Until We're More

by Cindi Madsen

  “No offense, but I don’t trust you not to scare the poor guy off.”

  Solid instincts on her part.

  She took two steps toward the door and then spun back around. “Oh shoot, I forgot to brush George’s teeth. George? Kitty-kitty?” She waited, but the cat didn’t show his face—smart cat. “He’ll probably be asleep by the time I get home, and I know it’s just one day, but I didn’t have time this morning, and his gingivitis has gotten so much better since I’ve been brushing them. He’s such a stickler about his schedule, too, and he—”

  The knock was louder this time.

  “I’ll brush his teeth.” Since I’d already admitted to being a sucker for the girl, I shouldn’t be surprised I’d offered before thinking it through, but then my words caught up with me, and I immediately wanted to take them back. I was going to sit here and mope and brush her cat’s fucking teeth while she went out? Great plan.

  “Are you sure?” she asked, the uncertainty in her tone clear.

  Here was my chance to say, Nope. I take it back. “I’m sure.” That I’m a pussy.

  The relief on her face took away caring about it, though. She rushed over, leaned across the armrest of the couch, and kissed my cheek, leaving my heart thumping way too hard. “Thank you.” Her heels clacked as she strode to the door and swung it open. “Hey, Kevin.”

  He gaped at her—lucky bastard. “Wow. You look…wow.”

  I stood and worked on not staring at him the way I had in the bookstore, but seriously, how was I supposed to entrust her protection to this guy? That day he’d run without making sure she was okay first.

  “Hi, Kevin,” I said, and he gulped. “Have her home by eleven.”

  “He’s kidding,” Chelsea quickly said, shooting me a look, and I casually took a swig of my beer. “You remember Liam. My roommate.”

  Roommate? Not that it was inaccurate right now, but it was fucking inadequate.

  Kevin rubbed the back of his neck, making eye contact with my chest instead of me. “Right. Yeah. Hi.”

  I didn’t bother responding to that.

  “Are you ready?” he asked Chelsea. “I reserved one of the tables near the stage so you can get the whole experience.”

  Damn. If the guy were a total asshole, this would be easier. I could glare and threaten and not feel the slightest bit bad about it. But he was taking her out in style and cared she got the “whole experience” and had the time and the means to do that.

  As much as it killed me to admit, even to myself, I wasn’t the guy she needed. I smothered my pride and forced a breath out through my nose—partly to keep calm and partly because her perfume still lingered in the air, and inhaling it would only make it harder to hold on to my resolve. “You kids have fun.” I walked toward Chelsea, and my hand went to her lower back as if it had a mind of its own. “If you need anything, you call.”

  Her eyes met mine, and my lungs stopped taking in oxygen. She gave one quick nod. “Thanks, Liam. Good night,” she said, then she took the hand I had on her back, gave it a squeeze, and slowly dropped it.

  I closed the door behind them, forcing myself to hold it in place instead of ripping it open, charging after her, and telling her not to go. What the hell was wrong with me? When had I become so needy?

  About the time missing her turned into constant misery.

  That was my own selfish shit. She still had this belief that people didn’t want her, and if Kevin could change her mind about that, I’d…well, I’d try to be okay with it.

  It’s good, I told myself for the hundredth time. They can go to the blues club and talk books, and she has me to take care of anything he can’t.

  Like how to satisfy her in bed.

  I froze, a hot surge going through me as I willed my limbs to carry me the rest of the way to the couch. That thought came out of nowhere.

  Well, not exactly nowhere. The seed had been planted after the movie with the talk about the right kind of sex. And my brain had gotten carried away imagining the kind of hot, passionate sex she and I could have if things were different.

  But then I remembered the way she’d cried in my arms the other night, and while I felt guilty enough for bringing up the subject that’d caused it, I’d hate myself if I was the one who’d made her cry. And if she and I crossed lines, inevitably, I would be.

  So instead, I’d sit here and drink myself numb. Seemed as good a plan as any.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chelsea

  The club was so fancy that I experienced a tinge of imposter syndrome. Every time someone glanced my way, I halfway expected them to point at me and shout, Hey, someone like her isn’t supposed to be here!

  After going through the secret entrance that had a fake law office name on the door, we walked through nice area after nice area. Cushy seats in rich fabrics with big buttons lined one side of the room, and there was a giant chandelier over the bar, along with one in the freaking bathroom lobby. Why would a bathroom even need a lobby? Gilded frames hung on the walls and ceiling. Honestly, the opulence made me slightly uncomfortable. One, I didn’t belong here, and two, how could people spend so much on one night? It made me itch to think about the cost of the decorations and the food and the drinks.

  “Are you having a good time?” Kevin asked.

  Super sweet. Also the fifth time he’d asked me since arriving, and like those other times, I nodded and chose an answer from the quickly dwindling affirmative category. Soon I’d run out of variations and have to repeat myself.

  Liam would never keep— Nope, not doing the comparison thing, remember?

  Everyone would always fall short, and it wasn’t helpful. He’d seemed…off somehow today, and especially tonight. And when he’d put his hand on my back, I’d almost wanted to tell Kevin, Never mind the grand date you’ve planned. I’d rather stay home with my roommate. I still couldn’t believe I’d called him that, as if that would somehow make him less intimidating to Kevin.

  “So, uh, your roommate friend guy…” Kevin said, and I worried I’d spoken my thoughts aloud. “How long have you known him?”

  “Since junior high. We grew up next door to each other.”

  He nodded. “And you’re just…friends?”

  If I had a dollar for every time someone had asked me that, I wouldn’t need to bust my ass and fake being assertive to get a higher-paying job. “Yeah. He’s letting me crash while I’m in town opening a branch here in San Diego with the company I work for.” I thought about adding I was paying rent, but it was such a tiny amount, not to mention unnecessary information.

  Go me, realizing that before prattling on and on about it.

  “Oh.” Kevin’s brow furrowed. “You don’t live here full-time?”

  I supposed I should’ve told him that sooner, or thought about telling him, anyway, but I was worried about saying too much and sending him running in the other direction. Guess I’d better mentally un-high-five myself for thinking I was getting better at sorting necessary information. I explained how I’d relocated to Denver for a job, and he looked slightly disappointed by the news. Which was flattering, and I really should’ve held on to that before wondering if Liam would be sad when I left. Not only because it bummed me out, but it also steered my focus to the wrong dude.

  You’re not even giving this a chance. Determined to try harder, I asked Kevin several get-to-know-you-type questions. He worked in finance, had moved here from Vegas, which was too hot and dry for him, and he had two sisters.

  “I thought this place was the perfect pick because it has that whole Gatsby vibe,” he said.

  I hadn’t really thought about it, but I should’ve. The whole theme was from the prohibition era. “You know, I’ve always hated The Great Gatsby. It’s such a frustrating, depressing book. I prefer my endings much happier.”

  Nervousness crept into Kevin’s features, and he fiddled with the linen napkin. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve asked before bringing you here.”

  I lowered my eyebrows
. “No, I’m not saying I don’t like the club. It’s awesome. As long as they don’t force me to read Gatsby right now, I’m good.”

  He appeared to be confused, so apparently my joke hadn’t landed. “I’m sure no one will force you to read it.”

  “Yeah, tell that to my high school literature teacher.”

  Again, he seemed confused. Was I not as funny as I thought?

  “That was a joke. Because she literally did force me to… Anyway.” I picked up my expensive cocktail and sipped at the fruity concoction. “When does the music start?”

  For once, the universe gave me a break, and a man climbed onstage to announce the band, relieving me from having to make any more small talk, which I was clearly failing at. I sat back in my cushy seat and soaked in the jazz music that filled the room.

  The singer packed all the feels into the words with her smoky, sultry voice, and it sounded like one of those tragically romantic songs, where you worried heartbreak was inevitable at the end.

  I wonder if Liam would like this. Maybe if he heard it live. He normally stuck to the pump-up music at the gym, the kind that yelled at you. I hope he remembers to brush George’s teeth.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have asked him to. One day won’t make or break George’s teeth.

  Only in cat land, that was, like, a whole year. I reached inside my purse, wrapping my hand around my phone so I could text and ask how it was going. But then everyone around me applauded, and once again, I told myself to stop living halfway in two worlds.

  I was in a fancy dress, my cute date was smiling at me, and I was missing it.

  Toward the end of the set, the singer announced it was time for their most romantic song and suggested couples come forward and dance. For a few seconds, I stared longingly at the pairs who took the floor. Then I thought now would be an ideal time to put some of my assertive lessons into practice. I wanted to dance, and if Kevin wasn’t going to ask, I’d ask him.

  “Hey, do you want to dance?”

  He glanced toward the floor and tugged at the collar of his shirt. “Sure. I’m, uh, not very good. I don’t know any of the fancy moves or anything.”

  “Me neither. We’ll make it up as we go.”

  He didn’t look super convinced, but he stood and offered me his hand, and I took it. With my heels, we were the same height. I went one way, and he started the other, but I laughed it off, and we tried again.

  His arms didn’t feel like Liam’s, and I had to lead—something I highly doubted Liam would let me do, if I could even convince him to dance, which was a big if. Omigosh, stop.

  On top of having a hard time getting my roommate off my mind, there was something else constantly overtaking my thoughts. Living with Liam left me thinking about sex way more than I ever had. I thought it’d just been because I’d never had sex before and the guy exuded it, but right now, I wondered if I was broken.

  If I’d be a virgin forever.

  Sure, I could have sex with a guy to “get it over with,” but I didn’t want to get it over with. I wanted passion and fireworks and the kind of mind-numbing orgasms I read about in romance novels.

  I just need to try harder. And keep my goals more realistic. By the end of the song, Kevin and I found our groove, and when he smiled at me, a hint of a flutter went through my stomach.

  Even though it fell ridiculously short of the swarm of hyper butterflies a certain other guy caused, it gave me hope that maybe someday I’d get there.

  And to be honest, Kevin was the best candidate I’d had in a long, long time.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Liam

  It’d come to this. Bribing a cat to hang out with me on a Saturday night.

  I’d lured George out of hiding with ham, and now we were watching the nature channel. Keeping my movements achingly slow, I picked up his toothbrush and squeezed out the fishy toothpaste that made me want to gag. When I pivoted his way, he tensed and flattened his ears. Yeah, he was definitely on to me.

  “Look, I know that we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but I promised Chelsea that I’d brush your teeth. We can do it the easy way or the hard way.” Total lie. This wasn’t going to be easy. “Just don’t claw the shit out of me, okay?”

  Balancing the toothbrush in one hand, I wrapped my other around his neck to secure his head in place and gradually extended the toothbrush toward him. “Smells good, huh?”

  George neither confirmed nor denied.

  Here goes nothing. Using my thumb, I lifted his lips and began brushing the teeth I could see, and George flattened himself to the cushion and growled. I moved to the other side, brushing as quickly as possible while he did his damnedest to wiggle free.

  “We’re almost done. I think.”

  I tried to make sure I got all the teeth, but who the hell knew, and he certainly wasn’t helping.

  The second I let go, George darted away to his favorite place under my entertainment center. I tossed the toothbrush onto the coffee table and wiped my hands. “So much for being friends.”

  Someone knocked on the door, and I frowned at it, staring like I would suddenly develop X-ray vision. Since I didn’t, I walked over and answered it.

  My siblings and Knox stood on the other side, and I scrunched up my eyebrows. “Did we have an appointment I forgot about?”

  “Come on.” Brooklyn slugged my shoulder. “At least try to look happy to see me.” When I remained unmoved—not that I wasn’t happy to see her per se, but I had a feeling there was an agenda attached to the visit—she said, “Hello? Adam’s party? The one he’s been talking about for weeks?”

  I opened my mouth, and Brooklyn quickly said, “Don’t claim you’re busy. Chelsea can come, too. It’ll be a good chance for her to catch up with everyone she hasn’t seen at the gym yet.” My sister pushed past me and glanced around. “Where is Chelsea, anyway?”

  “Out.”

  “That explains the sour mood,” Brooklyn muttered, but not low enough for me to not hear her, although I doubt she was trying to hide it. Last summer when she’d come home for what was only supposed to be a few months, she’d constantly pointed out that I was grouchy without Chelsea and even made a joke about having an intervention to get me to call her. Up until then I thought I’d been doing a decent job of hiding my misery.

  During my sister’s broken-hearted period, a time I thought would be good for her but turned out to be the opposite, she’d pleaded for me to call Chelsea. Just like that, my attempt to give her enough space to readjust to her new life seemed like unnecessary torture, and it’d pushed me to call and talk to her. Or more accurately, call so she could talk to me.

  Not that it’d made it easier. It was almost easier when I couldn’t hear her voice. When I didn’t constantly get those bizarre filter-skewed photos from her, which I’d pulled up whenever I started missing her. It was also a hell of a lot easier before I saw her in that dress tonight. Or in her all-business outfits, or her yoga pants, or those tiny pajamas she wore—in person was a whole different story than via video chats. For years we’d both told everyone we were just friends, so why did that just-friends feeling have to disappear the instant she strolled into the gym last week?

  Then again, that wasn’t exactly true, either. As I’d recently remembered, there was also that period before my fight with Carlos. Not helping. I need more reminders about why I have to stick to friends.

  Like why I lost that fight. At least my feelings were consistent when it came to shitty timing, although I didn’t think this was one of those consistency is key instances. Less than a month to go till training camp took over my life and things like phone calls became luxuries of time I couldn’t afford, not if I was going to do everything in my power to win, which I was.

  “Even more reason to come with us to the party,” Finn said, clapping me on the back. “It’s sad to spend Saturday night at home, drinking alone.”

  “I’m not alone. George is here.”

  “George? Who the hell is—”

&nbs
p; “Chelsea’s cat,” Brooklyn said, so apparently they’d been talking. Of course they had. They used to have regular powwows in the gym back in the day. Sometimes I missed those nights when we could all go out, no pressure, no looming fights or being so aware of the gym’s bumpy financial situation. Sure, I’d only had minor bouts back then, but climbing the ladder and reaching that top rung had its own set of pressures. So did the Roth name. Anything less than winning a belt seemed like a failure.

  And considering how badly the gym, the team, and my family needed me to win, it would be.

  That’s what I should be focused on—two and a half more months to get myself into the best fighting shape of my life. Not the fact that my best friend was out with another guy.

  “Oh, hey, I see him.” Finn crouched in front of the entertainment center, and the damn cat came out and rubbed his head on Finn’s outstretched palm.

  “Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” I grumbled, and everyone turned to me. “I’ve spent days bribing that cat, and he still doesn’t like me. It morphed into hate about the time I brushed his teeth.”

  “You brushed his teeth?” Shane asked, mouth slightly agape.

  “Hey, I don’t want to hear it from the guy who missed seeing his favorite fighter win a belt to go to an art show.”

  “Hey!” Brooklyn said, since it had been her art show.

  Shane reached for my sister, tugging her to him. “I was in love with the girl, and it’s the best decision I’ve ever made.” He winked at Brooklyn, and she grinned, and then they devolved into eye-humping each other. After several nauseating seconds, he dragged his attention off her and glanced at me. “In other words, no judgment. The right girl will make you do things you never thought you’d do.”

  “Chelsea and I are—”

  “Just friends,” Finn and Brooklyn finished at the same time, and then they laughed. And now Finn was holding George, scratching the cat under his chin and making him purr so damn loud I could hear it from here.

  Oh, sure, I try to win him over for a week, and Finn does it in a minute. No more expensive ham for you, George.