Another Chance at Love (Another Series Book 1)

by Suzanne Sweeney

  “I’ll pick you up at seven,” he says. “Where am I taking you?”

  “There’s been a little change in plans, Stretch. I’m picking you up at seven and I’m taking you to dinner tonight.”

  “Come on, Babe. It was a long day and I’m sore. Don’t make me squeeze my ass into that toy car of yours,” he moans. “Next time, I promise – I’ll let you drive.”

  “It’s too late. I’m picking you up. But you don’t have to worry about squeezing into my car. I have a surprise.”

  “What kind of surprise?” he asks.

  “If I told you, it wouldn’t be much of a surprise, now would it?” I chuckle. “How would you feel about a small gathering at my house tonight?”

  “That sounds great,” he says. “I’m wiped out. Hanging at home and having a few beers sounds perfect.”

  “Well I’m glad to hear that,” I tell him, “because I already invited Derek and Shea. They’ll be at my place by nine.”

  I leave TitleWave and go home a little early tonight, giving myself plenty of time to get ready. Driving home in my new car is a real joy. I open up the sunroof and blast my music.

  When I arrive home, I see Declan’s car is already parked in the driveway. He must have gotten out early. He’s not sitting in his car or hanging out on the front porch, so I’m fairly sure he let himself in. I swing open the door and step inside, calling out, “Declan! I’m home.”

  “In the kitchen,” he calls back.

  I grab the mail and thumb through it. Mostly junk, as usual. I toss it on the counter and look up, only to find Declan alone, freshly showered. His hair is still damp and I can smell his body wash from here. He’s sitting at the table, drinking a beer and reading a magazine.

  His normally brown hair is now a rich dark chocolate, exquisitely contrasting with his striking blue eyes, bluer even than Cole’s, and framed by thick curly lashes. Declan looks up at me and smiles, and for a moment my heart melts. “Hey there, Kentucky! How was work?”

  What is it about those damned baby blues?

  I plop down across from him, grab the beer from his hand, and take a swig. His bare feet are resting on the chair between us. He’s got the hairiest toes I’ve ever seen in my life. “If you get your big ol’ hobbit feet off my chair I’ll tell you.”

  He chuckles and wiggles his toes in my general direction before returning his feet to the floor and out of my sight.

  “I bought a new car today,” I tell him as I brace for impact. Here comes another lecture, I’m sure.

  “Congrats. What did you buy?”

  “Another Beemer. Bigger. Better. Newer.”

  “Is it out there?”

  I nod.

  “So, why are we sitting here?” He grabs the beer and drains it empty. “Come on, show me.”

  I pull out the keys and toss them across the table. Declan snatches them effortlessly in midair. Together, we walk out to the driveway. He takes one look at my new ride and smiles. “Nice color choice.”

  “Imperial Blue,” I tell him, as if the name of the color matters.

  “Love it with the ivory leather interior,” he admires as he peers through the window. “Heated seats?”

  “Not just heated seats,” I tell him, “they can cool, too. And give butt massages.”

  “No way!” He opens the door, climbs in, and pushes the start button.

  When the engine starts, the radio lights up and my music roars way too loudly. With one finger I make a counter-clockwise circular motion in front of the center console, and the volume magically reduces.

  “How did you do that?” Declan asks, clearly impressed.

  “Try it,” I tell him. “It can actually read a few hand gestures.”

  Of course, the first gesture Declan tries has no effect. “I don’t think it’s programmed to recognize your middle finger,” I assure him.

  He laughs at his own wit. Then he twirls his pointer finger clockwise, making the music get louder. And I turn it back down again. “This is fucking awesome!” he announces.

  Declan lets me excitedly show off all the different features and I swear he’s nearly as fascinated with them as I am.

  As we walk back into the house, always the gentleman, Declan opens the door for me. He smiles. “Congratulation on the new car. You totally deserve it.”

  As I walk past, I cannot resist giving him a kiss on the cheek.

  “What was that for?” he asks, grinning.

  “Let’s just say I needed to hear that. Not everyone shares your opinion I’m afraid.”

  “Well, they’re just idiots, then,” he pronounces.

  Once back inside, I clue him in on tonight’s plans – dinner with Cole, then a small gathering back at the house. I give Dec my Visa card and ask him to make a run to the liquor store.

  I guess I’ll start clipping coupons tomorrow.

  After a quick shower, I stand in front of my closet staring mindlessly at my wardrobe. There’s not much in here that makes me feel pretty. I take my chances and once again, raid Cait’s closet. Her hangers are filled with flirty, sexy dresses.

  My eyes are immediately drawn to a baby blue corset dress that skims the thigh with a full skirt. I actually have something in my closet to pair with it – a soft white angora mini-cardigan sweater. It’s the perfect symmetry of sweet and sexy.

  I blow-dry my hair into big bouncy waves, toss on minimal makeup, and head down the stairs, ready to go.

  Declan is vegging out on my sofa watching television. The look on his face when I turn the corner tells me all I need to know – I look hot.

  He jumps up off the couch and applauds – literally applauds. “You look amazing. If you weren’t my sister’s best friend, I swear I’d . . .”

  “Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” I warn.

  “Okay, listen – before you go, I have a little advice.”

  Over the years, Declan has provided me with invaluable bits of wisdom on a variety of topics.

  ‘Kensie, always choose water-type Pokémon over insect-type.’

  ‘Ken Doll, learn how to juggle. You’d be surprised how far in life it’ll get you.’

  ‘Kentucky, never date a guy who wears tighter jeans than you. Wait. I take that back. Never talk to a guy who wears tighter jeans than you.’

  ‘Kenny, if he wants to take you mini-golfing on the first date, DON’T GO. It’s too suggestive. There’s far too many balls and holes and windmills.’

  He is very opinionated and enjoys the sound of his own voice – a lethal combination. As my friend, he feels it is his duty to provide me with succinct and coherent advice about all aspects of life.

  “I like Cole, I really do, but you tell him from me that if he hurts you, I own a shovel, full access to a construction site, and have a very skewed sense of right and wrong.”

  He makes me smile, mostly because I know he means it. I promise to pass along his message as I walk out the door. It’s a short drive to Cole’s townhouse and I find a parking spot just a few feet from the boardwalk.

  I knock and the door opens, revealing a shirtless Cole, my favorite kind. He’s chatting on the phone, but he quickly ends the call and tucks the phone away in his back pocket. “I missed you,” he whispers as he pulls me in for a familiar kiss and hug. “Mmm, you smell so good.” His nose is buried in my hair.

  He holds me there, tucked under his arm, and I can feel his chest moving up and down as he takes in deep, cleansing breaths. I look up into his eyes and I can see heaviness there. I’ve seen him like this before. He’s a worrier. And an over-thinker. Two qualities I can completely relate to.

  He pulls away from me, holds me at arm’s length and smiles. “You look beautiful tonight. Let me finish getting dressed, then we can head out.”

  “Listen, if you’re not up to it, we can cancel. If you’d rather stay here alone, just the two of us, I can make a few calls and ...”

  “Thanks,” he interrupts before I can finish. “But I think I need a distraction. Something to
get me out of my own head right now.”

  “Cole, you are an asset to that team and anyone with a pair of eyes and half a brain knows that. You have to stop worrying so much.” I’m trying my best to get him out of his funk. I saddle up to him, wrap my arms around his waist and slip my hands into his back pockets, giving his gluteus maximus a friendly squeeze. “But if it’s a distraction you need, I have a few ideas we could try.”

  “Later,” he whispers. “Definitely later. Food first. I’ll be right back.”

  Cole heads upstairs to finish dressing and I lean on the balcony overlooking the boardwalk admiring the view of the ocean. The sunbathers and beachgoers are gone, leaving the beach empty except for a few seagulls scampering around trying to find edible scraps left behind. I can’t imagine I’ll ever tire of watching the rise and fall of the waves as they crash on the surf. Or the way the moon reflects on the glassy surface of the vast ocean.

  A hand on the small of my back pulls me away from my daydreaming. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

  I turn to find Cole standing before me in his dark wash jeans that hang low on his hips and a V-neck t-shirt that hugs his biceps, biceps that beg to be caressed. It appears he hasn’t shaved in over a day, and all I can think about is feeling that scruff all over my bare skin.

  And oh, God, did I mention how good he smells?

  He shuts and locks the front door and we walk out to the street. “Okay, Houdini – lead the way.” He links his fingers with mine again as we stroll down the sidewalk.

  I lead him right over to my new car, pull out the key fob, push the button, and light it up. Cole’s eyes grow wide. “Wow – nice ride. Whose is it?”

  “It’s mine,” I tell him proudly. “I bought it today. What do you think?” I take a deep breath, hoping he’ll be pleased.

  The muscle in his jaw flexes while he looks it over. “You bought this?” he asks.

  “Well, I leased it, but yeah.”

  He takes a walk around the car, inspecting it more closely. “BMW 7-series?”

  I nod. “Yes.”

  “I’ve seen a few of these in the parking garage at the field. Some of the players’ wives drive these.”

  “That must mean it’s a good car, then. Right?”

  He frowns. “It’s good if you can afford it, Kenny,” he murmurs. “These guys are making seven figure salaries.” The disappointment in his voice makes my anxiety spike even more, but I nod.

  “It’s not a Rolls Royce or a Bentley. It’s just a car, Cole.”

  He crosses his arms over his chest and shakes his head. “If you can’t afford it, it may as well be a Bugatti.”

  “That’s a ridiculous argument. Of course I can afford it. I’ve made good money and invested it well. Even if you don’t like it, you could at least pretend to be a little happy for me.”

  He closes his eyes and shakes his head, then exhales some of his pent-up tension. “I’m sorry. I’m in a crappy mood, that’s all. Go ahead, show me more.”

  I know he’s under a lot of stress right now and he feels like he still hasn’t secured his position with the team. I’m going to do my very best to not take things personally. He’s just a grumpy bear, and this isn’t my first rodeo.

  “Climb in,” I encourage him as I hop into the driver’s seat and start the engine.

  I watch in joyful appreciation as he effortlessly lowers himself into the passenger seat. His head normally brushes the roof, but not in this car. And his legs aren’t folded up to his chin, either. “Look at you,” I marvel. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were actually comfortable in my car. I never thought I’d see the day.”

  “I have to admit,” he grudgingly mumbles, “it is extremely comfortable. And roomy.” He looks around at the dash with all its gadgets but I’m still waiting to see a smile.

  I guess I’ll have to sell it a little harder. One by one, I go through the introduction to my new wheels, highlighting the features that I think he will be the most pleased with. I want him to love my new car as much as I do. So, with the push of a few buttons, I turn on his seat cooler and butt massager, hoping to win him over.

  Cole smiles, “I see you’ve gotten the deluxe package. Evan has this stuff in his new Porsche.”

  I twist my finger in front of the radio, turning up the volume. “But does his car do that?” I ask him, nearly shouting over the music before turning it back down again with a reverse finger twirl.

  “No, I don’t think so. I honestly don’t understand why that’s even necessary. How hard is it to turn a knob?”

  I ignore his snide comment and continue, demonstrating the snap-in phone cradle, handless parking assist, the in-dash navigation system, and the hands-free, voice controlled Bluetooth system that I’ve already synced with my phone.

  Looking over at his unenthusiastic face, I ask, “I bet you wish Betty had some of these while you’re driving home alone late at night.”

  “I know you hate my car. It must kill you to be seen driving around in such a heap of shit.”

  My mouth drops open, I’m stunned speechless. Why the hell did he just say that?

  “It’s okay, you don’t have to say it. I know Betty’s not exactly up to your standards, but she’s paid for, well maintained, and purrs like a kitten.”

  He’s trying my patience, to say the very least. I want to try to reason with him, no matter how much I suspect it won’t help.

  “Cole, honey. I have never, not once, complained about your truck. I was just pointing out some . . .”

  He puts his hand on my knee and squeezes. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. You’re a beautiful woman with an appreciation for beautiful things.”

  “I picked you out, didn’t I?” I quip.

  “I think it was the other way around, babe.” He takes my hand and brings it up to his lips where he plants a small kiss.

  Even through his sullen exterior, he makes me smile.

  “I have to admit, I’m more than a little curious. You haven’t said a word about car shopping. Not one mention of it at all. What made you go out and buy a new car today? I thought you were just going in for an oil change.”

  “I didn’t mention it, but my lease was almost up. It was time to start shopping anyway. And when I saw this beauty, I just fell in love. I couldn’t pass up the chance to upgrade into a car we both can enjoy.”

  “Your lease was almost up? How much time did you have left?” he asks.

  I shrug, hoping to avoid further criticism.

  “One month?”

  I shake my head.

  “Two months?”

  Again, I shake my head.

  “Three months?”

  I nod.

  He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “So that means you were just fine until October? And by then, my season would be over. I would at least know if I had any kind of a future with the Red Hawks at that point. I have no idea where I’m going to be next week, let alone next month.”

  There it is. That’s the first honest emotion he’s expressed. He’s feeling insecure with the team and it’s spilling over into my lap.

  “It’s a huge commitment to take on years of payments like that just because you want a big fancy car for me to shove my fat ass into,” he explains. “Who knows if I’ll even still be around when you need your first oil change?”

  I turn to look at him, but he just stares blankly ahead. “Why would you say something like that?” I ask.

  “Because it’s true,” he argues rather forcefully. “This wasn’t a good idea.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Making long term plans . . . with me. You see how I live. Why would you even want to?”

  “Don’t you dare try to spin this around and try to make me feel bad because you’re feeling unappreciated in your job. Jeez, Cole – they’re looking to name you Rookie of the Year. What’s it going to take to get through to you?”

  “First of all, there are at least ten other guys up for it, too. And N
ovember is a long way away. Do you know how quickly things can change in just a few short months?”

  “Of course I do.” Just two months ago, I had no idea who Cole McGuire was. Now, he’s in my every thought and every dream.

  “We’ve been together less than a month. Why would you do this? Spend crazy money on me to buy something you don’t even need?” He rubs his face as if he’s trying to absorb the idea faster. He looks up and exhales loudly, “It makes absolutely no sense.”

  My heart sinks like a stone. Was this too much, too quickly? Am I moving too fast and sending the wrong messages? It’s not like I’ve registered us at Bed, Bath, and Beyond and chosen a china pattern. “I was thinking that we were both happy with the way things were going. I guess I made a mistake,” I tell him. “But don’t worry, it won’t happen again.”

  He starts pushing random buttons on the console. “And how do you turn off this fucking seat massager?”

  I turn the car off and take a deep breath, trying to calm myself, but it’s not working very well. “How’s that?” I ask, unable to hide my shaky voice.

  I want to cry, but I won’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, I grab my purse and step out of the car, slamming the door shut. I need space. Open space. So I walk over to the boardwalk and lean on the railing, staring at the churning, foamy water as it crashes on the surf.

  After a minute or two, Cole joins me. He says nothing. He just stands there leaning on the rail, staring ahead blankly into the surf. “I wasn’t ready for you to do something like that,” he tells me.

  Is he actually mad? It certainly feels like it. “Why are you so angry with me?”

  “I’m not angry with you, I’m angry at the situation you’ve put us in.” He sighs.

  “My new car is a situation? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Let’s not do this,” he asks urgently. His tone is soft, but he’s just masking his anger. “I’m starving. Can we please just go eat?”

  “Cole, I’m sorry but I can’t pretend you didn’t say that. How is my new car a situation?”

  “You sure you want to do this? Because if you really want to know what I think, I’ll be honest. I won’t lie to you, Kenny.”