by Lexi Ryan
“Smith,” Kace replies with a nod. He leans over the bar, and he and Smithy do a weird handshake-knuckle-bump combo. Guys are so lucky. They get to be weirdos and it’s just cool, but it’d be laughable if two women greeted each other that way.
“Glad you’re here,” Smithy says. “Stella needs cheering up.”
Seven days ago, I would’ve made a smart-ass comment about how Kace has never been interested in cheering me up, but the surprising reality is he’s been the best part of my week.
But Kace frowns and turns to me like he’s on the case. “Why? What’s wrong?”
I shake my head and slide my phone back into my purse. “I’m fine. What brings you here?”
“Hope is with my mom, and I have a meeting. You didn’t answer my question. Why do you need cheering up?” He’s got that puffed-chest protective thing going on. As if he wants me to point him in the direction of the person who’s responsible for my mood so he can take a swing at them.
“Roommate hunting is . . . challenging.”
His eyebrows disappear into that sloppy mop of hair. “Roommate hunting? I thought you were moving into the pool house.”
“Just thinking of the future and hoping I don’t have to mooch off you for more than a month or so.” I shake my head. This is too embarrassing. I’m a grown woman and should have my shit together enough that I can afford a place of my own. Alas, student loan debt is my nemesis, and who can afford inflated rent prices when their monthly budget includes paying the equivalent of a hefty mortgage on their liberal arts degree? “I’ve been meeting up with people all week, but nothing’s worked out.”
Kace’s expression softens as he slides onto the stool next to me. He leans forward, and when he speaks, his voice is so low I can barely hear him. “I’m nervous about this too, okay? So if you’re worried about what happens when this”—his gaze drops to my mouth—“when this thing between us ends? You’re not alone. I’m kind of freaking out here.”
He just tore off a chunk of my heart. He’s worried what happens when it ends, and I’m worried that it’ll end at all. And that right there tells me all I need to know about where I stand with Kace. Not that it should come as a surprise.
“But we’re adults,” he says, his warm eyes sweeping over my face. “We can figure this out.”
“Is that why you haven’t messaged me today?”
His eyes flick up to meet mine and go wide. “I . . .” He shakes his head. “You wanted me to message you?”
I snort. “Yeah. I kinda like your little notes.” I lower my voice. “They tell me you’re thinking about me.”
He swallows and looks away. “I am. All the time. But Wednesday feels so far away, and I guess I thought texting might make it worse.”
There are those mixed signals again. Except I know he’s being honest. He plans on this ending, and he’s thinking about me all the time. Which makes me, what? A fun diversion? I feel like I’m more than that when we message back and forth. Like he’s open to us becoming more. “You make me crazy. You know that?”
The corner of his mouth hitches up in a crooked grin. “I’ve barely gotten started, Freckles.”
A hot shiver rolls down my spine. “So many promises, so little follow-through.”
“What are you two talking about?” Smithy asks, propping his elbows on the bar across from us and resting his chin on his hands.
“Sex,” I answer, giving him my biggest smile. I feel more than see Kace stiffen beside me. And, okay, somebody isn’t comfortable with our little fling becoming public information.
Smithy’s eyes go wide. “Are you telling her about that girl you’re talking to?” He turns his head in my direction and stage-whispers, “Take my advice. If you want him to clam up about her so he’ll stop talking, suggest she’s . . . unattractive.”
I blink, trying to make sense of the thoughts scrambling my brain. I dismiss Smithy implying my competition isn’t pretty—that’s subjective, and really, what Smithy thinks is irrelevant. But it’s the other part that gets me. Kace has told Smithy about the other woman he’s seeing, yet he clearly doesn’t want Smithy to know he’s also kind of seeing me.
Someone down the bar calls for a drink, and Smithy straightens. “Duty calls.”
When I turn to Kace, he’s squeezing the back of his neck. “I’m not sure I’m cut out for this ‘dating around’ thing. It’s brutal.”
I jab my elbow into his side—hard.
“Ouch!” He scoots away from me and rubs his injury.
“You don’t get to complain to the girl you’re messing around with that it’s so challenging to be seeing someone else at the same time. Dick move, Matthews.”
He blows out a breath. “Sorry. It’s just . . . it’s really easy to talk to you.”
That helps a little, and part of me wants him to talk. I have questions. Is she nice? Would your mom like her? Have you texted her today? Do you tell her she should never lower her standards or that you can’t stop thinking about her? What does she have that I don’t? “No. I don’t think I want to know anything, actually.”
“I’m not trying to be a jerk. I’m just trying to be honest.”
“I know.” I reach for my drink and take a sip. I’m fine. This is fine. Everything’s fine.
He studies me for a long beat then pushes off his stool. “We were going to start painting at seven tomorrow—unless you have plans tonight and that’s too early?”
I laugh. Right, because in Kace’s mind, I spend every Friday night partying and every Saturday sleeping it off. “No plans.”
He nods and points to the back of the bar, where my brother is scowling at a pool table. I’ve been lost in my pity party and didn’t even notice he was there. “I’ve gotta go talk to Dean. We had our foreman convince a client to reconfigure her kitchen mid-install, and your brother’s ready to fire him. I’d rather not lose one of my sharpest employees, so I need to smooth some feathers. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Drinking alone sucks, but I don’t leave. Every once in a while, I look over my shoulder to check on Kace, but I must’ve missed him pulling out his phone, because I’m surprised when I have a notification about a new message from him.
GoodHands69: Sorry. I’ve just been busy. I’m doing some big renovations on top of work and my daughter and . . . it’s just been a busy week, and I guess I have a lot on my mind.
My cheeks heat. He’s been extra busy because he’s preparing the pool house for me, and instead of being grateful, I’m whining about him not messaging me.
ItsyBitsy123: When you put it that way, I’m thinking I owe you. Want to find a dark closet somewhere so I can show you just how grateful I am?
I sneak a peek over my shoulder to see Kace staring at his phone, but instead of meeting my gaze or coming over, instead of showing me any of that dirty-talking man who had me against the wall this morning, his fingers teasing between my thighs, he stands and heads for the door. The ass doesn’t say a word—just lifts his hand to wave goodbye, then leaves.
Am I supposed to follow him? Does he want me or not?
I wave at Smithy for my check, but before I even get my credit card out, my phone is flashing with a notification.
GoodHands69: Maybe another time.
“Still sad?” Smithy asks, dragging my attention away from those three words that feel way too much like a rejection.
I shrug. “I guess. Guys suck.”
“Who made you sad?” Dean asks, taking the stool next to me. “Point me in his direction so I can kick his ass.”
I almost laugh at the image, then immediately sober. Dean probably would kick Kace’s ass—not for touching me or talking to me, but for leading me on. “Why do guys only treat girls good until the girl’s on the hook? Do we suddenly become toxic once we’re interested?”
Smithy props his elbows on the bar and leans forward, meeting my eyes. “Good guys,” he says, “don’t play games.”
Dean nods. “Fuck anyone who doesn’t know what he’
s getting with you, Stellabean.”
My eyes prick with tears—maybe because my brother hasn’t used that nickname in years, or maybe because it feels good to know both Smith and Dean mean what they say, or maybe just because Kace is one of the best guys I know, and if even he can’t treat me right, why the hell am I even trying? I grab my drink and drain it. “Fuck him.”
But then my phone buzzes, and I prove to myself and anyone paying attention that I don’t mean that.
GoodHands69: It’s not that I’m not interested. The timing’s just not right. If it feels like I’m stringing you on and you want to kick me to the curb, I wouldn’t blame you.
I stare at my phone for a long time, then shake my head.
ItsyBitsy123: I guess I’m a glutton for punishment, because I’m not going anywhere.
“Who are you texting?” Dean asks, grabbing for my phone. “Is that the jerk who’s practically making my sister cry into her vodka?”
I quickly lock the screen and shove my phone into my purse. “Nope. It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
He grunts. “You’re not fine at all, but I won’t push. I get it. Sometimes we hang on to people even when they keep knocking us down. Love’s a bitch.”
I frown. “Who’s knocking you down? I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone.”
He waves a hand as if to say, likewise. “We all have our secrets, baby sister. But I’ll be here if you ever need to talk about yours.”
“Same.” I hesitate, not wanting to push, but . . . “Do you want to talk about yours?”
Dean takes a long, slow pull from his beer then shakes his head. “Nah. I’m good.”
“The offer stands.” I slide off the stool and kiss his cheek. “Thanks. I’ll see you in the morning.” I turn to the bar. “Bye, Smithy!”
Then I head out to my car and sit in the driver’s seat, staring at my phone.
Be careful with me, I type, because I’ve been in love with you since I was fifteen and I really want this to work. Then I hold down the backspace key, put my phone away, and drive home.
Chapter Fifteen
Kace
Between Dean, Smithy, Stella, and me, we managed to get the main room and loft of the pool house painted before lunch, and now Hope’s roped Stella into making slime with her.
“Squeeeeeeeze,” Stella says, grinning. She watches my daughter empty the bottle of glitter glue into the bowl where they’re mixing their most recent creation. This is their third batch after making fluffy slime and unicorn slime, neither of which I’d heard of before. Stella has a smudge of baking soda on her nose and bits of dried glue all over her hands. Surprisingly, she doesn’t seem to mind.
“Hurry! Get the shaving cream!” Hope says, practically bouncing in her chair.
Stella grabs the can of shaving cream and squirts it on top of the glue. “Tell me when.”
“When! When!” Hope squeals.
Stella grabs a Popsicle stick and hands it to Hope. “You know the drill.”
Hope uses all the strength in her tiny arms to stir the thick concoction. She groans and grunts, making a show of how hard it is, but my girl’s on cloud nine. And Stella is . . . fuck, she’s having a good time too, and I can’t quite reconcile this version of her with the party girl who’d jump from one guy to the next, who’d lie and cheat to get her way to a promotion at work. I hadn’t ever seen them together one on one before today. Usually, the only time Hope gets with Stella is when she’s doing a sleepover at Brinley’s or all our friends meet up for a cookout.
I knew my daughter loved her, but I never really understood why. Now it’s obvious. Stella’s really good with kids. Or, at least, really good with my kid, and that makes this thing between us way more fucking complicated. I can’t let Hope know we’re involved, or she might get attached to the idea of Stella being a fixture in our lives. Then, when Stella drops me for the next guy, which I figure will happen—it’s just a matter of time—Hope will be crushed.
No, it’s better not to put any ideas in her head at all. We have to be careful. The smartest thing would be to end things now before they go any further, but I’m feeling really fucking selfish because I don’t want to. And it’s not just about sex. If it were just about sex, I would’ve taken Itsy up on her offer last night when, in truth, I wasn’t even tempted. I like talking to Itsy. We have the kind of honesty and connection I’d look for in a relationship, but Stella’s the one I want in my bed. And the more time I spend with her, the more I think I’d like her out of it too—in my arms, in my home, in my life.
But I’m not sure what that would look like for us. Not that it matters. Stella’s not looking for more, and I’m not ready, either.
“Mommy!” Hope hops off her stool and runs across the kitchen, and I turn just as Amy sweeps Hope off the ground. What’s she doing here? And why is it okay for her to roll into my house without knocking when she just gave me shit for doing the same at her house?
“Your hands are messy,” Amy says, her eyes bright and smiling.
Hope giggles. “Me and Stella are making slime.”
Amy’s smile falls away as her gaze meets Stella’s at the kitchen table.
“Wanna see?” Hope asks.
“Sure, baby.” She carefully puts Hope down and follows her. She nods politely at each variety of slime, giving appropriate oohs and aahs when necessary, but her worried gaze keeps flicking back to Stella.
My ex-wife hates Stella Jacob. Hell, half the incriminating shit I know about Stella came from Amy. Stella worked as a receptionist at Amy’s investment firm for a couple of years. Amy was never at a loss for stories featuring an irresponsible, unreliable, dishonest Stella. It made me really uncomfortable, hearing over and over again what Amy thought of her, and judging by the look on Amy’s face right now, I’m about to hear more of it.
“Why don’t you go get cleaned up so I can talk to Daddy alone for a minute?” Amy asks when Hope’s done showing off her slime.
“Okay!” Hope grabs Stella’s hand and leads her out of her chair. “Come with me, Stella. I’ll show you my birthday list.”
“Clean up first,” Amy says.
“I’ll show you after we clean up,” Hope adds.
Stella looks back and forth between me, Amy, and Hope. “Actually, kiddo, I should get going. I need to study, but you can show me your list next time I’m over.”
Amy’s eyes go wide, then she turns her glare on me. “Next time?”
Stella rolls her shoulders back, and I have to resist the urge to pull her into my arms and tell her to ignore Amy’s . . . what is this? Jealousy?
“Hope,” I say, “what do you say to Stella?”
“Thank you for making slime with me today,” Hope says. “I’m so happy you’re going to live in the pool house!”
Amy flinches, but somehow manages to bite her tongue until Stella’s out the door and Hope’s upstairs washing her hands. Even then, all she gives me is a whisper. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
I sigh. “What brings you over, Amy?”
She folds her arms, and her eyes are full of indignant rage as they meet mine. “Stella brings me over. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I arch a brow and lean back against the counter. She’s ready to fight, but I’m not in the mood. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
“I was talking to Dean just now, and he mentioned you’ve all been busting your asses to remodel that pool house for Princess Party Girl. Really, Kace? You’re moving another woman in with my daughter and didn’t even think to consult me about it?”
“I’m not moving anyone in with Hope.” I was going to talk to her about it next time we had a minute alone, but I haven’t been real keen on spending time together since Wednesday’s awkwardness. “Stella’s going to rent out the pool house, which, as you’ve noticed, is an entirely separate structure.”
“Are you fucking her?”
She didn’t. I straighten, glad now more than ever that we sent Hope upstai
rs. “Excuse me?”
“You know she’s been trying to get in your pants for years. She doesn’t even try to hide it. When you move a slut into your backyard—”
“Don’t call her that.”
“—I have to wonder if it’s because you’re fucking her. Is driving across town too much of an inconvenience?”
“Enough.” My jaw aches from clenching it. “You need to leave.”
“And now you’re picking her over me.”
“I’m telling you to leave because you’re throwing around insults about my friend.” I lead the way to the door, and after a few steps, I hear Amy behind me.
“You know her history, Kace. She isn’t a good person. Sex is a tool to her, and if she’s fucking you, she wants something out of it.” She snorts. “Probably a place to live, so it looks like you’ve already been played.”
I don’t stop until we’re outside and Amy’s pulled the front door shut behind her. Only when I’m sure Hope can’t hear any part of this conversation do I finally look my ex-wife in the eye and call her on her shit. “Which is it, Amy? She’s going to seduce me into giving her a place to stay, or she’s wanted me forever? It can’t be both, can it?”
“You can’t trust her. I told you what she did at Allegiance.” She fists her hands then releases them. “And there’s more you don’t know, too.”
Amy told me Stella seduced the boss and then quit when she couldn’t talk him into giving her a promotion. It was a bunch of hearsay and made my wife seem like the kind of gossip she’s never been about any other woman. “What is it about Stella that makes you act like this?” I shake my head. “You didn’t used to mind her at all, then suddenly, you couldn’t stand her. For the last four years, you’ve gone out of your way to trash-talk her. Why?”
