by Lexi Ryan
“The fuck?” Dean says. “You’re sleeping with Matthews?”
I try to breathe, but my lungs are fucking trash and won’t take the air I need. “I thought we had something because of our conversations on Random, but it was never more than physical. He doesn’t even know I’m her, and now if I tell him, he won’t want me because he knows too much about her and doesn’t want her anymore.”
Dean rubs his temples. “I’m so confused. Her who?”
Another sob rips through me. “He doesn’t want me anymore.”
“She is Itsy; Itsy is Stella. Kace rejected Itsy but doesn’t want anything emotional with Stella.” Savvy scowls at Dean. “Try to keep up.”
I swipe at my tears with my palms. “She’s the one he’s been confiding in. Not me. I told myself what was happening between us meant something because of those online conversations, but all we’ve been doing is screwing around.”
Dean’s jaw is hard. “I trusted him. I thought he cared about you. He’s supposed to protect you, and he’s been taking advantage of you.”
Savvy stands and takes Dean by the forearm. “Chill out, Bruce Banner. We don’t like you when you’re angry.”
He scowls at her. “I’m not hulking out. She’s my sister.”
“She’s also a grown woman who can sleep with who she wants.” She tosses her purse on the counter, then lowers herself back onto the floor with me. She holds my gaze as she talks. “You’ve been talking to Kace on Random, but until today you assumed he knew it was you because you didn’t know Abbi had changed your picture. And whatever you two have talked about on there has been part of the way you feel about him and part of your physical relationship—for you. But he . . . definitely doesn’t know you’re the girl he’s talking to? Do I have this right?”
“He definitely doesn’t know,” Dean says. “At least, he didn’t when he last talked to us about Itsy.”
I sniffle, and Dean hands me a tissue. “Thanks,” I whisper.
“You’re welcome,” he growls, and I almost laugh, because he does sound a little like the Hulk right now.
“Okay,” Savvy says, all calm and collected. I’m jealous of her chill. No, I’m jealous of her choices. She told Alec they could only be friends, and now she’s the one with a whole, healthy heart and I’m bleeding out. “I’m sorry I’m not understanding, baby girl, but why can’t you just tell him?”
“Just tell him.” Dean stops, blows out a breath, and nods. “Just tell him the truth. This doesn’t have to be a thing.”
Because I told him my secrets once, and if I tell him in person, it’ll be like confessing the truth all over again. Because he changed how he felt about Itsy after she told him—after I told him—about the videos. Because I’m a coward and don’t want him to know the truth now that I know how he’ll feel about it. Deal breaker.
“Stella?” Savvy whispers. “Talk to me.”
“I should tell him, but I’d do anything if it meant I didn’t have to.” I nod, and more tears spill down my cheeks. I swallow. “I thought he liked me, but he really liked her. Until he didn’t like her because of her secrets, and then he only wanted me, but not for anything but sex.”
“What are these big secrets, anyway?” Dean asks.
I shake my head. I just can’t go there with my brother. Not tonight. Not ever.
“So if I’m following,” Savvy says, “you’re jealous of . . . yourself?”
Dean frowns down at me like I’m a perplexing puzzle. “That’s fucked up, Stell.”
“What if he thinks I did this on purpose? What if he doesn’t believe that I thought he knew he was talking to me?”
“Oh my goodness, baby girl,” Savvy says. “You’re a wreck. He’ll believe it was a mistake.”
But what if he never looks at me the same because of what he knows about me now?
My phone buzzes beside me, and Savvy scoops it up, then hands it to me so I can unlock it. I numbly type in my passcode without taking it from her.
“It’s a text from Kace,” she says, cringing. “There are, like, four messages here. He says Amy’s gone. He wants to know when you’ll be there. Then he’s asking if you’re okay. He’s worried.” It buzzes again, and Savvy’s eyes widen and she coughs. “Well, okay.”
“What?” Dean asks. “What does it say?”
Savvy glares at him. “Stay in your lane.”
“She’s my sister,” he whines.
Savvy hands the phone to me so I can see Kace’s latest text. Please tell me you’re still coming over. An empty house means I finally get to hear you scream when I make you come.
Dean stoops behind me and reads over my shoulder.
Savvy sighs.
“Ugh!” Dean stands and then paces. “Imma fucking kill that bastard.”
“If you kill him, make it because he hurt Stell and not because he wants to pleasure her, ’kay?” She levels her calm eyes on me. “You also have a notification that BigHands69 has messaged you on Random. Should I open it?”
I shrug. Does it matter?
Savvy taps and swipes. Her face falls. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.
I grab the phone to see the message.
GoodHands69: Hey, this isn’t an easy message to write, but it’s past time. I’ve really enjoyed talking to you, but I can’t split my attention between two special women anymore. I’m sure you’ll find someone good, someone who isn’t going to get hung up on your past. Don’t give up, okay?
Meaning he’s hung up on my past, or meaning he just wants me? And what a stupid question when I already know the answer. I shove the phone back at Savvy and hug my legs.
“What can I do?” Savvy asks.
“Buy me some time. Tell the girls . . .” I swallow back more tears and let numbness settle over me. “Tell them as much as you need to, but tell them they can’t say anything to Kace about me being Jessica. I need to do that myself.” Somehow. “And I need somewhere to live, because I can’t look at him every day after I tell him the truth.”
She nods then lifts up my phone. “And what do you want me to tell Kace?”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Tell him I’m tired and going home.”
Kace
I’m waiting on the patio when Stella finally gets home. I don’t want to admit how long I’ve been sitting out here or how many times I had to stop myself from texting her and asking why she was canceling on me. I just had to come check on her.
“Hey, you,” I call as she comes through the gate. She startles, then freezes as she meets my eyes. “I was worried.”
She lowers her head and stares at her feet.
“Stell? What happened? Are you okay?” When I reach her, the streaks of her tears on her cheeks glow in the light from the streetlamps. I take her face in my hands and tilt her face up to study it. “Did someone hurt you?”
Her smile is shaky and no more believable than her excuse about being too tired to come over. “Nothing so dramatic,” she whispers. “It’s been a long day.”
I smooth away her tears. “Let me come inside with you. I’ll hold you and kiss it better.”
“Kace . . .” She seems to search my face, and silence stretches between us, heavy with the words she’s not saying.
“Talk to me. Who made you cry?”
“You did,” she says, and I drop my hands like she burned me. “Not that I didn’t see it coming, but still.”
“What are you talking about?” I barely manage to give the rational part of my brain control of my mouth. “Did I hurt you? Did I say or do something?” I shake my head. “Tell me so I can fix it. Even if you never want to let me touch you again, please tell me what I did so I can make it right. I’m an idiot sometimes, but I can’t handle thinking I hurt you.”
“It’s too late for that.” She holds my gaze. “No girl wants the guy she’s been crushing on for years to think she’s just hot with no substance.”
“I never—” I snap my mouth shut when the words really register. That was how I described my re
lationship with Stella when I was explaining it to Itsy. No substance.
“Stella—”
“Don’t.” She looks away. “I know we had an agreement. I’m just realizing maybe I’m not cut out for casual sex.”
“What do you mean? You’re the one teaching me how to do the whole casual thing,” I say, and then I fucking hate myself, because that was the shittiest possible response. “I thought we were on the same page. I never led you on.” But she’s right. I’m treating her like a toy. And I sound like a child who’s throwing a fucking fit because I’m not getting my way. But I hate this feeling—this feeling that I’ve hurt her, that maybe I don’t deserve anything from her at all. This feeling that I’ve lost her completely.
“I can’t do this.” She swallows. “At least not with you.”
Stella
My phone buzzes as I walk into the pool house. After locking the door behind me, I pull it out.
Savvy: The girls have been debriefed and all understand that they’re not to say a thing to Matthews or anyone else about Itsy’s identity.
Me: Even Abbi?
Savvy: Even Abbi.
Me: Thank you, Savvy.
I wonder how much Abbi knows. What will she think when she finds out I’ve been sleeping with Kace? It shouldn’t matter, but I hate feeling like maybe she was warning me off him at the bar that night. She knows her brother. She knows I’m not good enough for him.
I shove my phone back into my purse and drop it on the counter. I barely make it into the bathroom before I heave the contents of my stomach into the toilet. I heave again and again until there’s nothing left. I rinse out my mouth then climb into the tub fully clothed, turn the shower on hot, and sit there for a long time, letting the water wash away my tears and wishing it could wash my mistakes away with it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kace
“It’s my party day!” Hope announces Saturday morning, running in circles around the deflated rental bounce castle I’m spreading out on the back lawn.
“You excited?” I ask, grinning at her.
“Of course! My friends are gonna be here, and Aunt Abbi and Brinley and Stella!”
I swallow hard. “I don’t know if Stella’s gonna make it, Snickerdoodle. She’s very busy with work and school.” Never mind the fact that she’s been living in our pool house for a week and hasn’t said anything to me beyond a polite hi or bye since she ended our fling last Saturday night.
Every day’s the same. I sit on the patio with my coffee in the mornings and inevitably catch sight of her, thanks to those floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the pool. Then she leaves for classes and work and whatever she does after work. I watch for her car, and when it gets late, I think about texting to make sure she’s okay, but then she’s there, parking on the street and heading in to sleep and do it all again the next day.
I need to get a grip. I hurt her, and she doesn’t want shit to do with me now. I need to accept that, but I’m pissed at Itsy, whoever the fuck she is, for telling Stella what I said. I can’t help but think it was a reaction to my note ending our little online flirtation. Like I might not know her, but she knows me, and she told Stella because she wanted to get back at me.
When I catch sight of a swath of red hair from the corner of my eye, I can’t help but turn my attention to the pool house. I shouldn’t stare. I should definitely look away. But fuck. She’s wearing headphones, a fitted tank top, and tiny light pink panties that show off her perfect ass, and she’s . . . she’s dancing.
The sight would make me smile if I weren’t so horrified by my creepy landlord behavior. The truth is, I needed space this week too—to think about how I fucked up and to piece out how I feel about her changing the rules on me. She’s the one who promised we could have a physical relationship without anyone getting hurt, but suddenly I’m an asshole for believing her?
My emotions are a fucking mess. I miss her. I miss how she made me feel. It’s impossible not to feel happier when she’s around. She’s the type of person who’ll take any reason to smile and run with it, because life’s too short to be serious all the time. I might not understand it, but I respect it. In fact, I wish I were a little more like that. It’d make me a better dad.
She sways her hips side to side as she dances to music I can’t hear, turning a slow circle until—busted. She meets my eyes and lifts her hand in a small wave before letting her gaze drift down over my shirtless chest.
A beat later, she looks down at her bare legs and then quickly back up to me—eyes wide, jaw unhinged—before she runs to the stairs and disappears.
Yep, I’ve officially become the creepy landlord.
“She’s totally gonna come,” Hope says, and I realize she was watching Stella too. “She’s my buddy.”
“We’ll see,” I say, and damn, do I hope my daughter’s right.
My phone buzzes. I immediately think it might be a message from Stella and grab it so fast I almost drop it on the concrete.
Amy: Fucking flight’s delayed. If I’m LUCKY I’ll be there sometime today, but there’s no way I’m going to be back in time for the party, which means you’re going to have to take care of the cake and decorations. I’m sorry, Kace.
And suddenly, I have bigger worries than my former fling’s attendance at my daughter’s birthday party.
Stella
Kace has been running around his backyard like a chicken with his head cut off all morning. He’s blown up a massive inflatable bounce castle, set up tables and chairs from the garage, and is now cleaning the pool. His bare chest is sweaty, and he has a scowl on his face that morphs into a polite smile when he spots me watching him. At least this time, I’m properly dressed.
Things haven’t been comfortable between us this last week, and apparently that won’t be changing now. My fault. I knew it’d end this way. But I can’t see a guy work this hard for his daughter’s birthday party and not offer to help.
I open the sliding doors and head out to the pool deck. “What’s wrong?”
He screws up his face into that expression that tells me something’s definitely not right, but he doesn’t really want to say. “I hit some bumps with the party. It’ll be okay. I just need to call my mom and see if she can come early to sit with Hope while I run out for some last-minute things.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I can stay with her. Or I can run out and get stuff myself—whatever’s easier for you.”
“You don’t have to work today?”
I took the day off to study for Monday’s exam, but that can wait. “Nope. I’m at your service.”
His shoulders sag. “Okay, well, Amy’s stuck in New York. Her flight was delayed. She won’t be home for the party. She’d insisted on getting all the decorations and the cake, but apparently she was just going to pick some up on the way home. Which means I have nothing. If you wouldn’t mind running to the party supply store and maybe grabbing a cake at Costco, then I could stay here and get everything ready.”
“That’s no problem at all, but Kace . . .” I bite my lip, not wanting to sound like a snob.
“What?”
“What’s Abbi going to say when she finds out you wouldn’t let her make Hope’s cake but one from Costco is just fine?”
He scrubs a hand over his beard. “I don’t know. When Amy wanted to take care of it, I assumed she had a plan.”
I guess she did. If you can call swinging by Costco for a premade cake from their cooler a “plan.” There’s nothing wrong with Costco cake, but it’s nothing like Abbi’s—never mind that Abbi would decorate it to match the Elsa “ice princess” party theme. “I’ll figure it out. Don’t even worry about it.”
His jaw twitches and he nods, but he’s got that distant look about him, like he’s focusing on an overwhelming mental to-do list.
I put a hand on his arm and squeeze, and he closes his eyes and exhales heavily. It’s the first time we’ve touched since I ended things between us. Not that there was much to end. “It
’s just a party. She’s turning five, and she’s loved like crazy. It doesn’t have to be perfect.”
“It’s not that.” Finally, he meets my gaze. Is this what it feels like to snatch the bait and find yourself reeled in? I miss those eyes. I miss him looking at me like I’m the most beautiful thing in the world.
I miss believing there was something real between us.
I drop my hand. Kace studies it, opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, then shakes his head. And turns away.
I clear my throat. “So . . . decorations and a cake. Anything else?”
He cringes. “Hope’s very excited about the games, and Amy was also in charge of those.” He shakes his head. “I know this is probably nothing a Google search couldn’t solve, but I—”
“Say no more. I’ve got this.”
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.
