by Piper Rayne
“Want me to walk you in?”
It’s dark and hard to see her expression, but I’m guessing from her silence that’s a resounding no.
“Could you pick me up tomorrow?” she asks.
“Yeah, for sure.”
“Thanks.”
Her suitcase rolls on the gravel until it hits the wooden planks of the porch. She stops at the front door. I was completely wrong. She’s fine with going to her dad’s. Huh. Did I do something wrong to make that bitchy side come back out then?
“Bye, Denver,” she says and waves.
“I’ll just make sure you get in.”
It’s so quiet outside, I hear her put the key in the lock and turn the knob before disappearing inside. Turning on the light, she waves one more time. “See. I’m good. Goodnight.”
The door shuts, and I stand there attempting to wrap my brain around what’s happening. A girl who couldn’t go in there weeks ago just did so without hesitation.
I climb into my truck and turn it around when she doesn’t run out the door in tears. As I head down the driveway and imagine her in there, my stomach sinks. Memories of when I walked up to the cemetery where my parents’ headstone is. How heavy every limb felt, like my body was trying to convince me not to go through with it.
Then I remember the relief I felt when Rome was there, waiting for me. As if he knew I was coming and knew I had never been. Twin telepathy maybe. We sat on the bench and retold stories of Dad coaching us in Little League or Mom’s ability to always know when we were about to do something stupid. We were honest with one another about how much we missed them.
I reach the main road and do a U-turn, speed back down Chip’s road, and slam on my brakes at the edge of the house. Running to the door, I stop short at the porch when I find her seated on the wooden planks, her knees bent up and her head down, sobbing.
I should’ve listened to my gut.
“Shhh, I’ve got you.” I pick her up without any argument from her, deposit her into my truck, and strap her in.
After retrieving her suitcase and making sure the house is locked up, I drive her to where I should have the first time—my house.
Eighteen
Cleo
Once I’m in the cab of Denver’s truck, I wipe my eyes, thankful it’s dark outside. “I’m really okay,” I say right before another hiccup escapes.
“You’re not, and you’re going to come home with me tonight. We’ll go back together when you’re ready.”
The drive to his place is silent until he pulls into his driveway and parks. A dim light illuminates one window, but otherwise it’s black. I’m guessing that means Phoenix is awake.
“I’m twenty-seven. I should be able to go into his house and sleep.”
Denver undoes his buckle and releases mine. He climbs down, opens the back door, and pulls out my suitcase. Before I have time to really think, he’s opening my door and holding out his hand.
“Maybe just take me back to the hotel?” I’m sure I can afford one night at Glacier Point.
“I’m putting my foot down. You’re staying here,” he says, putting his hand farther into the cab. “Come on. I promise to keep my hands to myself.”
I blow out a breath. Before I can respond, Phoenix opens the front door.
“How was Griffin? I’m assuming he still knows nothing about me?” She’s wearing a cute pajama set. Somehow, Phoenix seemed like a boxers-and-T-shirt kind of girl for nighttime attire, but apparently not.
Denver holds up his hand. “Not now. We’re in the middle of something.”
Phoenix peers into the truck and waves.
“Hey, Phoenix. Please go ahead and give your brother the interrogation, but if you don’t mind, I’m going to stay the night.”
“Oh.” Her gaze shoots to Denver, and they have a silent sibling conversation I’m not privy to. I can feel the rawness around my eyes from my tears, so I’m sure she doesn’t miss the fact that I’ve been crying. “Definitely. I’ll go make sure the spare room is good to go.”
She disappears inside, and I step out of the truck, not accepting Denver’s hand. I’m taking way too much of his help lately. He doesn’t appear to take offense and follows me up the walkway to their house. Phoenix left the screen door unlocked and the inside door hangs open. When I enter, I see her pass by the top of the stairway with a blanket and a pillow.
“I’ll run this up to the spare room,” Denver says, motioning to my suitcase. “You hungry?”
I hate to admit it, but I’m starving. Eating fish all weekend has left me craving some greasy junk food. “Yeah, but I should just go to bed.”
“I’m sure we have something. I’m hungry too.” He walks up the stairs and heads in the same direction Phoenix did.
I hear their murmurs and decide to go to the kitchen so I don’t have to hear what Denver must be divulging to Phoenix—that I’m a complete basket case who can’t control her emotions.
I hear Denver coming down the steps before I see him.
He ignores me and heads to the fridge. “Honestly, we don’t have much, and nowhere is open for delivery or take-out this late. How about cereal?”
He opens the cabinets, pulls out five boxes of cereal, and brings them to the counter. All of them are sugar-filled children’s cereals, but I’m not complaining right now. Within minutes, we both have a bowl—his Fruit Loops and mine Lucky Charms—and the only noise in the kitchen is chomping. Phoenix doesn’t join us, and though I really like her company, I’m thankful for the peace right now.
“You know when my parents died, it took me five years to visit their grave after the funeral.” He rinses his bowl in the sink. “Chip just died. It’s going to take time. Maybe you’re rushing yourself.”
When he sits back down across from me, I finish my bowl. I’m happy for the distraction of rinsing my dish, so I don’t have to look at him. He’s trying, and I get what he’s doing. I’m just not sure that out of all the people in my life, Denver is the one I should divulge my deepest regrets and fears to. If he can somehow make it better, that’ll only stamp savior on his chest. And then I’m nowhere closer to keeping things uncomplicated between us. But at the same time, it might feel good to talk to someone about what’s rattling around inside my brain.
I sit back down at the table and pick at the placemat. “You want to know why I didn’t like you?”
“Since you say didn’t, does that mean you like me now?” His arrogance shines through his smirk.
I smile back. “It’s like fifty-fifty.”
“Oh, I think it’s a little more than that.” His tongue slides out of his mouth, swiping along his bottom lip, and my stomach somersaults.
Yeah, it’s more than that.
“Chip was a part-time dad at best.” I feel guilty saying the words now that my dad’s gone, but I can’t change the past.
Denver doesn’t say anything. I’m not sure how much is known around Lake Starlight about Chip and me, but he never once left Alaska to come visit me.
“I came up here every summer for two weeks until I turned eighteen, and every time I talked to him, all I heard about was you.”
“Me?” He points at himself.
“He taught you how to fly, didn’t he?”
He nods.
“And survival skills?”
He nods again, and I see the moment realization dawns on him. He grabs my hand. “He loved you.”
I don’t move out of his grip. “He loved me because I was his daughter, his flesh and blood. But I always felt like he wished you were his son.”
His fingers tighten on mine, and when I don’t look up, he tightens them again. “When I was with him, he’d brag about his daughter in college. How smart and beautiful you were. That you were going to make something big of yourself.”
A soft smile graces my lips. At my college graduation ceremony, I knew he was proud, but he didn’t attend.
“Then he left you half the company, and I was so mad because he assumed I’d n
eed you. I took offense, and it brought up all these feelings. The truth is, you were closer to him than I was.”
“That’s not true.”
It’s nice that he’s trying to be polite, but we both know the truth. “You were. And now that he’s gone, it feels worse because I can’t ever change that.”
“I never saw it as a competition.”
“Because you’re…” My next words might cause an argument. We’ve been getting along so well lately that I’m not sure I want to risk it.
“What? Just say it.”
“You’re the winner. You had his sole attention. I had his obligatory attention. He felt like he had to give it to me because we shared DNA.”
Denver frowns. “I’m sorry you felt that way, and I get that your feelings are your feelings. Nothing I can say will change those. But for what it’s worth, you were all he talked about when we were camping. How you were out there seeing things and doing more than he ever did.”
His phone dings and I take the opportunity to stand. It’s surreal that the man I was jealous of is the same man I’m telling all this to.
“Can I ask you a question?” Denver says, pocketing his phone and heading to the freezer.
Venturing into the family room, I watch him grab some ice cream.
He lifts the container. “Phoenix must like you. She’s offering up her mint chocolate chip ice cream.”
“She’s sweet.”
The sound of a drawer opening, and the clank of silverware comes next. “You might be the first person to ever say that.”
I chuckle. He joins me in the family room and motions with his head for me to sit on the sofa and I do as he suggests. With each of us armed with a spoon, he offers me the first scoop.
“I never would’ve thought you were such a gentleman.”
“Didn’t you ever think that’s the reason why women gravitate toward me?”
“I always thought you gravitated toward them.”
He mocks offense and moves the ice cream container away from me just as my spoon is about to dig into the creamy goodness.
“I’m irresistible,” he says, bringing the ice cream back between us.
I agree. He is, and it took me a long time to see it.
“Why did you decide to stay and take over half the company when you had no interest in it all these years?” I must make a weird face because he adds, “This has nothing to do with us owning it together and all the buyout talk we had. I’m just curious because you never seemed to care before, and now you’re an eager beaver.”
I raise an eyebrow at his choice of words. But he’s right. What is a girl who grew up in high society doing running a tourist company in Alaska? The answer is so easy but goes so much deeper than I’ve gone with Denver.
I take a heaping spoonful. When I look up, he’s staring at me with such reverence, the words fall from my mouth. “I have nothing else.”
If he’s surprised by my words, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he digs into the ice cream. “Can I ask one more question?” His voice lowers this time as if he knows he might be crossing a line.
“Yeah.”
“Do you think you could be happy here?” Now his eyes seem to be searching for something in mine.
“I think maybe I could.”
His lips tip into a smile I’ve never before seen on his face. Almost as if he’d been holding his breath, waiting for my answer.
Nineteen
Denver
Cleo sits in the dimly lit family room, sharing a carton of ice cream with me. I realize now that we have a lot in common, though my issues have been in existence more than a decade longer than hers. Which makes me a veteran and the more knowledgeable one.
I should probably say goodnight and go upstairs—to our separate bedrooms—but I keep asking questions instead, needing to know more about what makes this woman tick. “So you’d like to stay and run Lifetime Adventures?”
Her shoulders rise and fall. “I guess. I mean, I am kind of enjoying building it from the ground up again. And eventually I’m going to win the debate with you about incorporating a family dynamic.”
I shake my head, and she laughs. It’s been an ongoing conversation since day one. I think she did inherit Chip’s stubborn side, which means at some point she probably will win.
“What about you?” She pokes me in the chest and steals the ice cream container.
“What about me?”
“What are you looking for?”
I think of a way to answer this question. I’m enjoying running Lifetime Adventures too, and I loved filming the show this weekend. It was like the best of both worlds, allowing me to explore but also get paid well.
“I’ve never looked for anything in my life.” It’s the most honest answer I can give her. Although I’ve bullshitted a lot of women in my time, I try not to do that with Cleo.
“Nothing?”
I shake my head. “Not since my parents died. I like living my life one day at a time. What’s the point in making plans when you may not get to see them come to fruition?”
Her lips tip down and she hands me back the ice cream, staring at me as if we’re having a staring contest. I blink first.
She stands and licks her spoon clean. “I should probably go to bed.”
When she slides through the space between my legs and the coffee table, I stop her, taking her wrist. “Did I say something to upset you?”
She wears a smile, but it’s fake. Like the one she used in the lawyer’s office. “No, I’m just tired.”
I release her and listen while she puts the spoon in the dishwasher.
“Goodnight,” she murmurs.
Does she really want to do this now? Because it has the potential to ruin everything we’ve developed these past weeks.
“Do you want to ask me a more direct question?”
She says nothing, but from the lack of movement behind me, it’s clear that she’s stopped moving toward the stairs. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I think you’ve given me enough clues to figure out the answer for myself.”
“Maybe I’m dodging,” I say, standing and turning to face her.
“Are you?”
I run a hand through my hair and look down. “I want you. I can’t deny that. I want you in a way I’ve never wanted another woman.”
A flush rises up her neck into her cheeks. “But?”
“But we’re building this company together and I tend to fuck things up. If I sleep with you, it’ll ruin the fragile friendship we’ve developed, and I think both of us need this to be successful. So for the first time in my life, I’m not going to listen to my dick but my brain.”
Our gazes lock and neither of us looks away.
“Then maybe we need to set some rules because I can’t lie either… I want you in the worst possible way.”
Fuck. I’ve heard women tell me they want me. Cleo isn’t the first. But she is the first woman who I think I might want more than she wants me. I know this yearning inside me will only be satisfied when she’s screaming my name and I’m deep inside her.
“Then let’s make some ground rules,” I say.
She steps forward, but she sits on the chair and I sit back down on the couch.
“First of all, I can’t live here,” she says.
“Once we get the rules set, you’ll be able to live here.”
I have willpower when I choose to. I quit drinking for an entire six months for a bet. I was even celibate for three months—thankfully my hand didn’t count. I squirm just thinking about how chaffed I was after that stint.
“Okay. Rule number one, no more sexual innuendos or jokes.” She stares at me because I am the king of that.
“One a day?”
She blows out a breath. “One a week?”
“That’ll never work. We need to set parameters I can actually manage. And if I have to be around you all day, one isn’t gonna cut it.”
Her face lights up. Maybe I do
n’t have the willpower for this, because I’d do just about anything to kiss her right now.
“Fine,” she says.
“No walking around in towels,” I blurt.
“I don’t really do that,” she says.
“So you take your clothes into the bathroom when you shower and dress in there?”
She laughs. “Okay. Then no walking around barefoot.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “Barefoot?” Then I think of her cute pink toes and grin, realizing she finds my feet as attractive as I find hers. “Deal.”
“No being nice,” she says, pointing a finger at me.
“Nice?”
“You’ve been almost sweet lately, and when you mix it with your skills in the wild, it’s unrealistic to think that I won’t jump you one day.”
An image of her toppling me over and the two of us falling to the ground in a frantic kiss that turns into clothing being ripped off one another assaults my mind. I shift to keep my semi covered up.
“And no masturbating to thoughts of each other,” she says.
Talk about intriguing. “You’ve masturbated to me?”
That pink in her cheeks turns apple red. I should probably admit defeat on this because all the rules she’s putting in place are rules I’ve broken.
“Yeah,” she says quietly. “Not like every night or anything. Keep your ego in check.”
I inch forward, my hardening cock pressing against my pants. “Tell me what I do.”
She leans forward and pushes my shoulder. “That’s against the rules and now I’ll be turning to porn.”
“Ugh, that’s so unfair.” I put the heels of my hands to my eyes and groan.
“What?”
“You gave me a visual of your hand down your pants, watching porn.”
“Sorry.”
I try to erase the image, but when my eyes pop open and see her, it all magically appears again. “Did you imagine me chopping wood without a shirt on?”
She looks at the ceiling and purses her lips. “Nope.”
But she crosses her legs, which I know she’s doing to release some pressure that’s building. After this conversation, if we don’t fall into bed with one another, it’ll be a miracle.
