I flush, thinking of Kaede’s hands on my skin and that kiss, wondering if I’d like him spanking my ass while he took me from behind.
Violet sees the blush and elbows Abi. “Maybe we should get her some barely-there thong panties or something, leave those cheeks bare and target-worthy with the way she’s looking.”
Abi pinches my heated cheek, luckily my face and not my ass. She’s cheeky, but not that level of cheeky . . . I hope. “Did you torture Violet like this when she said she was marrying Ross?”
“Nope, but that’s because I knew Ross was a damn blind fool at the time who couldn’t pull his own head out of his ass over her,” Abi points out. “You, on the other hand, are a planner. You said yes because you’ve got a strategy. But don’t try to fool me, Little Miss Blushes a Lot. Don’t try to scheme a schemer because I am better at it than you’ll ever be.” She lays a heavy hand on each of my shoulders and forces me to look her straight in the eye. “Spill it, spill it all. Tell Sister Abigail all about how you want that man. Or I’ll get you drunk and you’ll spill your guts then, both literally and figuratively. Your choice. One way, you’ll feel fine tomorrow. The other, you feel like shit and end up on YouTube. I find out everything either way.”
Desperate to distract myself, I trace the lace bra that’s more air than fabric and know I would give near anything to wear this for Kaede. “Okay . . . okay. Yeah, I’ve been interested in him for a while, but he’s never shown any interest. And it’s not like I can game this, guys. It’s just for the Sanders deal.”
“Just for the Sanders deal,” Violet repeats, chuckling. “Yeah, and I just did it because Ross just happened to be the only man available for Papa to walk me down the aisle. Tell me another one.”
“Vi, it’s not like that!” I protest. “Sure, if the chips fall right, maybe, but . . .”
“But?”
“Okay, we kissed,” I admit. “You know, to make sure we were prepared. Like actors practicing for the big play. And it was hot. It was . . . everything.”
Abi hums happily, like a Pooh bear who just got her honey, as she dances around.
“Just be careful, Courtney,” Violet cautions, looking less woo-hoo than Abi and more nervous for me.
“It’s okay. I’m okay. I can handle this. I know what I’m doing and where my focus is and where Kaede’s is. It’ll all be okay.”
I know I’m reassuring them, but it feels like I’m reassuring myself too. Because admitting that I woke up the other morning wishing I were at Kaede’s home instead of my apartment, and that I could have woken him up with a long kiss and maybe some long, slow, dawn breaking morning lovemaking is a risk. A risk I won’t take. Those fantasies are just for me.
We finish our shopping at Interior Refreshments, each of us splurging on some sexy lingerie. I know I’ll only wear it privately, but I can pretend it’ll be for Kaede.
We head through the food court when suddenly, a familiar voice rings out, and we run into Archie. That’s actually easier than you’d think because people are giving him a bit of a wide berth as he struts through the mall in plaid pants tucked into combat boots, a bright yellow shirt with carefully constructed rips hand-braided together, and an armful of studded leather and chain bracelets.
“Hey, babes, knew you’d be here,” he teases.
“Because you’re tracking me?” Violet says sarcastically.
“Duh, of course, I am. You pay me to track you, your schedule, your work, and your whole, entire life.” He raises a black eyebrow, daring her to disagree. Violet smartly stays quiet. “Which is why I’m here. And your orders will be ready any minute.”
As if on Archie’s cue—because aren’t we all just players in Archie’s play?—the Starbuck’s guy calls out, “Archibald?”
“Sit,” he directs Violet, obviously not caring if Abi and I sit but taking the utmost care of the pregnant Violet.
Well trained, we take a table as instructed, and Archie grabs our drinks from the counter. Dispersing them, he nails all our preferences. “Double skinny whip latte for Abi, triple ’spresso with cocoa sprinkles for you, Court, and Vi, sorry, babe, but you’re on a no-caf frap spree. I ain’t hurting my little niece or nephew with that demon caffeine.”
I take a sip, humming my appreciation. “Damn, you’re good, Archie. Almost as good as Jillian.”
Archie grins, taking a sip from his own drink, which is something pink and covered with double whipped cream. “Please, Courtney. I’m better than she is. Which is why I’m here. Vi, time to go. Work to do, chop-chop.”
Abi sets her cup down, laughing lightly. “Isn’t she supposed to be the boss?”
“Funny.” Archie gives Abi a dry look. “She’s only the boss because I don’t want to pay for the liability insurance.” To Violet, he snaps, “Now let’s go! You’ve got that appointment with Mrs. Montgomery in thirty minutes, and there’s a traffic jam on the way.”
Wow. Archie is on it. “So, Vi, what room in her mansion are you designing now?”
Violet picks up her bags, taking a deep drink of her cup and wincing. I’m sure the decaf version of her favorite is not the same. “The kitchen. Normally, I’d say heart of the home, but I’ve been working with the house manager and chef more than Bitchella.”
Archie tuts even as he grins. “Don’t call her that.”
“You started it!”
“And I am finishing it,” he sasses with a cutting motion to his neck. “Anyway, Mrs. M. fixed me up with her nephew, and we bonded over the rich bitches of Monte Carlo, even if we’re not sparking.” He makes a jack-off motion now, leaving nothing to misunderstand. For us, or the full tables of people around us. Archie doesn’t care a bit, above it all and filterless.
“No sparks?”
Archie shakes his head. “Nope. He’s Jack, I’m Will, and I need to get Grace here to the meeting. This kitchen needs to be on point for our monthly brunch Sundays because I like my eggs like I like my men . . . over easy. So hustle up! Lady with a baby coming through!”
Vi cringes as Archie starts herding traffic. “I’ve got to go, apparently. Love you both.”
Abi and I toast Violet, chuckling as the two of them disappear. Abi and I relax, enjoying our coffees, until Abi smacks her lips. “You really should be careful, you know.”
Ah, here it comes. Time for Abi to scheme again. Ross broods, I brain, and Abi schemes. It’s what life is like with my siblings. Thankfully, after this long, I don’t get drawn in easily. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Honestly, when I hooked up Vi and Ross, I knew their deal and I played all the odds. Worst-case scenario, they walk away with a better relationship than they had in high school. Best-case, they finally ignited. You and Kaede? I don’t know. I don’t know what to tell you and I don’t like that, not a bit.”
“Oh? That might be the first time I’ve ever heard you not have advice.”
Abi shrugs softly. “Yeah, well, let’s face it, Court. All three of us—you, me, and Ross—are peas of the same pod. We like to set things up like dominoes and then watch them fall with a certain predetermined satisfaction. Ross and you do it in business and I do it outside of business. But Ross and Vi taught me something important. People aren’t dominoes, and I can’t predict everything that happens.”
“That’s remarkably . . . mature, Abi.”
Her lips twist. “Don’t sound so surprised. I am your older sister, after all.”
“So, what advice do you have?” I love my sister dearly, but I can’t remember the last time I asked her for advice, even though she is remarkably smart. It’s just in a different way than my brainiac tendencies.
She holds a finger up and closes her eyes. Her lids move as though she’s looking at something behind them. She’s silent for so long that I take a sip of my coffee, and then another.
“What are you doing?” I finally ask, interrupting her apparent spontaneous meditation session.
One eye peeks open. “I’m trying to decide if I should tell you to lock up shop and keep
your legs crossed or tell you that as long as you’re faking, you might as well get some real dick out of the deal because it sounds like this is all for Kaede’s benefit. Real dick, especially dick you’ve been lusting after for years, sounds like the least of what you should get.”
“Abi,” I chastise, “it’s not like that.”
“You’re right, Miss Goody Two-Shoes. Do NOT, under any circumstances, get under, on top of, in front of, or in any other position with Kaede. It’s a bad idea, a really bad idea that could be catastrophic and lead to such awful things as orgasms and a happily ever after. I forbid it.”
God, my sister. All of that, with all of her deep, soulful words . . . all to tell me in a roundabout, reverse psychology way that she thinks I should try to turn this fake thing with Kaede into something real.
I shake my head, sipping my coffee. “Heard and noted. So, tell me. When’s it gonna be your turn to scheme your way in with a guy?”
“Fuck, I don’t know. Does the domino know when it’s being set up to fall? No, it doesn’t know a thing, and then . . . boom. I’m just a cute little domino, unaware whether I’m standing or in the box. Just know that my box and your box are very empty right now.”
I lean back, laughing.
Chapter 13
Kaede
Me: You up? I’m 15 out from your place. See you in a few.
I’m almost certain that Courtney is the early to bed, early to rise type, with the whole ‘early bird gets the worm’ mentality. But for all I know, Sunday mornings are her lazy days.
Another thing I need to know about her—does she ever have a lazy day? The idea of her soft with sleep, hair mussed, and wearing only a gauzy nightgown that barely covers her ass is something else I desperately want to know . . . intimately.
Courtney: What? Are you serious?
Me: Dead serious, honey.
I chuckle as I tap out my reply to Courtney’s text. I won’t overanalyze it, but it felt good and natural to call Courtney ‘honey’.
Me: Dress for a run.
Courtney: No.
I pause, trying to decide if she’s really saying no or just a grumpy riser.
Me: Yes?
Courtney: Fine.
Success! A good thing, too, because I’m out the door and on my way to Courtney’s as soon as my phone vibrates in my hand. A small part of me—okay, more like a very big part of me—is hoping that if I make it in under fifteen minutes, I’ll catch her before she gets fully dressed. Thankfully, I planned ahead and have on compression shorts beneath my workout shorts to try and prevent too much of a show. On my part, at least.
I pull up outside Courtney’s apartment building and look up, my brain taking charge over my cock and making me debate whether I should go upstairs or not. Fantasy aside, that might be too dangerous. If I go upstairs into Courtney’s place and she’s not fully dressed and ready to go . . .
Well, we’d work up a sweat, at least.
Yeah. But I’m not sure if that’s the best idea, no matter what my dick thinks.
This is fake, I remind myself. She’s doing you a solid. Don’t take advantage. Ross will kill you.
Thankfully, the decision is made for me as Courtney comes out a few seconds later, looking as sexy and amazing as I thought she would.
She hasn’t dressed for trying to look good, I can tell. Her hair’s pulled back into a plain, functional ponytail, she’s wearing the same workout shorts I’ve seen her in at One Life a dozen times, and she’s wearing a T-shirt.
But as she gets closer, I can’t help but notice she’s wearing an old hand me down T-shirt, a high school football team shirt from back when Ross and I were playing. And my mind starts ticking away, moving puzzle pieces around as I try to figure out what that means.
One thing’s for sure. She fills it out a lot better than her brother ever did.
“Good morning,” Courtney says as she sits down, giving me a dynamite smile. Up close, I can see she’s bare-faced except for a little bit of lip gloss that makes her look very kissable. But she’s ready to work, too.
“Good morning. You look fabulous,” I tell her honestly. “You ready?”
“I’m always ready.”
Courtney’s sass is in full force this morning. I like that she’s herself with me now, not the analytical force of nature who’s always considering each step, each word, each outcome before she acts. The relaxed version of Courtney is even sexier than the ball-busting version. It feels special, like a secret she doesn’t share easily.
“Yeah, you are.”
I don’t say anything else, just smiling as I drive. We leave the city proper and go outside the limits when Courtney gives me a wary look. When I pull into a small dirt parking lot and shift into park, she looks around at the vista in front of us.
“Heart Attack Hill?” she asks. “I changed my mind. I’m not ready for this.”
“Ross told you about this place, then? What did he say?” I’m fighting down a laugh at the pinched look on her face.
“That he puked more than once,” Courtney admits. “Looking at it, I can see why. And FYI, I refuse to puke on a date. It’s unbecoming.”
“Don’t worry, I’m smarter than I was back then,” I promise her, getting out and coming around to her door. “Back then, we did what we called ten, twenty, thirty. Ten percent incline, twenty yards, thirty sprints.”
“Seriously? What psychopath taught you that insanity?” Courtney asks, getting out. As she passes me, only a scant inch between us, I get a whiff of her shampoo as her ponytail swishes. I want to bury my nose in it while sucking on her neck.
I shrug. “Would you believe Sports Illustrated? I read an article about how Jerry Rice worked harder than anyone, and it’s something similar to what he did. He was something of an idol.”
“So, what’ll we do that won’t kill me?” Her hands on her hips, she looks up the hill with narrowed eyes.
“Fifteen runs,” I assure her. “Run up, walk back down to the start to recover, then up again. I know you’ve got the legs for it.”
“You’ve been checking out my legs?” Courtney teases, digging a toe into the dirt and turning her leg to show off the muscle. It’s a damn good leg show. With no shame, I nod as my eyes inch up the tanned flesh. She blushes and looks me over too. “Maybe I’ve done a bit of the same.”
“You can tell me all about it as we warm up,” I promise her. “Just nice and light, walk up and down twice with some stretching. That doesn’t count toward the fifteen.”
We get started, and like our first ‘date’, we spend a lot of time just exchanging information, filling in the gaps and shading in what we’ve learned about each other so far.
“We need to move into some touchier subjects,” Courtney says hesitantly before the first sprint, but she takes off, and I’m on her heels, unable to question what she means until we reach the finishing mark at the top of the hill.
“Touchier?” I finally ask, huffing a bit. Forget all that super athlete bullshit about not breathing hard. You should be. It helps with flushing the body and preparing it for the next run.
“History. Any serious girlfriends, or have you always been more of a player type?” She seems to be preparing herself for the answer like she doesn’t really want the answer either way.
“Why?” I stutter, not wanting to go into that with her any more than she seems to want to hear it, judging by the way she’s already gearing up to protect herself. Her lips are pressed thin and her shoulders are creeping up, though she’s had perfect form the rest of our laps.
We do another lap, and I stop at the top of the trail, hands on my head as I catch my breath, and look at her.
She bends over, hands on her knees and panting too. After a few moments, she finally says, “Missy will have done her work on you. Jeffrey too. She’ll have looked into your entire sexual history, especially to figure out an in. It’s what women like her do. We might be the fairer gender, but bitches be crazy.”
She shrugs, as if sh
e has any idea what a ‘woman like Missy’ would do. But how could she? Other than sharing a gender, Courtney is nothing like Missy.
“She’ll take the first opportunity to throw it in my face. It’s strategy 101 to look like she knows something about my fiancé that I don’t. She’ll want to put me on edge, even better if it can be about a previous lover so she can make me feel inferior. So, I don’t need a number, but I need to know what ammunition she’s coming armed with so I don’t flinch.”
Shit. She’s right. What’s worse, I’m going to need the same info about her, except I’m not sure I’m man enough to listen to it without going a bit crazy.
As we walk down, I try to find the right way to say this, but there’s not really one. “I did the whole sow your oats thing in college a bit, but I was careful. I didn’t want to do anything to fuck up my scholarship. Since then, it’s been pretty . . . casual. I was too busy with work and keeping your brother out of trouble.” I swallow, digging deep to find my balls. “You?”
Courtney shakes her head as we reach the start line for the next run. “Too focused on studies. In four years of college, I had three boyfriends, and none of them lasted longer than a semester. Later, I was tits deep in work and my graduate studies. And it’s not exactly easy dating when you’re known as the Baby Andrews, Ice Queen Bitch of the Century.”
“What? That’s not true!” I protest. “No one calls you that. Well, the baby part, maybe. But not . . . the other.”
She tilts her head, staring at me with one raised brow. “They’d damn well better. Do you know how hard I have to work to have that reputation precede me so that people take me seriously?” She points a finger my way. “Damn fucking hard. So if they’re not calling me that, I’ll have to take it up another notch.”
My Big Fat Fake Engagement Page 15
