by Lexi Ryan
“No, that’s fine. I’m—” Her fuck buddy? The contractor for a renovation she has nothing to do with? Dying to get her alone again? “I’m Abbi’s brother. I’ll just head back and find them.”
“Oh! Well, it’s nice to meet you, Abbi’s brother. I’m Holly.”
“Nice to meet you, Holly.”
She beams and sweeps her pretty brown eyes over my chest. I almost laugh. Dean tells me I’m oblivious when women flirt with me, but maybe I’m starting to pull my head out of my ass, because this one is definitely interested. Not that I reciprocate. I have enough on my plate, thank you very much.
She waves toward the entrance opposite the one I just came from. “They’re in the kitchen.”
“Thanks.”
When I get to the kitchen, Stella’s in there with Abbi, as promised. She’s in a black tank top and tight white cotton shorts that lead my gaze right to her ass.
“You’re kidding me,” Abbi says, sliding a tray of cookies into the oven.
“Unfortunately not.” Stella tugs on her ponytail and groans. “He literally pushed out of his chair, folded his arms, and said, ‘This has gone too far.’ He made it sound like I was only interested in the house because he lived there, and of course Kat just met me, so she didn’t know any better.”
“What a dick. How were you supposed to know he was one of the roommates?”
“Right?” She rolls her head from side to side, stretching out her neck. “What a nightmare. Imagine if he’d been the one out of town, and I’d agreed to move in.”
Abbi shudders. “Always a silver lining.”
I clear my throat, realizing I’ve probably already eavesdropped on an inappropriate amount. “Hey, Abs. I’m headed out and just wanted to say hi before I go.” This would’ve been a great cover if I hadn’t told the receptionist I was looking for Stella. I suck at this cloak-and-dagger shit.
Stella spins around, looks me over, and swallows. “Hey, Kace.” Usually, she’s all cocky self-assurance, like she’s inside my brain and knows just how hard this attraction is for me to ignore, but tonight there’s something different about the way she’s looking at me. It’s as if she’s suddenly become shy or . . . regretful? Fuck. I hope it’s not that.
“What’s up, Stella?” I ask. Cool. Casual. But when her gaze drops to my mouth, all my blood rushes south of my belt, and the silence stretches on too long.
“How’s the project going?” Abbi asks, oblivious, thank Christ. “Brinley will be high-strung until those steam rooms are fully functional again. You’d better know what you’re doing.”
Eyes off the sexy redhead and her talented mouth. I shift my focus to my sister. “Believe it or not, I do. Everything’s fine and on schedule.” I wander over to the counter, where dozens of cookies are cooling on racks, and snatch an oatmeal chocolate chip. “What were you two talking about?”
Stella cuts her eyes to Abbi then back to me. “Um. Not much. I was just telling Abbi about my adventures in roommate hunting.”
Abbi grunts. “She’s going to need that pool house.”
I nearly choke at the reminder of why I shut down this thing between us on Saturday. But that ship’s sailed. It seems so obvious now that exploring this attraction, indulging it a little, was inevitable. We’re adults. We can handle this. “The guys are coming over tomorrow afternoon to get started. Dean wants to move you in next weekend so he can rip up the old carpet at your mom’s.”
Groaning, Stella covers her face with her hands. “You shouldn’t have to do that. If I find a place, all that work will be for nothing.”
“Nah, it needed to be done anyway.” I shrug. “Do whatever works for you, but if you haven’t found a place by this weekend, we can work out a month-to-month lease on the pool house, and you can keep looking.”
“That’s really sweet, Kace,” she says softly, but when she meets my eyes, she looks more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen her.
I swallow. She promised me Saturday and again this morning that we could do this without screwing everything up, but I can’t tell if she’s changed her mind. Never mind that those conversations didn’t account for whether or not we’d be seeing other people.
We really need to talk.
“I’m headed out,” I tell Abbi. “Can I walk you to your car, Stell?”
“Crap!” Abbi squeaks. “Stella, if you’re gonna make it to Butts and Guts, you need to hustle.”
Stella glances at the clock and sighs. “Right. I’m here for exercise, not for cookies.” She wanders toward me, then slides an arm through mine. “You can deliver me to Savvy’s torture chamber on your way out.”
I laugh as she leads me toward the door.
“Bye, you two,” Abbi says.
“Bye,” we chorus as we push out of the kitchen. We stroll down the hall through the treatment suites and toward the group fitness room. I wouldn’t call Stella’s pace a “hustle,” and I wonder if she’s as reluctant to walk away from me as I am to go home without touching her again.
Talk first.
“Why are you going if it’s torture?” I ask. Okay, I’m dodging the point of my visit.
“Because it’s worth it.” Stella smacks her ass with her free hand and grins up at me.
“You’re killing me.” I pull her into the first dark room I see, press her against the wall, and kiss her. I intend to make it quick and then have a conversation about Itsy, but her lips are soft and silky beneath mine. Quick was never a possibility. She threads her fingers into my hair and moans into my mouth. My hands roam down to cup that ass and give it an experimental squeeze. “So worth it.”
She runs her fingertips over my beard and down my neck, and I shudder, remembering how those fingers felt unzipping my jeans, wanting that again, needing more. “I’ve been thinking about this all day,” she whispers, and my ego grows two sizes. Along with other things. “I think you’ve ruined me.”
I lift her, positioning her between the wall and my body to give me better access to her neck. I trail my lips along her jaw, nip at her earlobe, and suck at the sensitive spot where her neck meets her shoulder. Christ, she smells sweet. “I’ve barely gotten started.”
She bites back a groan and wraps her ankles behind me. I press between her thighs, cursing the man who invented denim. When she pops the button on my jeans, I remember where we are and why I pulled her in here.
Reluctantly, I lower her to the floor. Even in the shadows of the empty treatment room, I can see her swollen lips and the flush on her cheeks. “Sorry about that. I actually brought you in here to talk.”
She leans against the wall and blows out a long breath. I can practically see her steeling herself for rejection. “Okay . . .”
I probably shouldn’t touch her again until we talk this out, but I find myself brushing a knuckle down the side of her neck anyway. For so much of my life, Stella’s been off-limits—forbidden fruit—and now that I’ve crossed the line and had a taste, I want more.
I trail my finger over the swell of her breasts and across her nipple. I can’t stop touching her. I don’t want to stop. I can’t stop thinking about Itsy making me laugh and how I keep imagining Stella’s smile when I read her words.
God, it’s crazy to think, but what if Stella is Itsy? It’s probably wishful thinking, but . . . “What picture do you use for your profile on Random these days?”
She frowns at me. “You’ve seen it already, haven’t you?”
I want to say, “Not that I know of.” I shake my head instead.
“The one of me in the yellow dress? Ring any bells?”
Disappointment is a heavy rock dropped in my stomach. “Right, that one.” Not Jessica Rabbit.
“You came in here to ask about my profile picture?”
“No. Actually . . .” I shake my head, feeling foolish. “Before we do anything else, I want to make sure you’re okay with this not being exclusive.” Fuck, this is awkward. In writing or in person, it’s just a weird conversation to have.
�
��Don’t obsess.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “You’ve been honest about what this is from the start.”
“I want you, but if you decide you can’t do this casual thing with me, then there’s no pressure to—”
“Kace.” She laughs, and the sound makes me feel a hundred pounds lighter. “I was ready to have you take me against the wall in the room where they do laser hair removal. It’s safe to say I’m still on board.”
“Right. Shit.” I blow out a breath and drag a hand through my hair. “You probably think I’m a freak now. I just don’t . . .” I swallow. “I want this, but I don’t want you to end up hurt.”
Something changes in her expression for a beat, but it fades away before I can read it. She steps forward and presses her lips to the center of my chest, right at the solar plexus. “I don’t think you’re a freak. I think you’re sweet. Maybe the sweetest guy I’ve ever known.” She pulls back, tugs the band from her hair, and redoes her ponytail. I must’ve messed it up without realizing it. “I’ve gotta get to class, or Savvy’s gonna kick my ass.”
Right. I was so focused on getting my mouth on her again that I totally forgot she was on her way somewhere. “Come to my house tonight. Hope’s with her mom, and I . . .” I drag my gaze over her. Her nipples have pebbled under her tank top. Don’t obsess? I already know I’ll spend the next hour obsessing over how they’d feel against my tongue. “Just come over?”
She licks her lips. “I have to study. I’m sorry.”
Something in my chest sinks, but I shrug. Casual. “Just tell me when.”
“Sure thing.” She backs toward the door, that carefree smile I saw after we kissed gone, replaced by something more cautious.
“You okay? Are we okay?”
“I’m fine. Just late.” She winks at me then calls over her shoulder, “We’ll talk later.”
Chapter Ten
Stella
I can’t decide if I’m the world’s biggest coward or if I actually made a smart decision for the first time in my life. I could be at Kace’s house right now. Naked, with his head between my legs, or maybe in his shower with my breasts pressed to the tile and his hard chest against my back. Or curled up together on the couch . . .
So many possibilities. An opportunity to fulfill years of fantasies. And I said no.
“I want this, but I don’t want you to end up hurt.”
Kace isn’t looking for a happily-ever-after. He wants one thing from me . . . and has been honest about that from the start. But when Kace said he didn’t want me hurt, it made me realize there’s no other destination for me when it comes to him. If I let myself enjoy him for as long as that lasts, it’ll break me when it ends. If he tells me he can’t do serious and then gives some other woman that chance, it’ll shatter me. And I know he will. Eventually, he’ll let someone in his heart and life again. But if I shut this down now, I’ll always ache with the what-ifs.
There’s no win here for me. Just a bunch of different roads that lead to the same broken heart. A little voice inside my head says maybe, just maybe, if I take what he’s giving, he’ll eventually see me as more than the party girl who’s only good for a fling. Maybe he’s already seeing more of me, and maybe I could be the one he opens his heart to. That’s dangerous thinking. And yet . . .
I pull up the Random app on my phone and stare at his profile picture for a long time. Maybe I have a way to make him see me.
I click into the messaging feature and decide to shower him with honesty.
ItsyBitsy123: I could be in bed with the hottest guy I know right now, but I decided to spend my night alone instead. All because I don’t trust myself not to catch feelings. Am I crazy?
I wish this app would let you know when someone has read your messages, but the only way you ever know is if they reply. I’m highly suspicious that the person behind this design feature didn’t want any accountability. I’m also highly suspicious it was a man.
When there’s no reply after a few minutes, I pull out my textbooks and a notepad and start reading. Surprisingly, I actually like anatomy and physiology. It makes sense to me and is interesting. But chem? Not so much. I get through my A&P homework first and am slowly working my way through another chemistry chapter when my phone buzzes with a Random notification.
GoodHands69: Sorry about the delay. I was linking my account to my computer. My friends would laugh and call me an old man if they heard me say this, but sometimes messaging on a phone is frustrating for me. I have no patience for how long it takes to type anything of substance. Luckily, it turns out you can log on to Random from a computer and it’ll let you message from here. In case you’re like me and ever want the ease of a keyboard.
GoodHands69: To answer your question . . . no, I don’t think you’re crazy at all. You need to know yourself. Are you the kind of person who can explore physical attraction without the emotional stuff coming along for a ride?
I grab my laptop and look up Random. Sure enough, they have an actual website. It’s pretty basic, and it makes the rudimentary app look high-tech, but when I log in, I can click on Kace’s avatar and access the messaging function.
ItsyBitsy123: Thank you so much for the computer tip. No joke, this is way easier.
ItsyBitsy123: As for whether or not I can handle a physical relationship, I thought I could, but maybe I’ve been lying to myself. My emotions always get tangled up with the physical, and it’s not fair to wish that went both ways.
GoodHands69: You should give yourself some credit. You’re pretty awesome, and I’m sure this guy’s at risk of catching feelings too.
My stomach is suddenly occupied by riotous butterflies, and I reread the message three more times. I can’t decide if he’s just being nice or if he means it, that this is more than just sex to him too. I want to be mature about this—tell him all my feelings and my fears, and ask him to dig in a little more to his—but the truth is I never believed I’d get a shot with Kace. Now that I have it, I’m scared to lose it.
Before I can figure out what to say, another message comes through.
GoodHands69: I realized I should tell you that Who Framed Roger Rabbit was my favorite movie when I was a kid. My parents had this old VHS tape, and my sister and I watched it, like, ten times one summer. Okay, I watched it way more than ten times. I’ll admit to you—and only you—that I had a serious crush on Jessica Rabbit.
I laugh and roll over in bed, stretching. He can be completely random, and I had no idea he was so funny. If I don’t get back to my chemistry homework soon, I’m going to need an extra shot in my Starbucks in the morning, but how can I shut down this conversation when Kace is telling me about his favorite childhood movie and his crush on an animated sex symbol? It’s kind of sweet, actually.
ItsyBitsy123: You have a thing for busty redheads?
GoodHands69: Shh! It’s my secret weakness.
My stomach floods with butterflies, and every single one of those bitches is flailing like a Harry Styles fan at a meet-and-greet. It’s too late. I’m already a lost cause. This guy is going to destroy me.
I imagine Kace relaxing in his living room, beer in hand, eyes on his laptop, smiling. That smile. Kace isn’t all that generous with his smiles, and I spent the years he was married to Amy jealous as hell that she could elicit them so easily. I want to be the one who makes him smile. The one he wants to share all his silly childhood stories with.
ItsyBitsy123: Your secret’s safe with me.
GoodHands69: What was your favorite childhood movie?
ItsyBitsy123: Nothing that unique. Disney princesses as a kid, then later, I was obsessed with Harry Potter, just like everyone else. Oh, and then the Twilight movies, because Jacob is haaawt.
GoodHands69: I thought the vampire’s name was Edward.
I gape at my phone. I’m practically giddy.
ItsyBitsy123: YOU KNOW HIS NAME?
GoodHands69: I mean, my sister was obsessed, so . . . yeah. Are you going to revoke my man card?
>
ItsyBitsy123: Never! Real men aren’t afraid to watch Twilight. Or read it, for that matter.
GoodHands69: Hmm . . . so I guess now I need to read and find out who this Jacob is. I’m curious enough that I might.
ItsyBitsy123: Seriously? You’d do that just for me?
GoodHands69: Why not? I like to read. I have to keep myself busy when my daughter’s at her mom’s. I hate an empty house, and I can only spend so many hours renovating before my body reminds me I’m not twenty anymore.
My heart tugs hard at the image of Kace keeping himself distracted when he’s home alone. Dammit. I should’ve gone over there tonight. But if I had, we’d be fooling around instead of having this conversation, and as much as I’d enjoy that, this is nice too. Better than nice. Heart-to-hearts with Kace are revelatory.
ItsyBitsy123: Do you miss being married?
He doesn’t reply, and I worry I’ve crossed a line.
ItsyBitsy123: You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want.
No reply. Did I screw up? Maybe he just closed down the app and went to bed.
I force myself to walk away from my computer. I change into my PJs, wash my face, and brush my teeth. When I return to my laptop, he’s replied, and it feels like Christmas morning.
GoodHands69: The truth? Yeah. I really do. I miss my wife. I miss sleeping next to her and talking about my day with her. I miss laughing together. Sometimes I feel like this divorce would’ve been easier if things had been obviously bad between us. Instead, it was like sitting outside on a sunny day and watching lightning take out your whole house. Our marriage wasn’t perfect, but it was GOOD. I’m guilty of being so busy wanting that back that I forget I need to think about a future that doesn’t include her. Everyone who cares about me wants me to move on. I want that as well—and, fuck, maybe this is too much honesty—but how can I search for new love when I still don’t understand what I did wrong to ruin my marriage?
