“Thanks for cooking us dinner. Zach said you are an incredible cook.”
“Did he now?”
“He did.” I know James is watching my face and my reaction to him talking about Zach. I know he’s trying to figure out if I’m into his friend or not, and while I understand his scrutiny, it still makes me uncomfortable.
“Well, he’s tasted the same as Michelle, and I know she’s enjoying the food, too. So, that makes me happy to hear.”
A beat of silence passes between us, and then he looks around the kitchen and back at me.
“Can I help you with anything?”
“Nope, Michelle and I have everything under control. I appreciate you offering, though. Besides, you’re on vacation, you should go hang out with your friends.” His friends, who’ve made themselves comfortable on the couch, and are currently watching baseball on the television. Guys and their sports—it doesn’t matter what it is as long as it’s on.
“All right, well, holler if you do.” He winks at me and then wanders back to his friends.
The three of them plus Kyle joke and laugh together in a way that shows years of friendship. I can’t help but to occasionally linger near them to soak up their ease, it’s magnetic. As if I subconsciously want to be part of a group that is that closely knit. It makes me realize just how much I miss Meg and the restaurant. I have this kind of friendship with her.
The front door opens, closes, and Zach cuts across the room in long strides. Placing four bottles of wine on the counter, his arm brushes against mine as he comes to stand next to me. The four bottles remind me of the night before, and I step away from him. He burns me with a frustrated look that races straight down to my toes.
“What?” I snap at him.
His eyes narrow and then run over my face. It feels too personal to be perused this way, but I won’t turn away.
Deviled Eggs
I forgot the guys were coming this weekend, even though I had it on the calendar. We talked about it almost a month ago when James called and said he was coming home for a break, and at the time, I told him no worries. That was before the opportunity with the magazine came up. And of course, over the last week or so, I’ve been too wrapped up in her to pay attention to my life and my responsibilities.
“Are you just going to stand in here and sulk all night or are you going to go talk to her?” Kyle asks, shoving a leftover piece of cornbread in his mouth.
I’m not sulking . . . well, maybe I am.
Almost all night, Shelby and James have been glued together. When we got here, he lingered by her while she cooked, offering to help. When it was time to eat dinner, he sat next to her and kept her laughing. And afterward, he helped clean the dishes. I see the way he looks at her. It’s the way I catch myself looking at her when I forget who she is and what she does. I understand their connection because of Lexi makes their situation unique, Shelby is his sister’s best friend, and that story is as cliché as it gets. Yet, with every smile, every giggle, every casual touch, I feel like I’m losing my damn mind. I don’t like it. At. All.
The echo of her laughter carries through the French doors and into the cottage. I turn to look at them, but they’re covered in darkness. It’s better this way, the less I see, the easier it will be to let him sweep her off her feet and get her out of my hair. So then, why does the thought of this leave me unsettled?
There’s no need to pretend as if I don’t know who Kyle is talking about, so instead, I try to close the conversation down.
“I don’t want to talk to her. I think it’s great that he’s here. He’s entertaining her so I don’t have to.” I move to sit on the couch, pull out my phone to check my e-mails, and because I know it will rile him up, I say, “Jack seems to be taking care of Michelle, too, so hey, it’s a win for both of them.”
“What?” His attention whips to the back patio, only to find her sitting in the chair next to Jack. At that exact moment, Jack leans over to her, whispers something, and she laughs. Kyle’s hands tighten into fists before he storms outside to join the group. He sits down on the other side of Michelle, and she smiles sweetly at him.
He has it bad for her, and as much as I hate to admit it to myself, I have it bad for Shelby, too.
Shelby.
The image of her face this morning when she said hello to me and I didn’t say it back, the disappointment and embarrassment, I don’t know how to fix the damage I caused in that moment. I told her I wanted us to be friends, I’ve treated her like a friend. Hell, after last night, I made her more than just a friend. Then, at the first opportunity I had to show her that I’m not the person I was when she got here, I blew it. In a way, I’m still decompressing from our time together last night, and seeing James’s reaction to her elicited emotions from me I wasn’t expecting.
I also made the mistake of telling Kyle that I kissed her.
He laughed, but I could see the wheels turning in his head the more he thought about it, and the laugh slipped off his face. He then proceeded to lecture me about the plan, a plan that’s working and will be over soon enough. The plan that’s left me feeling duplicitous.
When Shelby walks in from the patio, she doesn’t notice me sitting in the living room, and I watch as she rinses her wine glass, sets it on the counter, and walks to her bedroom. She’s changed from this morning, putting on a top with a little skirt . . . a little skirt that shows off her endless smooth legs.
I get up to follow her, shut the door behind us, and lean against it with my arms folded across my chest.
Her head snaps around and wide eyes lock onto mine. “What are you doing?”
Instead of answering her, I stare at her and feel the temperature of the room rise.
Huffing at me in frustration, she slowly bends over and slips off her shoes. “Whatever,” she mumbles without breaking eye contact with me.
“Are you having fun tonight talking to my friends?” My voice is rough, deeper than usual. I swear this girl twists me so badly I can’t even speak normally around her.
She stands straight, and her face falls but quickly recovers. The feistiness that I’ve come to admire in her flashes as she lifts her chin and her stare becomes a glare. “I am. Thanks for asking.”
I watch as she moves to the closet and pulls a sweater off a hanger, slips it on, and then crosses the room to stand directly in front of me. Looking me up and down, she twists her lips to the side as if she’s contemplating something before a slow, sly smile forms on her lips. “Wait. Are you jealous?”
“No.” I snort as if the thought repulses me, but I am. “I am curious. Looks like James is pretty caught up in your spell.” I lean forward a little, forcing her tilt her head back if she wants to keep looking at me.
“There’s no spell. What you see is what you get; haven’t you figured that out by now? And what’s so wrong with someone being interested in me? You sure were last night.”
“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it.” My jaw tightens, and my eyes narrow.
“You are such an asshole sometimes.” She tries to push me out of the way to get to the door, but I don’t budge and pull her back in front of me.
“You do bring out the best in me,” I say sarcastically, when I should be saying she brings out the worst. God, I hate the person I am with her. I’m never deceitful or snappy or short tempered. I was taught to always be honest and kind, and I’ve tried to live my life this way.
“How so? What have I ever done to you, anyway?” Her face flushes red, she’s angry and it makes her look a little wild and a lot irresistible. “I mean really, how do you have so many friends? I don’t understand. Do you treat them the same way you treat me and they tolerate it? Because quite frankly this”—she waves her finger back and forth between the two of us—“is a lot of work.”
She brushes her hair off her shoulder and shakes her head to settle it on her back as she tilts her head. My eyes run over the curve of her jaw, travel over the long lines of her neck, and land back
on her mouth. Part of me is screaming to step away from her and that this is wrong, but the other part of me that’s drawn to her says it isn’t. The latter is stronger, which is what put me in this situation to begin with.
“He isn’t the right guy for you.” My blood pumps a little faster through my veins at the thought of another guy’s hands on her.
Her jaw drops, her eyes narrow, and she lets out an exacerbated huff. “And how would you possibly know what type of guy is right for me?” She takes a few steps back to put some space between us.
“There’s a reason why Lexi set us up, and she’s never introduced the two of you.”
Why am I saying this? I’ve made it very clear that I’m not interested in her, which is a lie in and of itself since I kissed her last night and want to kiss her again right now. Not even reminding myself that she’s a critic or an insatiable workaholic can help me shake the need.
“Really? You want to go there now? After how you consistently treat me?” Her glare turns sharp and murderous; I have the sudden urge to protect myself.
“It’s true and you know it.” I take a step toward her, shrinking the distance.
“Yeah, a lot of good that did me. Hands down the worst blind date ever.” A flush races up her neck and into her cheeks. She’s so angry.
“I’ll admit I was not myself that night. For what it’s worth . . . I’m sorry.” Nothing like eating a huge heaping of crow.
Her eyes grow large. “That night? What about the day I got here, the day of the photo shoot, or this morning . . . were you not yourself those times, either? Because I’ve been here for a week, and it seems being a dick to me is what’s most natural.”
I cringe at her words. She’s right, and I hate it.
“I didn’t mean for this morning to go down like it did. I wasn’t intentionally trying to ignore you. One minute we were playing football, and then the next you were there and . . .” I turn my head away from her.
“And what?” she asks, annoyed.
My eyes lock back on hers. “I saw the way James looked at you.”
“How did he look me?” She tilts her head, eyebrows raised.
“Interested.” The word slithers out through my teeth.
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head as if this answer isn’t enough for her. Not for the first time, I wish I knew what she was thinking. I started this conversation, but now, I just want it to be over.
Taking a deep breath, I rub my hand over my face and through my hair. Her eyes track my movements as I rub the back of my neck.
“I told you, the issues I have are mine, not yours . . . and believe it or not, I am trying. I’m sorry about this morning.”
Her mouth tips up at the corner. “Say it again.” Her eyes blaze in victory, and the tension around her face and shoulders wanes as she takes a step forward.
Inches separate us. We’re so close but not close enough, and her nearness is making me ache in places I didn’t know could.
Licking my lips, her eyes drop to my mouth and mine do the same. I’m obsessed with how full, soft, and sweet hers taste against mine. Seconds tick by as the tension around us grows thicker and heavier. My stare slowly crawls back up her face and a rush of air leaves me at the depth of fire in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I finally say, giving her what she wants before taking what I need as my mouth slams down on hers.
Instantly the turmoil I’ve been feeling all day subsides. Why I’ve let this girl dig her way so far under my skin, I don’t know, but being locked to her, I feel like I can breathe for the first time since last night.
Angling my head to get even more, she matches me move for move. Damn, she tastes so good, and this kiss . . . it’s deep, wet, and there’s an uncontrolled urgency fueling us. I can’t get enough of her, and she can’t get enough of me.
I bend, slide my hands around the back of her thighs, and pick her up. Her legs wrap around my waist and squeeze, bringing us flush together as her arms drape over my shoulders.
Warmth, honey, and her heartbeat hit me all at once. I can feel it pound through her chest and into mine, and it forces mine to match hers beat for beat. I’m addicted to this feeling, I’m pretty sure I’ve become addicted to her.
Walking us over to the bed, I lay her down and lean over, keeping her mouth fused to mine. Damn she feels even better underneath me than she tastes.
Rocking her hips against mine, she slides her hands down my back and grabs on to my waist, fingers slipping underneath my shirt and onto my skin. Her touch feels incredible and electric; it sends tremors straight through me.
Needing to be closer—to feel more—one hand slides up the back of her thigh and under her tiny little skirt to rest on her hipbone. The other falls next to her head as I pull back to hold myself up. My heart crashes into my chest and at least a minute goes by, while neither of us says anything. We’re each watching to see what the other is going to do—the sound of our breathing the only disturbance between us.
Leaning forward, I kiss the corner of her mouth and drag my lips across hers, drawing the swell of her bottom lip between my teeth. She sucks in air, and I cover her mouth with mine to take it away from her. Her fingers dig into my back, and her tongue dances with mine.
“I shouldn’t want this,” she says as my lips move from her mouth to her neck, licking the sweetness from her skin. I shouldn’t want this, either, but damn if I do. Her back arches, and her chest pushes into me. My hand slips over the smoothness of her hipbone and around to her ass. Tilting her, I angle her to better align the fit of me against her. She moans into my shoulder as I push against her, and I groan from the heat that’s wrapping around me.
“Why do you drive me so crazy?” I whisper, my words leaving a trail of goose bumps on her skin. Her hair is spread out across the bed, her lips are plump from the assault they were given, and her cheeks are flushed with desire. My heart trips in my chest.
Sliding my hand back around her hip, my thumb slips under her lace panties and traces the edge between her legs. She’s smooth and perfect. Every muscle in my stomach tightens in anticipation and want. This girl is the sweetest torture.
Somewhere in the house, a door slams, and Shelby tenses. I had forgotten anyone else was here.
“We should go back out there,” she says, pushing on me to move as her eyes skip to the door and back to mine.
“Yeah, I think you’re probably right.” My hand slides back around to her ass and squeezes. Her eyes widen a little. The moment is over, but it’s too late for her to be shy about my hand on her ass.
Slowly, I stand and take a step back from her, smoothing down her skirt as I go. God, I want this girl.
Her eyes trail the length of me and pause as I adjust myself. I smirk at her and the flood of color rising on her cheeks.
“Whatever.” She rolls her eyes, and flips her hair over her shoulder as she gets up off the bed, pushes by me, and walks into the bathroom. I can’t argue her attitude here. My mixed signals over the last week have been confusing even to me, but the last five minutes should have proven that I undoubtedly want her.
Heading out first to the kitchen. Kyle catches my eye and shakes his head disapprovingly. A twinge of guilt inches its way in, but I can’t think about that, I only want to think about how she makes me feel. And right now, I feel good.
Southern Cornbread
“What’s going on with you and Kyle?” I ask Michelle as she walks behind the bar to grab glasses for a new customer. She skipped out last night, closely after Kyle, and I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye or thank her for helping me.
“Nothing much, why?” She doesn’t make eye contact with me.
“Oh, come on. I’ve been here for a week, and it’s obvious even to me there’s something there.”
She pushes her braid off her shoulder and glances at me—her expression full of dejection.
“I thought so, too. Was even hopeful for it. But more and more time has passed and nothing ever changed . . . we
ll, maybe it did last night. I don’t know.”
“What happened last night?” I lean forward, placing my elbows on the bar.
“Nothing really. It just felt like it used to. But then again, I’m probably making it more than it is.” Disappointment laces through her words.
“I don’t understand. What do you mean ‘like it used to’?” I’ve seen the way he looks at her, and I’ve seen the up-front way he acts with Zach. I can’t imagine him not going after what he wants.
She shrugs and says, “When I first started working here, he would come in at the end of my shift and we’d sit around and talk into the night. I loved it, but little by little the time would cut shorter, until eventually he stopped coming.”
“That’s strange. He’s so flirtatious around you.” Thinking back over the last couple of days, I’ve seen him wink at her at least a half dozen times.
“I know, right? Well, I’m glad you see it, too. I was starting to wonder if I was reading more into it than there was.”
“I don’t think so, and last night, he all but made it clear you were his.” Kyle’s expression when he joined us outside was not only territorial but also determined. Once he sat next to Michelle, he stole all her attention.
“But I’m not.”
“Are you sure about that?” The question lingers around us as we stare at each other.
Another couple comes in and she moves down the bar to greet them placing fresh glasses in front of everyone. She smiles warmly and instantly has them feeling relaxed and welcome; that’s part of her allure. Michelle is beautiful, kind, and smart, I really don’t see what the problem is.
“So, tell me about last night?” I ask when she comes back to refill my wine glass for me.
She lets out a sigh and leans over the bar so she’s a bit closer to me. “He heard me leave right after him and offered to drive me back to the manor to get my car. We talked for a little bit on the drive, and then he said good night.”
“That’s it?”
“Yep.” She pinches her lips together.
The Sweetness of Life (Starving for Southern Book 1) Page 14
