by LK Farlow
The rest of our meal is full of small talk and town gossip, and it’s just the thing I need to get my mind off Drake Collins.
2
Drake
“Stubborn-ass woman, I swear,” I mutter as I trudge from Southern Roots back to my truck. “Hard-headed as they come.”
With my frustration at an all-time high, some hard work will do me right. Suddenly, that fence I’ve been putting off building seems like a real good idea.
With my mind made up, I point my truck in the direction of home. On the way, I pull out my phone and dial up my dad. He’s been on me about getting this done, so I know he’ll be thrilled I’m finally getting around to it. I should have done it last month, but time just got away from me.
Now here we are, three weeks from Thanksgiving, but hey, at least it’ll be cool out. Dad answers on the third ring. “Son, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Thought we could start the fence?”
“Right now?” he asks.
“Yeah, now.”
“Son, it’s already past five. The sun’ll be long gone by the time you’re home.”
I punch the steering wheel and groan in frustration. “Yeah, you’re right. Guess I’ll start first thing tomorrow.”
“Sounds good, son. Come by the house for breakfast, and I’ll head out with you.”
“Will do, Dad. Love you.” I end the call just as I turn down my family’s long driveway. My house is first, then the house my dad shares with my stepmom, Didi—that woman is a saint. She and my dad met shortly after he and Mom divorced. It wasn’t messy or painful—their split was totally mutual, which may seem weird to some, but it is what it is. Beyond their house are our crops and barns.
Still feeling restless and antsy, I text my lifelong friend Simon. Maybe he’ll be down for a nighttime run.
Drake: Run?
Simon: Now?
Drake: Yup. Down by the pier.
Simon: Sounds good. See you in a few.
With a new plan in mind, I quickly strip out of my jeans and T-shirt, exchanging them for some Nike shorts and an Under Armour compression shirt. I lace up my kicks, and I’m back out the door.
Fifteen minutes later, Simon and I are eating up the asphalt one step at a time, racing down the same path by the bay that we’ve been using since high school.
Simon and I met on the first day of kindergarten, and he was always out at our house during harvest seasons when my dad would bring his dad on for work. Hell, we stayed close even after I moved with Mom to Arkansas. And when I moved back, it was like no time had passed, other than his scrawny ass filling out and him all but adopting a pint-sized redhead and her snarling blonde friend as his “little sisters.”
After two miles of running in silence, void of all our usual small talk and bullshit, Simon slows us to a slow jog. “Azalea?”
He never was one to beat around the bush, and he’s certainly never hesitated on calling me on my shit. “Yeah, Azalea.”
“Y’all ever gonna get together?”
I scrub a hand over my face. “Us getting together ain’t the problem. It’s staying together. She’s got it stuck in her pretty little head that I don’t want strings.” He shows no reaction to the fact that I just shared that Azalea and I have been sleeping together. Odd. Shaking my head, I grunt in annoyance. “Girl’s got it wrong. I want more than strings. I want chains.”
“Hmm.”
Here we go. “Hmm what, Simon?”
“Well, and this is just a thought, but have you ever actually told her you want more?”
“I mean, I guess?”
“You don’t sound so sure. You either have or you haven’t.”
“I’ve told her we were a long time coming and that I’ve always wanted her, and just today, I told her how good we are together. So, yeah, I’ve told her.” My voice comes out strong and confident. Too bad Simon’s about to crush that confidence like a tin can.
“You’re an idiot. That’s not telling her how you feel. That’s telling her you like the way she makes you feel, if you catch my drift.” Judging from the confused look on my face, Simon can see, clearly, that I’m not catching his drift. “Dude, you basically made it sound like you enjoy fucking her.”
Is he right? I mean, I do, but . . . “Aw, hell.” Yeah, he’s totally right. “I’m such an asshole.”
“Pretty much, brother.” Simon claps me on the back, like that’ll somehow detract from the fact that I’m a pea-brained dickbag.
“How do I fix this? She’s it for me. Always has been.” My voice sounds foreign—rough and full of agony.
“Gotta step up your game. Don’t just play to win. Play for keeps.”
After dropping his little wisdom-bomb, Simon picks back up his pace, leaving me to ponder on just how I should step up my game. Azalea isn’t exactly your typical girl.
Flowers? Hell no. She’d probably throw them in my face. In her opinion, flowers are a “just because” sort of thing, not an actual gift.
Dinner and a movie? We’ve done that countless times as friends, so that’s a no-go. It doesn’t say different. It doesn’t say relationship.
No, I gotta think big. Bigger than big. And maybe even bigger than that.
By the time I catch back up to Simon, he’s grinning like he’s got a secret. My guard instantly goes up.
“Took ya long enough, D.” I shoot him a look that screams shut up. So, naturally, he keeps talking. “Cash called while I was waitin’ on your slow ass. Asked if I could watch B-Man tomorrow night. Seemed sorta desperate. Told him I was a no-go.”
“You got a point here, or what?”
“Point is, I told him you would.”
“Of course you did,” I spit at him, trying to sound mad. It’s impossible though. Cash and I have been friends since we were barely teenagers, both living in Arkansas at the time. It’s kind of fucking crazy how we both ended up back in Dogwood—me at sixteen, when my mom decided to take an overseas job, and him this past year after things went way, way south with his ex. And even if Cash wasn’t one of my closest friends, his son, Brody, is the best baby in the history of babies, and I’m always down to chill with that little dude.
“C’mon, let’s grab a bite to eat. Cash said he’d text you the details.”
3
Azalea
“Knock, knock,” I call out as I step through the already-open front door at the Carson household.
“Hey, Az! I’m so-so-so glad you’re here early,” Myla says as she rushes past me with Brody bundled in her arms. “Help me get ready?”
“That’s what I’m here for, sister-girl. Now, gimme that baby,” I tell her, making grabbing hands at Brody.
She passes him to me and gestures for me to follow her. Once we make it to the master bedroom, I gently lower us into the glider she has in the corner. “So, what all do you have left to do to get ready for your big night, Mama?”
“Uh. Everything!” Myla Rose throws herself back onto her bed, landing with one arm thrown across her eyes.
“Okay, drama queen, be real for a minute.”
Rolling to her side, she tells me, “No, really. Look at me!” So, I do, and on closer inspection, she’s got spit-up in her hair, dark circles under her eyes, and she’s dressed in one of Cash’s shirts with mismatched socks. Holding back my laughter, I nod for her to continue. “I need to pack, get everything set up for you and B-Man, I need to do my hair, my face, and get dressed.” The pitch of her voice rises with each item on her to-do list, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Myles, chill. It’s only four. Y’all aren’t leaving until six. I’ve got Brody. Go shower. And as for setting out stuff for me, I’ve got this. I know your house like the back of my hand, and Brody is the sweetest little man on the planet. We got this!”
Myla Rose cuts her eyes at me, as if she’s unsure whether to believe me, so naturally, I ignore her and direct my words to the sweet little boy who’s happily snoozing against my chest. “Your mama thinks we don’t got thi
s, but we do, don’t we, sugars? We got this on lock, and Mama just needs to worry about herself and Daddy, yes her do.”
“Oh, Lord have mercy, I got it. I’m gonna go wash this rat’s nest on my head.”
“Be sure to shave!” I call after her.
Thirty minutes later, I hear Myla’s hair dryer click on, and that’s my cue. Carefully, I stand from the glider, making sure to keep Little Man’s head supported. After depositing him into his crib, I switch on his white noise machine and make my way back to Myla.
I step into her room just as she steps out of the bathroom. “Want me to curl your hair and do your makeup?”
“Yes, please, and thank you.”
I set to work curling her tresses, wrapping each section of hair around the barrel of the iron and then securing the curls with duckbill clips to set. While it’s cooling, I apply her makeup, keeping it light and dewy. Myla Rose is the very definition of natural beauty, with her freckle-dotted ivory skin, big brown eyes, and long fiery hair.
“Do you trust me to pick out your outfit?”
“Well . . . yeah . . .”
“Puh-lease, don’t sound so hesitant. You know damn good and well that I have phenomenal taste. Need I remind you of the dress I put you in for your first date with your now husband?”
“Hush, nobody likes a gloater.”
“No, but everyone likes to be well-dressed, so c’mon, to the closet we go.” She dutifully follows me to her closet and stands patiently while I flip through the hangers. “No. No. Hell no! Ooh, wait! Yes, this!” I hang the winner on the little antique brass hook she has on the back of the bathroom door before heading over to the armoire in the corner.
“AzzyJo, I think I can pick my own undergarments.”
“I’m sure you can, but I remember this set you bought a while back, and it’s just what you need.” Not to mention, I’m ninety-nine percent positive she’s never worn it. And sure enough, I find it, still in the bag, no less, stuffed in the very back of the top drawer.
“Here ya go,” I tell her, shoving the little pink-striped bag into her hands. “Go get dressed and then we’ll take your hair down.”
A few minutes later, Myla Rose steps out, dressed to kill in a stunning long-sleeved emerald crushed velvet dress. It has a demure neckline and hits her mid-thigh. The back of the dress, however, is all drama, with a deep vee that reaches to just before the swell of her hips. She looks gorgeous, and Cash is going to die. Gah! I wish I had someone to dress up for.
“Well, like always, you’re right. What shoes do I wear with this?”
“Take your curls down, and I’ll go look.” I rummage through the bottom of her closet for a minute or two before finding the most perfect little booties. I bring them to her in the bathroom, and she cocks her head to the side, studying the shoes.
“I don’t recognize those.”
“That’s because they’re mine. No clue how they ended up in your closet, but they’re exactly what this outfit needs, so who cares?” She slips them on and does a little twirl.
“Thank you so much, Azalea. I’d be lost without you.”
“Nah, you wouldn’t be lost. You’d just be frumpy.”
Just as she’s about to throw a comeback my way, we hear the sound of Cash’s truck in the driveway. “Oh, crap! I still need to pack!”
“So, pack. I’ll go stall that man of yours.”
I take the stairs two at a time, only to stumble over the last two. But, instead of face-planting onto the landing, I find myself wrapped in strong arms, with my face buried in a strong, familiar chest.
Drake’s chest.
“What’re you doing here?” My tone is snippy and accusing, and I hate it. I hate how he affects me.
“I’m here to babysit, Little Bit. What’re you doin’ here?”
“Uh. I’m here to . . . babysit too?”
His eyes gleam, and his smile widens as he pulls me closer to him. “If it isn’t my lucky day,” he murmurs, low and gritty in my ear, causing me to shiver. I need to pull away. Why haven’t I pulled away? Because these arms feel like home! yells the stupid voice in my head, but I shut her shit down real fast. There’s nothing home about Drake Collins. No, nothing at all.
I bring my hands to his shoulders, and he smirks down at me like he likes where this is going. That smirk drops to a frown when instead of leaning further into him, I shove him away. “You can go. I am perfectly fine watching B-Man by myself.”
“I’m sure you are, but I think I’ll stay.” UGH! This man!
I’m two seconds from tearing into him when Cash walks up. “Oh, hey, Azalea. I didn’t know you’d be here.” Lies. I can hear it in his voice, and his guilty, darting eyes only confirm it. This is a setup, which I guess I deserve, what with how I set him and Myla Rose up. Only, Drake and I will not have the same outcome they did. There’s no “I do” happily ever after bullshit for us. No way, no how.
“Mmmhmm. Nice.”
Drake playfully nudges my shoulder. “C’mon, Azalea, it’ll be fun to play house. Maybe we can even—”
“NOPE!” I cut him off, effectively putting an end to wherever his thoughts were headed, because Lord knows, it was nowhere good.
“Oh, good, you’re both here,” Myla quips as she descends the stairs, and just as predicted, Cash is awestruck when he sees his wife.
“Good God, darlin’.” His voice is hoarse, and it feels like we’re intruding on a private moment, so I grab Drake’s hand and pull him toward the kitchen.
“What was that for?” Drake asks once the happy couple is safely out of view.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, seriously.”
“I swear, you’re about clueless. They were having a moment, and we needed to skedaddle, unless voyeurism is your thing.”
“What? Oh! Yeah, good call,” he mutters, sounding sheepish.
“So, look, we need to lay a few ground rules for tonight, okay?”
“Rules? You think we need rules?”
“Yes, Drake. You know what happens every damn time we’re alone together.”
His features transform. His eyes go from confused to hungry, and he licks his lips as he scans my body, from toe to top. “I sure do, Bit.” He draws his bottom lip between his teeth, and damn if I’m not getting hot and bothered and falling right under his spell. This man. With eyes like whiskey, his stare fills me with the same warmth as a good single malt on a cold winter’s night.
“No, sir. Stop that right now!”
He takes a step closer. “Stop what?”
I take a step back. “That,” I tell him, waving a hand in his general direction.
He takes another step forward, and I realize I’m backed into the kitchen island, and I have nowhere to go. He brings his arms up, resting a hand on either side of me on the countertop, caging me. “You don’t mean that,” he whispers as he trails his nose along my neck and up to my ear. “You don’t mean that, not even a little.” I gulp, desperate for air, because he’s so right that it’s not even funny.
He brings his lips down on mine, and it’s game over. I’m once again swept up in the current that is Drake Collins.
Just as our kiss heats up, Drake pulls away. I lean toward him, more than ready to drown in his kisses, but instead, he boops me on the nose and heads back out to Cash and Myla Rose.
I linger in the kitchen, furious that I let him get to me again. I swear that man is like a drug. He’s addicting and yummy and so very bad for my health.
“AzzyJo, you coming?” Myla calls out from the hallway.
Gritting my teeth together, I compose myself and make my way to where everyone is congregated. Myla Rose flits her eyes from Drake to me and back again, but I ignore her. Tonight isn’t about me. It’s about her and Cash.
“I left Brody’s schedule on the chalkboard in the kitchen, as well as our hotel room number in case you need us,” Myla says.
“But, please, don’t need us,” Cash follows, but it’s obvious he’s joking. “We’
ll be back sometime tomorrow after lunch. You two . . . try not to kill each other, yeah?” Now, he’s not joking.
“Ha! Funny. Go on now, and have fun. We’ll be just fine, right, D?”
“More than fine,” he tells him, shooting me an indecipherable look. Or maybe it’s not indecipherable. Maybe it’s just that I don’t wanna know, because what I don’t know can’t hurt me. Right?
4
Drake
Azalea’s acting crazier than usual, fidgeting and tidying up Myla’s already spotless living room. She’s more wound up than a ball of yarn, and I know just how to unwind her, except that’s short-sighted. I need to be future-focused. Especially if I want her to be my future.
“Listen, maybe you’re right. Maybe we do need rules.”
She stops arranging the already tidy shelf and turns to face me. “You really mean that?”
“Yeah, Bit, I mean that.” I pat the spot next to me on the sofa. “Sit down, and we’ll hash them out.”
She takes the seat at the far end of the couch, and I smile—she doesn’t trust herself to be too close to me.
“Okay, rule one, no inappropriate touching.” She sounds so serious that I can’t even help the laugh that slips out. “What? Why’re you laughing?”
“Inappropriate touching? What is this, summer camp? Should we also stay an arm’s length apart while dancing?”
“Laugh all you want, Drake, but I mean it. No inappropriate touching. No dirty talk. No innuendos, none of it.”
“You play hardball, Bit.”
“Shake on it?” Azalea tilts her head and squinches up one eye, trying her hardest to look fierce and mean, when really, she looks about as mean as a mouse.
“Sure thing.” I extend my hand and grip hers. “I mean, as long as a handshake isn’t considered inappropriate.”
“UGH! You’re such an ass!” Her harsh tone is diluted by her laughter. “Did you hear that?”
