Beck’s feelings were hurt, and she was embarrassed. Stella turned all shades of red, and the others didn’t have a clue what to do as West, Brutus, whoever he currently was, stood there brooding. When his sister started to cry, he threw his hands in the air. Stella tended to her girlfriend, and the others hadn’t moved. I was taking a chance by trying to soothe the beast, but I’d been just as much a part of this as Beck—we all had. Every one of us had sat here and eaten the food she ordered and drank the beer she took from his fridge…well, I didn’t drink the beer.
I glanced at Ronnie who tilted her head in West’s direction, approving of my thought to try to talk to him. He stormed into the house just as I stood to go after him.
When I was feet from the door, Ronnie called out, “Good choice not to cover the goods. Entice him—better yet, distract him with the selection of desserts.”
I flipped her the middle finger and stuck my tongue out before crossing through the French doors. I’d expected to find him in his usual spot on the couch, but when he wasn’t there, I set off to locate him. Other than the living room and kitchen, I’d only been down the one hall that led to Beck’s part of the house. I glanced in that direction but didn’t see him. I felt like an intruder walking the halls of his home uninvited.
“Hey, Collier?” My voice carried over the sterile space. The marble amplified my words. I realized I started to whisper like I was in a library instead of someone’s home. “West?”
After several failed attempts, I reached what I believed to be the final unchartered hallway; although, I couldn’t be sure since I’d never been given a tour. I glanced out the window and saw his car still parked in the driveway, so he hadn’t gone far, but each room I passed turned up empty.
With one final call, he finally responded. “Yeah. I’m in here.”
I didn’t know where here was, but it didn’t take me long to find him sitting on the edge of a king-sized bed in the middle of a vast room. His head was in his hands, obviously frustrated. Collier didn’t look up when I approached, so I took it upon myself to take a seat next to him. When I sat on the comforter, the cool fabric reminded me of just how skimpy my swimsuit was. Chills ran up my body, and I wanted to ask to borrow a shirt, suddenly feeling exposed in his presence, even though he’d yet to glance up.
“Wanna talk about it?” I sucked at this kind of thing. I didn’t know how to be subtle or ease into conversations.
“What’s the point? Nothing’s going to change with her. She’s never going to grow up, and I’m going to be stuck dealing with her immature bullshit for the rest of my life.”
I wanted to play devil’s advocate, but Beck was immature, and she did take advantage of West. “It may come down to tough love.” Like I knew a damn thing about it.
“I can’t kick her out, Giselle.”
“No, but you could enforce some rules.”
He snickered with discontent. “Have you met my sister?”
I crossed my arms over my stomach when he finally dared to set eyes on me. I was far from self-conscious, but West put me on alert. His glance was fleeting, and he lay back on the mattress, covering his eyes with his forearm. Unsure of what to do, I lay back with him, still covering my stomach, and turned my head toward his.
“She’s a good person, Collier.” And that was true. Beck had a heart of gold. She would give anyone the shirt off her back and the last five dollars in her wallet. But with that, I had to acknowledge, she was able to do that because she used Collier to fund her generosity.
He moved his arm but didn’t face me. Instead, he stared at the ceiling as though it might have an answer. “She reminds me so much of my mom. Part of me wants to strangle her, and another part wants to hold her because she’s all I have left. All the good that was in my mom runs rampant through Beck, but her carefree, nonchalant attitude is hard to handle.”
Neither sibling talked about their parents. Beck told me they passed away when they were in their twenties but hadn’t elaborated. I didn’t know if I should broach the subject or let it go, but thankfully, he answered that question for me.
“Ever since my parents died, Beck has been my responsibility. I grew up, took over my father’s business, and tried to be an adult, but she’s hovered at the age they passed away. She’s still twenty living in a thirty-nine-year-old body. If something happens to me, Beck will be lost.”
“Maybe you should try to help her grow up instead of just catering to her whims?” I was the last person to give advice. I sucked at this type of thing, but I felt useless lying next to him listening to him unload.
He turned his sad eyes toward me. “I don’t know how to do that.”
“Have you thought about giving her a job at the company you own? Something she’d be good at and enjoy that might give her a sense of purpose? I don’t know this to be true, but I get the impression she lives this carefree lifestyle because she doesn’t have a clue what else to be.”
West seemed to ponder the thought too long. He peered into my eyes, but I couldn’t discern what he thought he’d find there. The weight of the air around us had become heavy, and I’d grown uncomfortable. The feeling of exposure went beyond being half-dressed on his bed—the way he stared at me, stripped me. His pupils dilated just slightly and the color warmed with golden hues. He licked his lips, and my mouth exploded with verbal vomit to alleviate the sexual tension I felt.
“You should let me drive your car.” When all else fails, catch someone off guard. Internally, I rolled my eyes at my insipid suggestion, but in the end, I’d gotten the desired response. Laughter.
“Not going to happen, Giselle.”
I grinned and rolled over to face him, propping my head on my hand. “I’m a really good driver.”
“Are you Rain Man?”
It took me a second to get the reference. “No, but I can assure you it will corner like it’s on rails.”
“So Pretty Woman…”
I giggled. There was another car I’d kill to drive. The Lotus Esprit was a fine piece of machinery. “Sports cars are far easier for women to drive. We have smaller feet. And, I’ll remind you, she ended up escorting Richard Gere to a very happy place.” I winked at him, trying to keep things playful.
“Fairytales only exist in movies, Giselle.”
“Who’s talking about a fairytale? I just want to drive the car.”
“Which in your world is a fairytale because it’s not going to happen.”
“You make no sense. You said yourself it’s just a car. You don’t park it in the garage because it’s easier to reach in the driveway where it’s exposed to weather, thieves, and miscreants. But you won’t let a fine lady with a love for speed get behind the wheel. What gives?”
“That’s exactly why I won’t let you drive it. I refuse to have your life on my hands when you can’t control the beast under the hood.”
“We are still talking about the car, right?”
He gave in and relinquished a smile. I might not have gotten to drive the Porsche, but that grin was a close second.
A week later, I got a text from Beck that Collier had offered her a job at West Enterprise. Her excitement came through loud and clear, as did her gratitude for calming her brother down and getting him to be reasonable. We hadn’t talked about anything I’d said to him when I’d gone back outside. They didn’t ask where I’d been or what I’d been doing, and I didn’t offer. West had steered clear of the group while we were there, and I hadn’t gotten any sobbing phone calls, so I’d assumed Beck had been allowed to live another day.
It made my heart happy that he’d taken my suggestion…now I just hoped it didn’t backfire. I told Beck she had to take it seriously and not make her brother regret the decision. But, I got the impression she was anxious to please him and show him she would rise to the challenge. It helped both of them in the long run: he got her stable and relinquished her financial need for him while giving her something to feel good about, and it would help her get back to her life with
Stella outside of West’s home. I prayed she didn’t blow it.
Personally, I was still hanging out at my boring job, doing anything I could think of to pass the time. I was on my third coat of OPI—today’s color choice: “Black Cherry Chutney.” I wondered how someone got that job. I wanted to be the person who came up with rock star names for bottles of polish. I could totally derive some killer color choices, but I bet I’d have to have a degree in molecular engineering or some shit. When my nails dried, I started researching the possibilities.
Between phone calls and a few text messages from Ronnie, I hadn’t made much progress. It seemed a well-guarded secret at the OPI facility, but the actual co-founder was still involved in the selections. Without a degree in marketing or advertising, it appeared my creative prowess wouldn’t be appreciated or entertained. I grunted my disapproval and cleared out my search engine.
Google Doodler would be my second chosen profession, but I didn’t make the cut for that one, either. I didn’t have programming or design ability, regardless of how cute my ideas might be. It was too late to determine I wanted more out of life, and I resigned myself to the phones and visitors of my current employer.
My cell dinged with an incoming text, taking me out of my daydreams. Heather and I had been talking for several weeks, and she was starting to push for an in-person meeting. I figured it would be her again trying to coax me into coffee or some other meaningless get-together. I hadn’t anticipated a message from West.
Collier: I got tickets to the ProAm Driving Experience. Wanna go?
I didn’t have a clue what the ProAm was, but anything with the words “driving” and “experience” in the title had to be fun.
Me: Of course. When is it?
Collier: Tomorrow.
Obviously, I wasn’t his first choice on the guest list, but I wasn’t proud. I Googled the Experience, and it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d asked me five minutes before we had to leave. Any chance to drive fast cars on a closed course was my idea of the perfect way to spend a weekend.
Collier: I just got the tickets. I know it’s last minute. I understand if you have plans.
Okay, so maybe he could read my mind.
Me: I’d love to.
Collier: I’ll pick you up at 10 am. Wear tennis shoes. You do own a pair, right?
Me: What are those?
Collier: I’ll see you in the morning.
Me: Can I drive your car there?
Collier: Bye, Giselle.
One day, he would let me get behind the wheel of that vehicle. I didn’t know when or how, but I’d wear him down.
The next morning, West knocked on my door precisely at ten. I’d been up for hours and struggled with my wardrobe selection. This wasn’t a date, but I still wanted to look attractive. I didn’t log hours of calorie burns for nothing, and it was hot outside. Finally, after a dozen outfit changes, I’d decide on shorts and a fitted T-shirt. With my hair in a curled ponytail and light makeup, I looked cute without appearing to have tried too hard. I didn’t want him to get the wrong impression. Not that he would since he had no clue I’d ever preferred stick to pocket.
My feeble attempt to win over the driver’s seat of the Porsche failed again when he escorted me to the passenger side.
“You have insurance, right?”
He completely ignored me as he started the car.
“So why didn’t you take one of your meathead friends to this thing?” I asked as I fiddled with the radio without invitation.
West just grinned while I tried to pair my phone with his stereo system. “They aren’t all that into cars. I thought you’d have more fun. It would have been wasted on them.”
I found that hard to believe. There wasn’t a guy alive who didn’t get a chubby from a sports car.
“Where did you pick up your love of automobiles, anyhow?”
“My dad’s a gearhead. I’m an only child, and he’d hoped for a boy. When he didn’t get one, instead of complaining, he just made sure he taught me all he wanted to teach a son.”
“That sucks.”
“Quite the contrary. My mom is the epitome of feminine, my dad has this fantastic mind for all things mechanical, and I got the best of both worlds. We worked on cars during the day, and at night, my mom had me in beauty pageants. I think I turned out okay.” My childhood had been amazing. I wasn’t one of those kids who bad mouthed their parents or blamed them for the way their life ended up. They had been—and still were—great people.
“You don’t look like the type to enjoy getting your hands greasy under the hood of a car.”
“Looks can be deceiving, I guess. It was probably more about spending time with my dad than the actual mechanics of it. He spent years restoring a ’66 Mustang Fastback. I can’t look at one today and not think about the years he invested in that car. He still drives it today. What about your childhood? Was it all business meetings and tutors?”
“Nah. My childhood was great. My parents were awesome. My dad worked too much, but he was home every night, devoted to my mom and us. My mom was a first-grade teacher and adored Beck and me.”
We pulled in, and I was instantly overwhelmed by the number of cars in the parking lot. Crowds didn’t normally bother me, but for some reason, I was on edge. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this. I stood outside the car taking in the sights and the sounds of engines zooming around the track.
“You ready?”
Those two words jerked me out of my state of shock and brought me back to reality. “Absolutely.”
I was disappointed to find out we didn’t actually get to drive the cars, rather ride at speeds in excess of one hundred and fifty miles an hour. But the moment I got suited up and the car took off, I had forgotten all about my disappointment and clung to the door, enjoying the ride. Gravity forced me back into the seat, and I’d never felt the exhilaration of true speed before now.
West and I had gone separately, so I waited for him after I got out of the car and took off the protective equipment they’d forced on us after signing our lives away in release paperwork. He was all smiles when I finally hooked back up with him.
“Have fun?” he asked with anticipation.
“Oh my God, yes! Thank you for bringing me.”
“Anytime. Feel like grabbing some lunch?”
I hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. My stomach growled at the mention of food.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said through a laugh.
His hand landed on the small of my back to escort me through the waiting crowd and out the door. I kept telling myself it was meaningless—it was what guys did. But I couldn’t help the warm, fuzzy feeling that crept through me from the simple gesture, or the burn the heat from his hand left on my spine. But the instant we were out the door, his hand fell from my body, and with it went the sense of protection.
Lunch was stilted and awkward because I’d made it that way. I was caught somewhere between men and women, not really craving either but desperate for both. I’d watched my friends in budding relationships with their sexual needs being met while my most intimate encounter had been with the guy at the sex shop when I purchased a new dildo, and he’d raved about my selection. Heather’s text mid-meal only made things odder, but West didn’t seem to notice.
“Who was that?” he questioned with a mouthful of burger.
I didn’t know how to answer the question because I didn’t know the answer myself. “Just a friend. Heather.”
“I haven’t heard you guys mention her. Is she new to the twat pack?” His smirk was endearing, but it took me a second to realize he was referring to the brood his sister hung out with.
Avoiding eye contact, and hopefully the conversation as a whole, I stared down at my food. “No. They haven’t met her.”
“Ahh. A new love interest?”
If I hadn’t glanced up at just the right moment, I might have missed the look that washed over his face. I couldn’t quite identify it, but it w
asn’t one of happiness—possibly disappointment.
I shrugged. “Not exactly.”
West appeared curious, and I wasn’t able to stop from sharing my dating woes. My friends hadn’t listened, but maybe he was the perfect confidant. He had experience dealing with women wanting women. “We met online several weeks ago, but I haven’t been able to pull the trigger to meet in person.”
“If you’re getting warning signals, then don’t do it. Go with your gut.”
“That’s just it. She’s great. We have a lot in common. We talk about everything under the sun. She’s got a good job.” I stopped to take a sip of my water.
“Is she ugly?”
The mouthful of water came erupting out all over him and his food. Dumbfounded by his question—and even more so by the fact I’d just engulfed him in saliva and my drink—I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Shit. I’m sorry.”
He took a napkin to his face and then blotted off his food, still prepared to eat it. Gross.
“I don’t think she’s ugly. I mean, we haven’t met in person, but her pictures are pretty.”
“Does she have a great personality?”
I knew in guy language that wasn’t a compliment. I dug my phone out of my purse and found a picture of her. He was clearly impressed by the sight.
“Damn. She’s hot. So what’s the problem?”
“Impossibly high standards, I guess.” There was no other way to say it without coming out and telling him I was a poser. That I’d never been into the crave cave. And even after multiple forced attempts, it didn’t appear I swung both ways. But I wasn’t ready to admit defeat to West or my girlfriends…even if they already knew I’d lost the war.
When he dropped me off at my house, he didn’t get out of the car or even turn off the engine. He waited like any friend would do for me to open the door and say goodbye. Once I was out, he waved and took off. I refused to acknowledge the second tinge of interest that had reared its head in one day. West was not a viable option and absolutely one I had to get out of my thoughts.
Girl Crush Page 11
