Every Sweet Regret (Orchid Valley Book 2)

by Lexi Ryan

  Her blue eyes widen, pure innocence. “Am I lying?”

  I drain my beer, but it doesn’t do anything to diminish this twilight zone feeling. My ex-wife is setting up my account on a hookup app.

  “When I made you promise we’d still be friends, this is not what I meant.” I sigh.

  She waggles her brows then drops her attention back to the app. “Let’s see who’s online now and is within . . .” She taps her chin thoughtfully. “Let’s go with thirty miles. Don’t want your booty call to be on the other side of Atlanta traffic.”

  I wave to Smithy and point to my empty glass to let him know I need another beer, though if she keeps this up, I should probably switch to something stronger. “You’re mental.”

  “Oh!” She studies the screen, her smile growing. “This could be fun.”

  Really, once Amy sets her mind to something, there’s no point in interfering, so all I can do is wait until she’s done and then try to minimize the damage.

  “I’m going to tap ‘interested’ on this one.” She turns the screen to me for a beat, and I see a flash of cleavage. “Nice rack, huh?”

  There isn’t enough alcohol in the world. “Is that her profile pic?”

  She shrugs. “Yeah. That’s the way Random works. This isn’t about finding a pretty face.”

  “Whatever,” I mutter. I take the fresh glass from Smithy and force myself to sip when I want to chug.

  “And . . . that was fast. She’s interested back.” The woman I vowed to love till death is not only trying to get me laid, she’s downright giddy about it. “What should I type?”

  “How about, This is Kace’s ex-wife, and I’m acting like a creep right now. He’ll apologize as soon as I give him his phone back.”

  She lifts her gaze to mine, as if considering this. “Nah.” She returns the phone. “My work here’s done.”

  “Save me,” I mutter. “What did you do? You know what?” I slide my phone into my back pocket. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

  “Hey, baby, you ready?” The guy Amy was hanging on earlier stands a few feet away and nods toward the door.

  “Gotta go,” she says. She wriggles her fingers in a little wave. “Enjoy yourself tonight.”

  I shift on my stool to check on Stella, but she’s gone. So much for enjoying myself.

  Chapter Three

  Kace

  The sun is shining, the smell of barbecue is in the air, the beer is cold, and my favorite people are scattered in groups around the pool and in the yard beyond. This is why I wanted to buy this house—not because of how it could look once restored to its former glory, not because of the backyard privacy fence so tall I forget I even have neighbors, but because of whom it could hold. This’ll be the place where Hope has her birthday parties. It’ll be the place where I invite my friends for pool parties in the summer and gluttonous feasts at Thanksgiving. If I couldn’t keep the family I planned, I’ll celebrate the one I have in my friends.

  It’s far from perfect, and the few months of work I’ve put in have barely scratched the surface, but today I’m reminded of why I took the plunge and bought the old plantation-style home in Orchid Valley’s historic district. I needed to get out of the house where I thought I’d grow old with my wife.

  When I got home last night, the quiet was so deafening that I almost considered opening up that app Amy installed for me. Almost. Instead, I focused on last-minute prep work for today’s cookout and then crashed, trying not to think about Amy going home with that guy. Finally, my mind settled on thoughts of Stella . . . and stayed there until I forgot about Amy completely.

  Now Stella’s stretched out by my pool in an itsy-bitsy, pink-striped bikini I’ve been trying like hell not to appreciate since the moment she peeled off her sundress. Her red hair is piled in a messy bun on top of her head, and one long leg is stretched out in front of her, the other bent at the knee. Her sunglasses are perched on the tip of her nose, and she’s biting her tongue between her teeth while she messes around on her phone.

  Is she messaging someone? Some guy who might be willing to do something about the thirst she mentioned last night?

  I’d bet she has a list of guys who’d run right over if she asked. And from the way she talks, I’m pretty sure she asks as often as she pleases, which—good for her. She’s young and single. She can do whatever and whomever the fuck she pleases. And if the idea bugs me more than it should? Well, that’s something I’ll be taking to my grave.

  I stoop to the cooler and pull out a White Claw—Stella hates beer—and take it to her. “For you,” I say, offering the can.

  She drops her phone between her legs and props her sunglasses on the top of her head before taking it from me. “Thank you.” She grins. “Is serving me, like, your thing now?”

  She said serving me, but my brain heard servicing me, and my imagination grabs on to that with both hands. Fuck. “You’re welcome.” My gaze dips to her cleavage and the sheen of sweat that’s gathered in the afternoon sun. I’m pretty sure this is the part where I walk away, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to say anything to encourage her, either, so I go all boring-dad mode on her instead. “I hope you have sunblock on.”

  “If I said no, would you help me get my back?”

  I cough. Don’t make it weird. “Sure. Whatever.”

  She chuckles, a low, husky sound that seems to reroute all my blood to south of my waistband. There’s nothing that amuses Stella more than watching me get awkward when she pretends to throw herself at me. The thing is, it wouldn’t be awkward at all if I weren’t so determined to resist. If she were serious and I decided to indulge in that little fantasy . . . Fuck. I already know it’d be damn good.

  “Good to know.” She cracks open the can and brings it to her lips. I’m mesmerized by the single drop of sweat that rolls down her neck as she tilts her head back and drinks. When she pulls the can away, she grins, like she knows just what I was thinking.

  Friend zone. Keep it in the friend zone. “Thanks for coming today, Freckles.”

  She smiles at her old nickname and stretches her legs in front of her, pointing her toes. “I’ll hang out at your pool any time you want for as long as you want.”

  I arch a brow and let my gaze slide over her. “And will you wear that?” Apparently the beer and the warm sun have made me forget all my better judgment.

  She glances down, and her tongue swipes a bead of moisture from her bottom lip. “Just say the word.”

  “Tempting.”

  “Kace!” Amy calls from the porch. “Come here for a minute?”

  When I look back to Stella, her smile’s fallen away. “Go ahead,” she says. “I won’t keep you.”

  “I want to talk more about this later,” I say, and honestly, I have no idea why I’m making a promise like that, but I know I intend to keep it.

  I head to the shade of the porch, where Amy’s waiting.

  “It’s a great party,” she says as I climb the steps. She scans the yard and the guests scattered about. “Even Hopey’s having fun.”

  Across the yard, my four-year-old’s white-blond hair flies out of her tiny pigtails as she races her friend Cami across the yard. I love seeing Hope this happy. When Amy told me she was moving out, I was convinced our divorce would mean years of heartache for our daughter. In reality, she adjusted quickly. The first night Amy wasn’t home, Hope asked if Mommy was going to tuck her in, and I felt like I was behind the wheel of a car flying off a cliff. I swallowed and reminded her that Mommy was staying in her new house. I thought my daughter would cry and ask me why I couldn’t keep her mommy happy (hello, projecting). Instead, she smiled and said, “Oh yeah! I get to go there tomorrow. Mommy’s making my room a princess palace.” And that was that.

  “You always knew how to throw the best parties,” Amy says, pulling my attention back to her.

  My chest warms at the fondness in her tone. Amy and I met at one of my parties. The chemistry was instant, and our lives clicked toge
ther so seamlessly that I believed we were just meant to be. “Some of my best memories are of throwing them with you,” I confess, but then discomfort warps her features, and I regret the words. “Sorry.”

  “Have you used the app yet?” she asks, and I grimace. “How did I guess? Come on, Kace. You need some sexy fun in your life.”

  I shrug. “I’m not sure it’s my thing.” I haven’t even looked to see who she connected me with. I’ll probably delete it before I’m desperate enough to find out.

  “How will you know if you don’t try?” Sighing, she shakes her head. “Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for inviting me over.”

  Sorrow tugs through my chest at the sight of her smile. It reminds me of the girl I fell in love with. The one I proposed to in New York and made love to on the beach in Mexico. Sometimes I can’t decide what’s worse—how much I miss Amy, or my grief over the life I thought we’d have. But honestly? We lost that life long before she moved out. “Thanks for coming. It means a lot to me.”

  “Of course. I want us to be friends, Kace.” She wriggles her brows. “But now I’ll get out of here so you can enjoy the rest of your party kid-free. Cut loose. Have fun. Use the app.”

  I laugh. What does she want me to do? Leave my own party to hook up with some stranger? Honestly, these friends are like family, and I could leave if I needed to. But this is where I want to be. “We’ll see.”

  “Hope,” Amy calls across the yard. “We need to go, baby. We have to get ready for Tyson’s birthday party.”

  Hope wraps her little arms around Cami’s waist, squeezing the ten-year-old tight before charging toward the deck. She barrels into me and hugs my legs. “Gotta go. Love you, Daddy.”

  “Love you too, Snickerdoodle. I’ll see you Monday after school.”

  Amy ruffles Hope’s hair. “Grab your bag and meet me at the car.” She waits until Hope’s inside before turning back to me. “See you later, Kace.”

  “Later.” I return her smile, then watch her walk away. After a year, it’s getting easier, that sight, the reminder that I’ll be sleeping alone, that there will be no one there for me to bring coffee to in the morning or to share a drink with after we put Hope to bed.

  When the gate swings closed behind her, I turn back to the party. Amy thinks I need to get laid, and she might be onto something.

  It takes my eyes less than five seconds to lock on Stella again. Stella, who catches me staring, pulls her sunglasses down to the tip of her nose and winks. Stella, who’s the embodiment of sexy fun.

  Her attention shifts back to her phone, and then mine buzzes in my back pocket. My blood hums with anticipation as I pull it out to see what she’s texted.

  Stella: You gonna put that lotion on me or let me burn?

  Rub lotion on Stella? So. Fucking. Tempting. But I already know how this conversation will go. We’ll do that thing we do where she tells me how hot she thinks I am and assumes I don’t feel the same about her, and I’ll be the nice guy who won’t take advantage of a woman he cares about. Attraction has never been my issue with Stella. Not even when I was in college and she was the high school senior who decided to crawl into my bed. I told myself that touching my buddy’s younger sister was screwed up and put the brakes on that moment, but I’d be lying if I said it was easy. Or that it’s easy to pretend her nonstop innuendos do nothing for me.

  I’ll be damned if I’m going to go over there and have her tease me more while I rub sunblock on her back. I’m a little buzzed and don’t trust my hands.

  Me: I’m sure Dean would do that for you. I’m busy.

  Stella: Um, my brother could not, would not do the kind of lotion application I have in mind. And you’re drinking a beer by your pool. How busy can you be?

  Me: I’ve found myself with a Random profile. I guess I need to decide if I’m going to delete it or check it out.

  Stella: Random, huh? Bold move.

  No shit. Going from no love life at all to using a hookup app kind of feels like jumping into the deep end. Assuming the deep end is ice-cold and shark-infested.

  Since my divorce, I haven’t been interested in dating. I’m not even sure how dating works when it’s just casual, when you’re not looking for a partner. But Stella would know. She’s all fun and wild impulse. Honestly, if I’m going to do this, she might be the best person to get advice from. The problem is, I don’t want advice from Stella. I want something altogether riskier. And I’ve wanted it for a long while now.

  I’ve been attracted to Stella since long before I was married. It never meant anything, and I never planned to act on it. I brushed it off as a physiological response to a hot woman. Then, sometime in the past couple of months, something clicked in my brain. We could stop dancing around each other and enjoy ourselves. If she wants me and I want her, we could do this. That doesn’t mean it’s not a bad idea, but ever since I allowed myself to really consider it, I can’t stop considering.

  Stella: I’m personally on hiatus, but I might open the app again if you’ll be on there. ;)

  Me: I could use some casual fun—not exactly ready for the real thing. That said . . . I’m still not sure the app’s for me.

  Stella: You’re recently divorced and don’t want to find Hope her stepmom just yet. I feel ya.

  I shouldn’t be surprised she understands how I feel about getting involved with someone. Stella and I might not be close, but we have the same circle of friends. She knows me and my situation. Maybe I haven’t given her enough credit.

  Me: I’m new to this . . . Is casual possible? As in, sex with no expectations?

  Am I a manipulative ass to put it out there like that? Jesus. I pride myself in being honest and straightforward. In my work. In my relationships. Can I really tell Stella I want to do dirty, dirty things to her with the caveat that she has to promise not to catch feelings?

  Stella: It’s possible. Are you telling me you’ve NEVER hooked up with someone? As in no-strings-attached hooked up?

  Me: It’s never been my style.

  Stella: What’s nice about Random is you don’t have to have the awkward conversation. If you meet on there, what you’re looking for is understood. Just be safe, okay?

  Me: You say that like you’re sending me off into battle.

  Stella: I kind of feel like I am.

  I look up from my phone, and she’s holding up three fingers in the Hunger Games salute. I laugh and watch as she taps out another message.

  Stella: The girls on there are going to gobble you up. And fuuuuuck . . .

  How can one intentionally misspelled curse have me half hard? Probably because I can practically hear her saying it, and the sound is accompanied by a vivid image. I’d peel off those bikini bottoms, then slide my mouth over her belly—lower—and she’d close her eyes and her lips would part on the word and . . . Fuuuuuck.

  Me: What???

  Stella: I’m just jealous. You put ideas in my head, looking at me the way you did last night. . . I’ll get over it. I always do.

  I blame the potent combo of good beer, too much sun, and that hot-as-fuck bikini for the reply I type out next.

  Me: Don’t do that. You want something from me, come and get it.

  I’m not drunk by any means, but I’m just relaxed enough that my guard is down. What would happen if we were the only ones here right now? I’d drag her inside and show her just what I wanted to do that night she crawled into my bed. I can’t imagine how we could do that without changing . . . everything, but lately I’ve been less and less worried about the consequences of acting on this attraction. We’re adults. We can figure it out.

  Stella: You’re killing me. I need it straight up—is this heading toward you fucking me against the wall in the pool house, or should I brace myself for the lonely company of my hand tonight?

  Suddenly, the crowd of friends I was so happy to see in my backyard is a frustrating obstacle between me and the thing I want most—to have Stella alone.

  “Great party, Kace,” Dean says beh
ind me.

  I look away from my phone so quickly that a muscle in my neck throbs. “Hey,” I say, but I’m fixated on Stella’s last text. My dick is half hard and I can barely think straight and . . . there’s her brother. I feel like I should apologize or something. Dean’s not some overprotective asshole who thinks no guy should touch his sister. He respects Stella enough to let her make her own choices, and he generally stays out of her love life—with one or two notable exceptions where someone needed to school Stella on a guy’s true colors. I wouldn’t feel so damn guilty if I were interested in a relationship with her, but I’m not. I’m just another asshole who dreams about those tits and that mouth of hers way too often.

  “Having a good time?” I ask, and I’ve never been so glad for my poker face.

  Dean reaches into the cooler for a beer, hands it to me, then grabs another. “Yeah. It’s a gorgeous day. I’m glad I came.” He takes a pull of his beer and settles back into his chair. “Amy left early. Did you two argue or something?”

  I shake my head. “Nah, we’re good. Hope had a friend’s birthday party she needed to get to.”

  He lifts his chin. “Got it. It’s good to see you and Amy getting along.”

  “It’s easier than I thought it’d be,” I admit. When Amy told me she was moving out and filing for divorce but wanted us to stay friends, I thought she was crazy. I shrug. “It’s all for Hope.”

  “I love that,” he says. “You two are awesome parents.”

  “Thanks.”

  Dean glances around the party, and even though it’s totally reasonable for him to come over here to hang by me, I wish he hadn’t. I want to get back to my conversation with Stella.

  I want to kick everyone out and finally turn the corner on this endless flirtation.

  My phone dings with another notification. I don’t look. I’m ready to tell Stella exactly what I want to do to her, but not while her brother’s sitting across from me.