“How about you, honey?” Mom asks Dillon. “Are you getting settled? Have you…have you heard from Steph?”
I love my mom. I really do. But, Jesus, she doesn’t understand the meaning of boundaries sometimes. My dad clears his throat as Tanner and I shift awkwardly next to each other. I keep my eyes on my plate, both wanting to peek up and see my brother’s face and dreading what I’d find there—because I know exactly what I’d find. I remember the exact look I’d find in his eyes, because I was there. When he wouldn’t talk to anyone else about the reasons behind the divorce, he’d talk to me. Maybe—probably—because of what I’d already been through. I talked to him on the phone, Skyped with him whenever I could, as he dealt with the aftermath of what was done to him by that bitch who was once my sister-in-law.
“I’m getting settled fine. And no.” Dillon’s responses are curt, and my mom looks wounded by the tone of his voice. I can’t exactly blame him, though. Sunday night dinner with your family, talking about your wife who not only cheated on you, but did so with your best friend…while you were deployed? Yeah, I’ll pass.
Silence descends over the table. I can’t fight it anymore, and I peek up at Dillon. Really take him in for the first time tonight. His blond hair isn’t as closely cropped as it used to be, like he hasn’t had the time or the desire to get a trim. His face isn’t clean shaven like usual, instead sporting some scruff, and the bags under his eyes couldn’t be camouflaged even if he borrowed some of my concealer. He looks…exhausted. Haunted. Defeated. My brother, one of the baddest badasses to ever walk the planet. The same brother who went through three tours in Iraq and Afghanistan and who bears the scars to prove it. And it fucking kills me to witness the aftermath of his wife’s—ex-wife’s—betrayal.
It’s like living mine all over again.
Once again, I have to clench my hands into fists in my lap, trying to stifle the anger that bubbles up whenever I think of his cheating wife and his shitty friend. Seeing this…seeing him…is just another reminder, though. It’s been almost a year since he caught that bitch screwing around on him, and he’s still devastated about it.
More proof that love is for suckers and fools and has absolutely no place in my life.
THIRTEEN
adam
I stand off to the side on the putting green, leaning on my golf club as I watch the other two couples grope and make-out as we play a round of mini-golf. Fucking mini-golf. With five people.
Five.
Because Paige bailed on our little group outing.
I thought not seeing her over the week was a coincidence. Once again, most of my time has been spent at the shop, and I’ve been eating at my parents’ when I can to placate my mom, who’s still pissed I moved out. My assumptions all week were shot to hell when I showed up tonight and Tessa informed me Paige wasn’t able to make it because she was busy with work.
Work. Right.
“Adam! You’re up,” Jase yells, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I dig my hot pink golf ball out of my pocket and put it on the green, then take my shot, sinking a hole-in-one. Normally I’d be thrilled with that outcome, but that means I have absolutely nothing else to focus on other than the direction my thoughts naturally go every time they’re not occupied. Straight back to Paige.
“Hey,” Tessa says as she comes up to me, smiling as she bumps her hip into mine.
“Hey.” I glance up, noticing Jase is busy trying—and failing—to get his ball through the windmill obstacle. That would explain why Tess is by me now, since both couples have been using the putting green as if it were their own personal hotel room. Cade and Winter are making out by the little bridge right now.
“You okay?” she asks.
“Me? Yeah. Fine. Why?”
She shrugs and links her arm through mine. Staring straight ahead, watching her boyfriend fumble with his putts, then proceed to kick the green and swear a blue streak, she says, “I didn’t know she wasn’t coming until we pulled up, otherwise I would’ve told you.”
“Who said I was hoping for anyone else to be here?”
Huffing out a breath, she gives me a tiny pinch on the underside of my arm. Tiny, but fuck, those hurt the worst.
“Ow! Jesus, Tess. Don’t abuse me.”
“Don’t lie to me,” she counters.
I stare at her, her eyes meeting mine in challenge, a single eyebrow raised. With a clenched jaw, I concede with a nod. “Fine. Yes, I thought Paige would be here. Mini-golf with two couples isn’t exactly on my list of must-do activities.”
“Aw, I’m sorry. Are we being horrible?”
Horrible? No. Obviously committed to each other and barely restraining themselves from going at it in a public place? Yeah… “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
She stands with me for a while longer, watching as Jase fails at mini-golf. “She’ll come around,” she finally says. Tessa squeezes my arm before dropping hers and heading over to Jason now that he’s finally sunk his ball. Before she gets too far, she turns back to me. “Just keep pushing her. Don’t give up, and don’t give in. Not yet.”
It sounds to me like she just gave me the green light, even though it’s obviously not what Paige wants. With a raised brow, I say, “Thought you were her best friend.”
“I am.”
“And don’t best friends usually look out for the other’s best interests?”
She grins at me and winks. “What do you think I’m doing?”
once i arrive at the apartment building after mini-golf, I don’t even pause before I bang on Paige’s door. As soon as I was able to without looking like an asshole, I bailed and headed home with the sole intent to find out if she was telling Tessa the truth about what she was doing tonight, or if my suspicions are correct and she hung me out to dry because she wanted—or needed—to avoid someone. Me, specifically.
After I continue with another round of knocks—it’s pretty hard to pretend she’s not home when her car is parked right out there next to mine—she finally answers the door. And I know my suspicions of her avoidance are right. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, a sheen of sweat covering every inch of skin I can see—and it’s a lot of skin thanks to the tank top and booty shorts she’s got on—and streaks of dirt on her face. Work, my ass.
“What’s up?” she asks, like she didn’t totally ditch me and leave me to endure the wrath of two couples by myself.
“I can’t believe you just…just…left me there. To suffer on my own. I thought we’d managed a form of friendship here.”
She crosses her arms, the act doing nothing to help keep me from looking at her breasts in that flimsy piece of cotton. How this girl looks hot in a ratty tank top with dirt all over her, I’ll never know, but she does it and she does it well. “Hey, bud, it’s not my fault I’ve got all the brains in this duo.”
I brace my hands on the doorframe and lean toward her. “I thought about bailing, too, but I was being considerate, not wanting to leave you there with them by yourself.”
She tilts her head to the side. “Oh. See. There’s the difference. I’m not considerate.”
That pulls a laugh from me, and her answering smile is worth the ninety minutes I suffered in the presence of two disgustingly in-love couples. I drop my arms and prop my shoulder on the frame, slipping my hands in my pockets. “So, really, why didn’t you show up? Because I’m calling bullshit on your work story,” I say, gesturing to her appearance.
She snorts and rolls her eyes. “I didn’t show up for the same reason you bailed early. God, they make me wanna puke with all their lovey talk. Baby this and babe that.” She pretends to dry-heave. “I seriously thought I was going to hork up my dinner last weekend during Cornhole. Honestly, they all still have names. They could use them once in a while.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous.”
Her mouth drops open, her hands falling to her sides. “Jealous. Jealous? Jealous?”
“Saying it a bunch
won’t change the meaning of the word.”
“I know that, smartass. That was my incredulity at your accusation.”
I shrug. “You can deny it all you want, but I know the truth.”
“Oh, really? And what truth is that?”
“You want someone to call you baby.”
If I hadn’t been watching, I would’ve missed how she paused for a split second, her entire body going taut before she glares at me, shaking her head. “You’re an idiot.”
Her lips speak the words, but her body is telling me more than her mouth ever could. And I didn’t miss the way she froze when I said that. And I definitely don’t miss the spots of color high on her cheeks or the way she rubs her fingers over her thumbnails—a tell I’m not even sure she realizes she has. I wouldn’t call it a nervous tic…maybe unsettled. She did it almost constantly while we were watching the movie last week, and that’s enough to coerce me into doing what Tessa said and push…just enough.
“Not a very nice endearment, but we’ll work on it, honey pie.”
She huffs out a laugh. “Honey pie? Are you serious right now?”
“No good? That’s okay, I’ve got a whole pile of them to try out, cuddle bear.”
She rolls her eyes, her lip curling. “Oh my God. You do realize we’re not a couple, right?”
“That’s what makes this so fun.”
“We obviously have very different definitions of the word ‘fun’.”
“I don’t know, it looks like you had some fun tonight,” I say with a nod toward her appearance. “Go mud wrestling?”
“Rock climbing, actually.”
I laugh, but when she just continues to stare at me, I say, “You—wait, are you serious?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? You get a lot of girls who lie about going rock climbing?”
No. None, actually, but why should that surprise me with Paige? The list of her qualities that turn me on is too long to count, but this is just one more to add at the end of the ridiculously lengthy list. And once again, Tessa’s words give me enough of a nudge to take another step.
“So I have a proposition for you…”
* * *
paige
I stare at him, not certain I heard him right, because seriously? I’m not sure if I should be insulted or turned on. If the hard points of my nipples and the tingling in my lady bits are anything to go by, I’m definitely the latter. But that shouldn’t come as a surprise. Everything having to do with Adam turns me the hell on. He could probably walk around in a giant hot dog costume and I’d be all, “Let me ride your wiener!”
“I just want to make sure I have this right… You want to go on non-date date nights where we do the least romantic things possible to balance out having to spend time with the fixated foursome. Is that right?” It’s like my dream dude fell from the sky and was delivered right to my front porch for my very own personal consumption. It’s proof God loves me and wants me to be happy. But surely there’s a catch. Maybe he picks his nose when no one’s watching. Or maybe he secretly belches the alphabet just like Brent. The issue is, I think I’d even forgive him for it. And that is a goddamn problem of epic proportions.
Adam nods, his stance casual as he leans against the doorframe, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. “That about sums it up, yes.”
“And what would these non-dates consist of? Are we talking about movies?”
“Only if they’re horror and only if we watch them while in ratty clothes we’d never wear in public.”
Oh my God, can he see into my very soul? “Dinner?”
“If we must have sustenance, I imagine it’ll consist of whatever we can throw together from our fridges, pizza, or the occasional swing through a Taco Bell drive-thru.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Did Tessa tell you about my love for Taco Bell?”
“She did not.”
Okay. He can clearly read my mind. He’s absolute perfection all wrapped up in the prettiest package of male specimen I’ve ever seen. Why is God testing me?
Someone clears their throat loudly on the landing, and I don’t have to glance around Adam to know it’s Mrs. Connelly from the apartment next to his. I know I should be nice to her—respect my elders and all that—because she’s approximately one hundred forty-two, but the truth is she’s a crotchety old lady who spends too much time with her nose in everyone else’s business and not enough time doing things like learning how to be a decent human being. Rolling my eyes, I reach out and grab Adam’s arm, ignoring the heat of it under my palm, how rock freaking hard it is, and tug him inside my apartment before slamming the door behind him.
“If you wanted to invite me in, all you had to do was ask.” His smile is smug and it should look stupid on his face, but it’s like my nipples are hooked up to his mouth via jumper cables, and every time he grins, they get a little jolt of electricity. Honestly, have my nipples ever been this hard for this long?
“If I didn’t pull you in here, Mrs. Connelly would’ve stood out there, clearing her throat until one of us asked her if she was okay. Then she would’ve proceeded to tell us what horrible human beings we are because we didn’t help her carry in her groceries on Sundays when she goes shopping or get her mail for her since we’re already up there getting ours.”
“You sound like you speak from experience.”
I shrug and walk toward my kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from my fridge. Adam came pounding on my door about thirty seconds after I walked in, and I’m thirsty as hell from working my ass off on the rock climbing wall. “I’ve lived here a while.”
“Yeah? How long?” he asks from the living room.
After I’ve downed the bottle and tossed it in the recycling, I walk toward him, ordering myself to keep my eyes up. Eyes up, Bennett. Do not look at his ass. Don’t do it. “It’s been about three years, I think.”
“You like it?”
I glance around my space and feel that happy sort of contentment that I spent a lot of my life searching for, especially after Bryan. It’s nothing fancy. A single bedroom apartment with a living room, tiny kitchen, and even tinier bathroom. It’s filled with the ever-popular garage sale chic, plus a few castoffs my parents or brothers tossed in. Mixed together with my eclectic taste in everything else, and it’s a decorating clusterfuck. But I love it. I love my vintage House on Haunted Hill poster next to the world map my dad gave me, a rainbow of push pins decorating it. I love that my bright purple throw rug doesn’t at all match the couch my parents had the majority of my teenage years before they upgraded. I love that I have my collection of horror movies and true crime novels on the beat-up bookcase Tanner found by the dumpster of his building. The one he helped me sand down and paint a bright, vibrant blue.
“Yeah. I love it.”
He nods and walks over to the worn map above my couch, and I fail at the goal I gave myself. My eyes drift down to take in his sweet ass in those jeans. Jeans so threadbare, there are tiny holes by the pockets. They’re small enough that all I see beyond them is darkness. But maybe that’s because he’s wearing black boxer briefs like he wore the night we slept together. I can’t stop myself from thinking about walking over to him, unbuttoning his jeans and sinking to my knees to find out exactly what color they are.
“What do all the different colors mean?” he asks.
My head snaps up, and I don’t have to look in a mirror to know I have guilt written all over my face. Jesus, he really is a mind-reader. When he raises an eyebrow and gestures to the colored pins stuck all over my world map, I breathe a sigh of relief.
Dragging myself away from thoughts of what kind of undies he’s wearing, I glance at the map. “Red is me. Green is Tanner. Blue is Dillon. All the places we’ve lived. Yellow are the places my parents lived before they had us. Purple are the places I want to travel to someday.”
He turns back to face the map as he studies it, and I make a conscious effort not to shift under his scrutiny. He threw me off guard, caught me whe
n I wasn’t thinking. My reaction to him knowing this information about me is stupid. It’s just a map, names of places I’ve been and want to go someday, but it’s me on that map. My past. My present. My future. Sharing that with him makes me feel…open. Vulnerable. In a way I’ve only ever allowed myself to be with one other guy. The only other guy who’s ever held the power to devastate me.
“You’ve got me beat by a dozen,” he says.
Clearing my throat, I force my voice to come out strong and am pleased when only the tiniest waver enters it. “Yeah? Where’ve you lived?”
“Just here and Colorado.”
While I’ve never loved moving around so much, I also can’t imagine only ever having lived in two places. I’m perfectly happy to stay where I am now, but I think a huge part of that contentment comes from having already seen a lot of the world. Not able to stop myself, I ask, “Are you content with that?”
“Yeah. I’ve never had the wanderer gene, I guess. I mean, I’d love to visit some of these places, but that’s all. Visit and then come home. I can’t imagine what it was like to live in Italy. I’ve always wanted to go there.”
“To be honest, I don’t remember much about it. I was pretty young, and we were only there for a year.”
“Did that suck? Moving around so much?”
“It was all I knew. I don’t regret it, but I also have no desire to live anywhere else now that I’m here.” He doesn’t have to know about my failed plans to move away for college and the boy who dashed said plans.
He stares at me in a way that makes me uncomfortable. He has that way about him. Adam doesn’t casually glance at someone. He looks, really looks. But more than that, he sees. I force myself to stand still. To not fidget. To not show any more of myself than he’s already wrung from me today. Hoping to divert his attention, I say, “You didn’t tell me what else these non-dates will consist of besides movies and shitty food. I’m not agreeing to anything until you give up the goods, dude.”
Paige in Progress (Reluctant Hearts #3) Page 9
