by Ryan, Lexi
* * *
Kace
Hope’s face is a perfect picture of five-year-old focus as she wobbles through the grass with a water balloon between her knees, trying to move as quickly as she can without popping it. On either side of her, two friends from her preschool do the same. Ten feet ahead, chalk spray paint marks the finish line. The adults cheer from the patio, and Brinley’s ten-year-old daughter, Cami, stands at the end of the path to declare the winner.
The little girl with braids, Kara, picks up her pace and makes it a few strides ahead of the others, then shrieks when her balloon pops between her knees before she can cross the line.
“Slow and steady!” Cami shouts from the finish line. “Come on, Hopey! You got this.”
Cami is Hope’s honorary cousin, not to mention her idol, and at the sound of her voice, my daughter moves wrong and the balloon falls to the grass, busting between her bare feet. The last little girl standing giggles her way toward the finish line. All my focus is on Hope, though, and the big smile on her face.
I’ve had good birthdays, and I’ve had bad birthdays. I’m at the point in my life where it doesn’t mean much either way. But birthdays are everything to my girl. She looks forward to them all year long. The only thing she’s talked about this week is what her party’s going to be like and who’s going to be there.
Amy might be terrible about leaving everything to the last minute, but she’s always pulled it together. After she texted this morning to let me know her flight was delayed, I worried this would be the year Hope’s birthday was a disappointment on every level. Instead, she’s so busy having fun that she’s forgotten her mom’s not here. At least temporarily.
“Who’s ready for cake?” Abbi asks, sticking her head out the back door.
“Meeeeee!” the kids chorus, rushing toward the tables decorated with streamers and the rock candy “ice crystals” Stella sprinkled down the middle.
“Everyone sit down so we can sing to the birthday girl,” my sister says before ducking back into the house. When she returns, she’s holding a cake that looks like the castle from Frozen. Five candles blaze on top.
“Happy birthday to you,” we all sing together as Abbi carefully sets the cake down in front of her niece. Hope sings along with us, with a spirited “Happy birthday to meee,” and then takes one deep breath and blows out all the candles on her first try.
Everyone claps, and Abbi whisks the cake away to cut it. My mom helps, asking the girls if they want ice cream, and Stella and Brinley pass the plates out to the youngest guests, who dig in, making happy noises when the sugar hits their tongue.
My gaze lands on Stella, who’s listening intently as Hope recaps the water balloon race and explains how the slippery balloon got away from her. Sometimes adults just humor kids, listening when they don’t really care what they’re saying. I’ve done it myself from time to time with other people’s children. Do I really care about how you killed all those creepers on Minecraft? No. But I’ll stand here and listen, because I know it matters to you. Hell, I’ve even done the half-assed listening thing to Hope when I’ve been particularly distracted by something else in my life, but that’s not what happens when Stella listens to my kid telling a story. She laughs with Hope and adds her own observations. And it’s not just today. She’s always been that way. If she ever does have kids, she’ll be an amazing mom. I hope that dream comes true for her.
The thought doesn’t sit right, though, and I turn it around for a few seconds before I can figure out why. Stella’s not the one who told me about wanting kids. That was Itsy.
Jesus, in retrospect, they’re so similar. Itsy opened up more, but she had the same vibe Stella does. It’s no wonder I was interested in her without ever seeing an actual picture. Now I wonder if I was just an idiot who was looking for an excuse not to fall in love again, and looking for a way I could be with Stella without risking my heart.
If I’d been honest with her—or even myself—I would’ve admitted that a physical relationship wasn’t going to be enough for me, either. I like her too much for that. I have no idea if she feels the same about me or if she’s interested in anything I have to offer, but it seems pretty narrow-minded of me to have assumed that just because she’s single and carefree she wouldn’t also enjoy a different kind of life.
“What’s got you down?” Dean asks beside me. I was zoned out and didn’t even realize he was standing there. “Baby girl’s growing up too fast, isn’t she?”
I nod. “Yeah, the years go quick, but I don’t actually mind that she’s growing up. I see all these parents saying they wish time would stop, but I don’t feel that way. She gets cooler every year.”
“She is cool. I like to think that’s Uncle Dean rubbing off on her.”
I grunt and shake my head. “Tell yourself whatever you want, but my kid is cool despite you.”
He nudges me with his elbow and chuckles. “If that’s not it, what’s got you looking so morose?” He holds up a finger then tilts his head, studying my face. “Nope, I should’ve seen it the first time. That’s the face of a man who’s thinking about his woman. How are things with the, uh, online girlfriend?”
I swallow. “Over. We’re not talking anymore.” And it’s not the online girl I can’t stop thinking about. I hate keeping this whole thing with me and Stella from Dean, but what’s the point in telling him now? “And before you ask, I’m fine.”
“Right,” Dean says. “So she wasn’t a seventy-five-year-old granny playing you from her favorite recliner?”
“I thought she was supposed to be a sociopath living in his parents’ basement.”
Dean shrugs as if to say, same thing. “You know, no one’s perfect. We’ve made mistakes and have secrets. Have you ever considered not being a scared little bitch about a new relationship?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “What do you know about it?”
He shrugs. “I just know you. You don’t want to get hurt again, and that’s understandable, but I’m wondering if maybe you’re not giving this girl a real shot.”
My attention is pulled off Dean when I spot Smithy sauntering across the yard, sucking on a Popsicle in the most lascivious way. I blink, and he winks at me. Because that’s who Smithy is.
“What are you guys talking about?” he asks when he joins us. He pops his Popsicle back into his mouth and slurps. Loudly.
“Kace was just telling me how much he misses his animated girlfriend.”
Smithy’s jaw drops, and he puts a pause on his little fellatio show. “Sorry, what?”
I jab my elbow into Dean’s side. “Fuck off. That’s not what I was saying.”
“She’s human and flawed and shit,” Dean says. “So now he’s going to move on and will probably end up with an AI in someone’s lab.”
I glare. “Since when do you care about my online dating life?”
“You’re . . . not going to give her a chance?” Smithy asks. “Is it ’cause . . .” His not-at-all-subtle gaze drifts to Stella. I wonder if he knows about that. Luckily, Dean’s fucking around on his phone and doesn’t notice.
I give Smithy a hard look, and he shoves the Popsicle back in his mouth like it’s a pacifier.
“Who are you talking to?” I ask Dean. He’d give me so much shit if I just started texting someone in the middle of a conversation.
He taps on the screen a couple more times, then slides the phone into his pocket. “Sorry.” He glances around the party. “This turned out great.”
I nod, grateful to move the subject away from Stella. “Yeah. I hope I got enough pictures for Amy. I think she’s beating herself up for scheduling her flight this morning instead of taking the red-eye last night. This is the first time she’s missed Hope’s birthday.”
“But at least she’ll see her this evening,” Dean says, and when I frown, he adds, “I mean, you know Amy. She’ll find a way to get here so they can have their little mother-daughter birthday moment.”
“Probably.” I fucking hop
e so. While Hope is on cloud nine right now, she’ll remember Mom’s not here the moment everyone leaves.
Just like that, my phone buzzes with a text from Amy, as if Dean’s some sort of psychic wonder. Just landed in Atlanta. I’ll be there soon!
I turn the phone to Dean to show him. “Weirdo,” I mutter.
“Whoa!” Smithy says, melted blue Popsicle juice dripping down his chin. “You’ve got the woo-woo, Dean.”
Dean looks at the ground, then at the small group of parents gathering in a loose circle in the yard behind us, then back at Smithy. “It’s just Amy.” He shrugs. “Anyone could’ve guessed she wouldn’t miss Hope’s birthday.”
Smithy cocks his head. “You’re in a weird mood.” He extends his Popsicle toward Dean’s mouth. “Suck on this. It’ll make you feel better.”
Dean smacks his arm away. “Does that line work with your dates?”
Smithy waggles his brows. “I don’t have to say it. One look, and they know.”
I grimace. “Guys, there are small children within hearing distance. Could we dial the humor back to PG for a bit?”
Smithy chuckles and licks his blue lips.
Across the patio, Stella’s clearing the plates off the table, and I rush in to help. “I can take those,” I say at her side.
“I don’t mind.” She smiles up at me, and fuck. She looks so pretty today. She’s wearing a pink sundress with big yellow happy-face flowers all over it, and her hair’s brushed into a high ponytail. There’s a new smattering of freckles on her shoulders, and I wonder if she’s been studying outside on campus, wonder if those freckles would’ve come from an afternoon hanging out here if I hadn’t screwed everything up.
For a beat, I feel like I can’t breathe. The only thing I can focus on is the urge to bend and brush my lips over those spots, to taste this bit of her that I missed before.
I swallow back the urge and try to proceed like a fucking adult who’s not ruled by his hormones. “Here.” I take the plates from her hands. My fingers brush hers, and her gaze jumps to mine.
“Thanks.”
“Did you get any cake?” I glance to the end of the table, where half of Abbi’s creation sits untouched and half a dozen slices sit plated up around it. “Abbi’s stuff is good.”
She chews on her lip. “It’s a weakness of mine.” She leans closer and lowers her voice. “I was actually planning on waiting until everyone leaves so I could cut myself an inappropriately large serving and not have to filter out my foodgasm sounds.”
I chuckle and pull my gaze off her mouth. I don’t want to miss that, and the words to tell her as much are on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow them back. I want more than sex and teasing and innuendo with Stella, and it’s about time she understands that. “Stick around later. Maybe we can talk.”
Then I walk away, because I don’t want to give her the chance to tell me she hates that idea.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Stella
Should I have spent today studying rather than planning a five-year-old’s birthday party? Yes. How many regrets do I have about my choices? None.
The only thing better than seeing the stress lift from Kace’s shoulders when I came home with the decorations and a plan for games was Hope’s smile throughout her party. I know she’s sad her mom wasn’t there, and no amount of games or helium balloons can make up for that, but knowing I helped make her day fun is one of the best feelings I’ve had in months.
I expected our guest of honor to meltdown the minute her last guest left, but she didn’t. She’s sitting in the grass playing with her new presents while Kace and I clean up.
“Stella,” Kace says, snatching the folding chairs from my hands. “Seriously, I’ve got this.”
“I don’t mind helping,” I say, but I let him take them because my arms are getting tired, and I should probably get out of the sun before I end up resembling an overripe tomato. “You can do the heavy lifting, and I’ll go inside and load the dishwasher.”
He smiles, his gaze dipping to my mouth. It’s been doing that a lot today, and I like it. I also need him to stop, because I’m weak. “Okay, but don’t forget we’re having cake together once this is all cleaned up. I want—”
“Hopey, baby! Happy birthday, girl!” Amy shouts from the gate. Kace and I both turn to watch Amy stoop to her haunches and open her arms.
Hope drops her toys and runs across the lawn as fast as her little legs can carry her. “Mommy!”
I can’t help that my attention shifts to Kace, can’t help this masochistic need to see the longing in his eyes. Longing for his wife, for his family to be whole again.
He’s smiling, but if he’s feeling any sort of angst, he hides it well. Beyond happiness for his daughter, I can’t tell what he’s thinking. Probably for the best.
“I’ll go work on those dishes,” I say, stepping away before he can object.
Inside, the air is cool, and my sun-warmed skin prickles with goose bumps. I get to work loading the dishes and filling the sink with soapy water to wash the serving trays. When I’m still shivering a few minutes later, I grab one of Kace’s hoodies from the back of a kitchen chair and pull it over my head. It’s about three sizes too big, but it’s soft and it smells like him. I bury my face into the neck and breathe in deeply.
“That looks good on you. It’s especially cute with the dress.”
I whip my head up as Kace closes the back door. He strides toward me casually, but his eyes skim up and down, taking in my hoodie-and-sundress combo. “Yeah, I bet this ensemble will be all the rage this fall.” I give him my best apologetic smile. “Sorry. After being in the heat all day, the AC felt super cold. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” He turns to the sink and shuts off the water. “You didn’t need to do all this. You saved my ass today, and the least I can do is clean up myself.”
“I wanted to help. Where’s Hope?”
“She went to the arcade with her mom.”
Which means we’re alone. And I’m in his sweatshirt, the smell of him weakening my defenses faster than shots of tequila. And he’s looking at me like . . .
“Cake,” he says, and it jerks me from my hopelessly lovesick and desperate thoughts so fast that I actually feel a little dizzy.
“What?”
His smile is slow and lazy. The kind of smile inspired by a weekend wasted in bed. The kind given after a kiss stolen from a longtime lover. I love that smile so much. From the way his eyes crinkle in the corners to how it drags my attention to his soft lips. “I promised to feed you,” he says. “Cake.”
I grab the dishrag from the sink and swipe it across the counter. “I’ll take a piece with me when I go. It’s no big deal.”
He’s already cutting massive slices and sliding them onto dessert plates. “Every year since her first birthday, I’ve eaten a second piece of cake with my daughter after the guests left. Don’t make me eat alone.”
My heart sinks a little at this admission but is buoyed when he waves the plate in front of me. “Sure.” I grab a fork from the drawer and lean back against the counter as I take a bite. As I anticipated, the sugary frosting melts on my tongue and pulls sex sounds from my throat before I can stifle them.
Kace pauses, his fork halfway to his mouth. “Can we talk about this foodgasm thing?”
I laugh. “Isn’t it kind of self-explanatory?”
“We don’t know what we don’t know, right?” His eyes are glued to my mouth as I slide another bite of cake past my lips. I moan involuntarily—I would do a hundred extra chem labs for Abbi’s buttercream—and he clears his throat. “I thought foodgasm was an exaggeration, but now I’m wondering if it’s . . .”
I put my plate down to resist the urge to stuff my face while he’s standing right there. “What?”
“Um . . . literal?”
I laugh—not a polite, small sound but a deep, full-belly laugh. God, that feels good. I’m sick of walking around sad and stressed all the time.
“Like, could I ditch my vibrators and just stuff my bedside table with your sister’s cake?”
He coughs. “That sounds really dirty. Can we not call it my sister’s cake and just go back to the part where I got to watch you moan?”
Yes, please. I really, really want to go back to that part. My cheeks flame hot—not from embarrassment, but from the sheer struggle it takes to wield this much self-control. Kace wants me, and I don’t want to say no. But even if he’s interested in something more than a short-term fling, I can’t bring myself to do what I’d have to do if I wanted to say yes.
“You have . . .” He cups my face in one big hand, and the feel of his rough callouses on my cheek sends a shiver of longing through me. He swipes his thumb across my bottom lip. “Frosting,” he whispers, and tilts my face up to his, and I don’t even know how we ended up close enough for this. At some point, he closed the distance between us. Or I maybe did. At some point, the air was filled with the magnetic vibration of attraction that turns everything over to physics. The two opposite forces must meet.
At some point, I fell in love.
He sweeps his thumb across the corner of my mouth. “Right here.”
I swallow. “All better?”
“Not yet,” he says, and slowly lowers his mouth to mine.
I spent a lot of years telling myself that my feelings for Kace were entirely rooted in the fact that they were unrequited. He was another example of my bad track record. Maybe he wasn’t a bad guy, but a one-sided love isn’t healthy.
But now, I can’t even blame this blinding attraction on his resistance. There’s no resistance in this kiss. There was the first time, when he wasn’t sure about crossing lines with me. And even the second time, in my bedroom, when we handed the reins over to lust. But now, all the walls are down. Every sweep of his lips and flick of his tongue tells me he wants this. He wants me.
I pull away, breathless and needy but with my eyes burning with unshed tears. “We should stop.” Stop now before it’s too hard. Stop now before you break my heart.
