” I nod again, and she dips her chin, as if I’ve told her everything she needs to know. “All right, can I offer you some advice?”
“Please,” I agree, clasping my hands together in my lap as I offer her my full attention.
“Let him decide. Don’t choose for him by taking yourself out of the running. If you think you might like him, you owe it to the both of you to go to this party and at least talk to him a little. Maybe things work out, maybe they don’t, but you’ll never know if you don’t put yourself out there.”
“But isn’t there some rule? Some girl code?”
She sighs, sitting back in her chair as she crosses her arms over her legs. Her eyes drift over to her daughter, and she shakes her head before looking back at me. “Life is short, Kenzie. Too short. Too fragile. The only code people should live by is to love hard and forgive often. But from what I understand, Brooke has no claim over him. He’s not her boyfriend. You aren’t stealing him from her. If in the end he chooses you, shouldn’t your best friend just be happy that you’re happy?”
What she has said makes sense, and yet it doesn’t make me feel any better. I want to believe that if Coder—by some miracle—didn’t get distracted by Brooke and wanted to spend time with me, that she wouldn’t fuss about it. But the truth is, I’m not so certain that’s how things would play out. Brooke isn’t passive, not when she wants something.
