Oh. Oh no.
“His dad is Coach Barnett.”
* * *
GRAY PUT HER PANTIES IN HIS BUREAU. HE COULD STILL SMELL HER on him, a faintly flowery scent spiked with the essence of her arousal, and he wanted her sexy aroma to permeate his clothes, his mind, his soul.
He was officially obsessed. So obsessed, in fact, that he’d been carrying them around in his pocket since last night. They would be there now if Rafe hadn’t called and said he wanted to come round.
It amazed him. Since the car purchase, Gray had suddenly become a cool old man. Who said you couldn’t buy love? Of course, he wasn’t an idiot and Rafe was only seventeen; he’d change his mind again tomorrow or the next day, or the next time he wanted something and Gray didn’t immediately give it to him. But for now, he had an opportunity to do a little bonding, maybe fix one or two of the many threads that had come loose between them, and he wasn’t going to blow it.
Tonight, he’d get back to Lola. Maybe a little phone sex. Maybe he’d order her to drop everything and come over.
The possibilities were endless.
* * *
“THE COACH?” LOLA WHISPERED, HORROR SEIZING HER HEART.
They nodded like bobblehead dolls. The sight made her woozy.
“He saw your car at his dad’s house, and well, he kinda saw it there a few times.”
“Arby is Coach Barnett’s son?” She was repeating, but she couldn’t wrap her foggy brain around it. Then she tipped her head like a dog that can’t figure out where a sound came from. “So, let me get this straight. You’ve been meeting Arby—” God, it wasn’t Arby, it was RB, which stood for Rafe Barnett. She could have smacked herself in the head for being so stupid. “So you’ve been meeting Rafe Barnett at the mall and the movies, and”—she spread her hands—“you guys followed me?”
“We only drove by his dad’s house a couple of times,” Harry said reasonably, as if that wasn’t spying and following.
“You drove by his dad’s house?” She was utterly horrified. Then an even worse thought occurred. “Did you follow me last night?”
Harry waved both hands frantically. “No. Of course not. You had a date.”
What difference did a date make?
“Do you swear?” She narrowed her eyes to near painful slits. “If you lie to me, I’ll call your father.”
They quaked. “We didn’t, Aunt Lola. We swear it.” Harry poked William in the ribs, who nodded vigorously.
Okay, she had to believe them. Anything else would make her crazy. And if they had seen anything going on at that house, she didn’t think they’d be quaking right now. Instead, they’d be blackmailing her.
She pointed at the couch. “Sit. Both of you. And I want to know every detail.”
* * *
THE DETAILS MATCHED CONSISTENTLY WITH HER OWN MEMORY of the last few days. Gray’s son and the twins had sent her voicemails, texts, and messages—and the dead flowers—then the twins had reported on her reactions. They’d looked on her computer to find out her email address, just as she’d suspected. Of course, they could have just asked their mother, but subterfuge was more fun. They’d driven by Gray’s house when she said she was going to work, and they’d seen her car there. They hadn’t actually followed her, thank God, so they didn’t know about last night. And she believed them about that. They’d planned and plotted against her almost from that first day at football, when Rafe had caught his dad checking her out. After the night she’d been hiding in Gray’s bathroom, Rafe Barnett hadn’t confronted his father. It was much more fun to harass her. The darling, devious, malicious little princelings claimed that for them it was a game to while away the endless hours of boredom. Until Ghost got out and they suddenly realized they might have gone too far.
Lola needed a walk, fresh air, and sunshine to decide what had to be done. The midmorning heat warmed the top of her head and leached down into her bones. Her quick stride stretched her muscles, and her elevated heart rate oxygenated them. She reached that blissful, near-trancelike state where your feet did all the walking and your mind did all the thinking.
Okay, the calls and messages hadn’t hurt anyone, and Ghost was fine. The fact that the cat had gotten out was an accident. Probably. And there was that old saying about boys being boys. Running to Gray with some horror story about his son stalking and harassing her would come off as completely over-the-top.
And yet . . .
If you allowed them to get away with a pattern of misbehavior, they would begin to think it was acceptable. No matter how she looked at it, the intent was nothing nice, nothing innocent. And therefore unacceptable regardless of the severity.
So she had to deal with it. The question was whether to approach Gray first. Or his son. In a way it was like George; she’d gone right to the source. She hadn’t complained to his boss. She’d asked him. If the issue had needed escalating, she’d have done it, but she owed him the benefit of the doubt.
Her foot hit a rock, skittering it across the sidewalk. A car passed. She realized she’d walked several blocks downhill. Now she’d have to climb back up. Fine. More thinking time.
The fact was she didn’t owe Rafe Barnett the benefit of the doubt. She owed everything to Gray. That’s what twisted her stomach. She was going to have to come between him and his son. There was no way around it. Rephrase, she’d already come between them—hence the messages and phone calls—and now she was going to make that even worse. Because she knew the only right thing to do was tell Gray. And once she told him . . .
Despite the heat of the day and the climb back up the hill, her chest was suddenly tight with cold. She’d always known this thing with Gray would end. It was inevitable. It was just sex, after all. They were having fun. But that’s when it was all a secret.
It wasn’t secret anymore. His son knew. His son was pissed. And everything had changed. Now Gray’s family relationships were compromised. It was messy. Gray would have to make choices. His son. Or her.
It wasn’t fair to force him to make that choice. It wasn’t fair to come between them. She should have cut it off the night Rafe had almost discovered her in his father’s house. As her mom always used to say, Better late than never.
Except that it was a little too late for Lola. Because letting Gray go now was going to hurt like hell. She should never have allowed herself to get attached. She hadn’t allowed it to happen since the divorce. Yet somehow, in a few short weeks, she’d thrown away years of resistance. Still, it was better to rip your own heart out right now rather than let someone else tear it to shreds later. And it wasn’t what Charlotte accused her of. She wasn’t rejecting Gray before he rejected her; she was simply making it easy for him.
She knew what she had to do, what was right, what was best.
At least she did until her car was rolling slowly down Gray’s street. He was in the driveway.
And so was his son.
* * *
THEY WERE OUTSIDE WASHING THEIR CARS TOGETHER BECAUSE IT was a guy thing to do. Gray basked in the warmth of camaraderie. Rafe had squirted him. Gray had run him down, wrestled the hose away, and sprayed him back. It was a good day. He wouldn’t question why his son had offered it to him.
Now they scrubbed their individual cars in companionable silence, and the only sound breaking the quiet was the gush of hose water rinsing off the soap.
Until a car rolled up curbside and stopped.
Lola climbed out.
His heart contracted with need. Her white shorts and tank top bared enough tanned skin to make his mouth water.
Beside him, Rafe growled. It was the only word he could use to describe the rumble in his son’s throat. “What’s she doing here?” The tone was so derisive, Gray’s hackles rose.
But Lola didn’t approach him. She walked straight to his son and stuck out her hand. “Hi, I’m Lola Cook. We haven’t been officially introduced.”
Rafe looked at her hand like it was a snake. Then he looked at her face, some inde
cipherable emotion swirling in his eyes. “I know who you are.”
She smiled pleasantly. “I really want to thank you for taking care of the twins these last few weeks. It’s been a great help. They were so lonely with nothing to do around my house.”
Gray studied Lola. She hadn’t even looked at him yet. And he studied his son. Rafe was jumpy, his hands shoved in his cargo shorts for an appearance of nonchalance, or maybe to check that the car key was in his pocket. His eyes darted from Lola to the Subaru’s driver’s side door, then to Gray.
“You took them to the mall,” Lola went on, “the movies, squired them all over the place. And even coming over to the condo when I had to be at work”—she paused—“or elsewhere. That was above and beyond. Oh, and don’t worry, the cat came back after you accidentally let her out last night.”
“The cat?” Rafe couldn’t seem to help opening his mouth at that point.
But Lola waved him off. “No, don’t say anything. She’s fine. It wasn’t your fault that the door was open. I’ve just never known a sweeter boy. I mean, you’re seventeen and they’re only fifteen and a half, no friends in the area. And your ages are miles apart in teenage years. But you took them under your wing with no ulterior motive.”
What the hell was she talking about? Rafe had ignored the twins.
“Oh, and the flowers.” She closed her eyes briefly in an expression of absolute bliss. “That was so sweet of you.”
“I didn’t give you the flowers,” Rafe said, but his voice was weak, his gaze on the concrete. He removed his hand from his pocket, his fingers working the keys.
“Don’t be so modest. You can tell your dad. He’d be so proud of you.” She finally looked at Gray. “They were all dried and ready to be pressed. Absolutely perfect.” What was she trying to tell him? He didn’t have a clue.
Rafe swallowed, looked at him, then just as quickly his gaze darted to the car. His feet even shifted a step closer to the driver’s side.
“And all those lovely messages and texts you sent me. I can’t begin to tell you how good they made me feel. If I’d known they were from you, I would have immediately thanked you.” She winked at Rafe. “But you sly devil, you blocked the number and sent the emails from a generic account. You just didn’t want to take credit for being so nice, did you?”
Rafe remained speechless, a flush staining his cheeks red. Embarrassment? Gray was beginning to realize it might actually be shame.
“But the sweetest thing was that letter.” Lola put a hand to her chest. “It truly touched me.”
Rafe cocked his head. “I didn’t send a letter.”
She waved a hand at him. “I know you don’t want to take credit for such heartfelt words.” She smiled sweetly. “So eloquent.”
“But I didn’t send a letter,” Rafe insisted.
She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Well, never you mind. I’ll leave you two alone, and I’m sure your dad will want to hear every detail of your benevolence.”
“But—” Rafe’s hand shot out as if he wanted to grab her. But he stopped dead instead.
Reaching into the purse dangling from her arm, Lola pulled out a folded piece of paper which she handed to Rafe. “And just in case you forgot all those wonderfully eloquent words you wrote”—she wrinkled her nose at his son—“I thought you’d like a copy for a keepsake.”
For a moment, the paper hung in the air between them. Then Lola opened her thumb and forefinger, the folded sheet falling, and Rafe reached out to snatch it before it landed in the puddles on the drive.
Stupefied by her performance, Gray realized he hadn’t said a word. It was time to take charge. “You should stay and tell me more about it yourself.” Because he sure as hell didn’t know what was going on, except that there was a subliminal message threaded through everything she’d said. And Rafe knew exactly what she was referring to.
But Lola was stepping back from him, too. He not only saw it, he felt it, the sudden distance that was more than just the few feet between them.
“No,” she said. “I think it’s time for me exit stage left. Rafe can tell you everything. You don’t need me in the middle. In fact, I shouldn’t be between you at all. It really was a bad idea.”
He could read between the lines. Don’t call me. And I won’t call you.
What had she said last night? That contrary to what most people believed, men were the ones who ended up wanting a relationship. And that’s when Lola exited stage left. She didn’t want a relationship. And certainly not with a man who had parenting issues. She was walking out, cutting her losses.
He felt the ache in his gut, and she hadn’t even left yet. When she turned, her sandals slapping on the concrete, the ache became a tear across his midsection. Then she was gone.
26
LOLA DROVE AWAY, HER FINGERS NUMB ON THE STEERING WHEEL.
Gray had let her go. He hadn’t tried to stop her. He hadn’t even asked what the hell she was talking about. He’d just looked at her with resignation. Like he knew that letting her walk away was inevitable.
When she’d thought it up in the split second between seeing Gray with his son and pulling up to the curb, the method had seemed perfect. She’d tell Gray without telling Gray. She’d lay it on so thick that the boy would be rolling on the ground with remorse. Okay, it was the same thing Julie Andrews had done in The Sound of Music when the children put a frog in her pocket and a pinecone on her chair.
Except that where the children had started crying, Rafe had done nothing at all. And Gray let her walk away.
It was over. Just like that. She was alone again, the way she liked it. She was free to come and go as she pleased—at least as soon as the twins left. No attachments, no one to pick-pick-pick until she couldn’t stand it a moment longer. No one trying to mold her into something else. No man she was dependent on to make her feel good about herself. In charge of herself, her life, and powering through the next project. Yep, the way she liked it. Alone.
The way she used to like it. Before Gray.
* * *
IT TOOK GRAY SEVERAL MOMENTS TO COLLECT HIMSELF. HE couldn’t act like Lola had walked away with a big piece of him in the palm of her hand.
“Are you going to tell me what that was all about?” His voice came out husky, laced with an edge of emotion.
Rafe didn’t answer. He was reading the letter Lola had given him, and with each second that ticked by, his face grew more pallid. Then he swallowed.
“I didn’t send this letter,” he said. “The rest of it was just a little fun. But I didn’t send this.” He shook the paper emphatically. “I wouldn’t send this, Dad, I swear.”
What the hell? Gray held out his hand. Rafe passed it over, his fingers shaking. And Gray read the wonderfully eloquent words.
I know who you are, Bitch, and I know what you’re doing. You can’t treat people like this. You’ll be sorry for what you’ve done. You will pay. And you’ll never hurt anyone like this again. I promise you.
His belly crimped. He looked at his son. “You better tell me the rest of it. Now.”
Rafe told him. About the flowers—which were all dried and ready for her to press rather than dead—the texts, the voicemails, the emails, all with words like bitch, slut, and whore. About plotting with the twins, how they were to gauge her reaction. How he’d noticed Gray watching her that first day of camp. He’d seen Lola looking back, too. His son wasn’t stupid. He’d read all the signals. He’d seen her car at Gray’s house.
“It was just a game, Dad. Harry and William said she was on their case all the time, taking their phones and their video games when they”—he finger-quoted—“misbehaved.”
Gray stared at him. “Did I actually raise you? Because if I did, I failed miserably to teach you anything.” The words came out like they were from someone else’s mouth.
For the first time, Rafe’s face turned sullen, his lip curling slightly. “You called her those names, too. I saw your text to her.”
H
e remembered that night in the kitchen, the phone on the counter, Rafe’s obviously furtive and guilty expression. “If I were you, I wouldn’t choose this moment to admit you invaded my privacy.”
A lawnmower started up next door, but he didn’t raise his voice. Rafe could hear every word. “Words have appropriate uses and inappropriate ones. Sending a woman anonymous messages calling her a bitch and a slut is one of those inappropriate uses.” He threw his hands in the air. “Don’t you realize that’s harassment? How could you do that?”
“It was just a game.”
“Don’t use that excuse again. It wasn’t a game. You were pissed because I was dating her, and you punished her instead of being a man and talking to me about it.”
“I tried to talk to you about it that night. But you said you were busy.” Rafe’s voice rose. “You’ve always been busy. You were too busy for Mom. All the times she used to cry when you didn’t answer your phone while you were traveling. You always have time for everyone else. Even the kids on the football team.”
He ignored the stuff about Bettina. It was a battle he couldn’t win. But he needed Rafe to understand about football. “I started the camp for you. To spend time with you.”
Rafe shot the explanation down. “You don’t spend time with me. You’re busy with drills and game plans and exercises and wiping Stinky Stu’s nose or Pete’s butt.” He stabbed a finger at his chest. “I even had to beg you to buy me a car so Mom didn’t have to drive me around all the time. I just wanted to make it easier on her.”
It always came back to Bettina, but she was beside the point now. “You think I’m too busy so you harassed a woman?”
But Rafe wasn’t listening anymore. His fingers clutched around the keys, he turned on his heel, ran to the car, backing out of the driveway while Gray watched.
He wasn’t angry. He was defeated. After all the years of trying to make things right, he finally accepted that they never would be. He had lost his son. And he had lost Lola.
The Naughty Corner Page 23
