by Stacey Lynn
She tilts her head. Her hand on the rag she’s holding tightens. “Yeah?”
“And apologize. Again. Do you have a break coming up?”
She presses her lips together. Bright pink lips, fuller on the bottom than on top. Then she releases the tension and nods. “Actually, I was hoping to see you today.”
“Yeah?” Huh. Perhaps my powers of persuasion are better than I believed them to be.
“Yeah. I thought about that date you offered some more.”
Oh, this day is definitely getting better. I sit back in my chair and lift my hands to the side. “I’m all yours, whenever you have time.”
Her lips twist into a smirk, and yet her eyes fall to my chest, my stomach, before jumping back to my face, when a dark pink hue grows on her cheeks.
Yeah…she’s interested. Definitely.
“Don’t get all cocky on me now, Mr. Kollins. You haven’t heard what I’m thinking.”
I lean forward and rest my forearms on the table. “If it’s anything other than Yes, Trey, I’d love to go San Diego with you for the weekend, then I’ll be honest, I’m not really interested.”
“Of course not,” she huffs, but she’s not slapping me. This is good. Real good.
“I need some more details.”
“Then like I said, I’m all yours. Why don’t you come up to my place after you’re done with work and we can talk.”
Her gaze slides to Caitlin, who’s at the pickup counter waiting on our drinks. “Is she…”
“Caitlin? She’s the best friend getting married.” Is that her hesitation? Does she actually think I’d invite her out of town when I’m with another woman? Right in front of her? “Not that guy, Willow. I’ll tell you right now, I’ve never cheated on a woman and I never would.”
Granted, I’ve never dated a woman long enough to actually cheat on her. Semantics aside, that’s not me.
“Okay. I get off work at three.”
“I’ll make sure Maurice at the security desk lets you up. Penthouse two.”
“Thank you.”
She gives me a smile. One of those small ones that shakes a bit, and I wish I knew her well enough to know what that means. If she’s nervous or excited. Scared or already regretting the decision, but with one more nod, she stands from the table. “I’ll go help get your drinks made, then. See you later, Trey.”
Her name on my lips is like cotton candy in summer—soft and sweet and addictive as hell. She turns before I can thank her again, and while Caitlin waits for our drinks, I focus on work—mainly the next app I have to create as soon as this wedding weekend is over.
Already I know Caitlin has reminders set on her phone to bring me food after she returns from her honeymoon in Hawaii. She’s most likely fretting at night about me not eating for the entire two weeks she’s gone. Or showering, or remembering to do laundry. It’s a fault of mine, a major one, but when I’m in the work zone, everything else goes to the wayside.
I’m not exactly proud of it, but I’ve never cared enough to work on changing it.
Hell, Caitlin will probably be on her honeymoon, scheduling alerts to go off on my calendar so I don’t forget anything.
“So what’s the deal with you and the supermodel?” Caitlin’s standing next to the table, grinning down at me, holding my drink close to her. Like it’s a hostage.
I hold out my hand. “Gimme.”
“Is she the reason you didn’t want to come down here today?”
“No,” I lie to her and wiggle my fingers, still holding out my hand for my coffee. Now that I no longer need her help, I’m not giving her an inch. She’ll take a mile and then a thousand more.
Her eyes slide to the counter where I know Willow is, some weird sixth sense I have, like the hint of her vanilla perfume from earlier is a beacon to her every movement.
With a huff, Caitlin sits down and slides my drink toward me. “She’s totally hot,” Caitlin says.
I grab my drink and take a sip, scratching down notes into a notebook. “Uh-huh.”
“And sexy. I’d do her.” She sits back with a sweet little sigh that tells me she might actually be dreaming about it.
I hope she’s fucking around. Visions of the woman I want mixed with the woman I consider a sister make my stomach roll.
“Tell Jonas, then.” I’m not about to play along with her silly little game of trying to get me to react.
“Oh, come on.” Caitlin’s hands slap the table, making it wobble. I grab my drink before it can tip over the rim, and scowl at her.
“What is your deal?”
“My deal is that you’re totally avoiding me, which means you do think she’s sexy, and I saw you talking to her so I know something’s going on. Tell me.”
“I was saying hello.” Not a lie. “Next time, though, I’ll remember this and act like a complete asswipe to employees here so they can start spitting in our drinks. Would that make you happier?”
Her nose wrinkles and she huffs. Caitlin on a tear about a woman in my life has the potential to turn into a nightmare. “Ugh. You stink.”
“I can’t. I remembered to shower this morning and everything.”
“Major accomplishment from you,” she mutters. Fortunately, with Caitlin it is that easy to move off the scent of my love life and back to work. After a few more drinks of our coffees we get to work, spending the next hour going over budgets for the rest of the quarter.
It’s mind-numbing stuff. Thank God Caitlin is as good at it as she is. Sometimes I think she finds a sick thrill in creating spreadsheets. By the time we’re done, we’ve had two drinks and split a muffin, and I’m taking my time eating my part until Caitlin packs up her stuff before she switches to talk about her wedding.
“I can’t believe it’s only four days away.”
“There’s still time to change your mind.” I peel back the wrapper from the muffin and toss it to the plate. She and Jonas fly out tonight.
“You’re a jerk.”
“Still nervous?” She was a wreck on Monday. Today she is calmer. I don’t want to know why or how.
“Not about the marriage. Or the man. I just want everything to be perfect.” Caitlin nibbles on the edge of her thumb, showing her nerves. “But it’ll be fine. Great, even, right?”
Her wide, green eyes peer at me and I’m lost for a moment. This is Caitlin, always sure of herself. Always confident. This woman has been raising hell and standing on her own two feet since Corbin and I met a decade ago during her freshman year of college when we were sophomores. Hell, we’re the only family she has, and I’ve never seen her so uncertain.
“Hey.” I reach across the table and tug her hand away from her mouth. “You’ll be fine, honey. Everything will be perfect. Well, not perfect because that’s statistically impossible. I mean something will go wrong at some point—”
She squeezes my hand. “Thanks, Trey. That’s super helpful.”
Everything I’ve said is true. “I’m not done. I was going to say that any tiny, little thing that does get messed up, whether it’s the actual weather, or the flowers, or the chairs fall over…” as I talk, I realize I’m not helping. Her lashes blink rapidly and she starts to frown. “Still, it won’t matter. You’re marrying Jonas. You’ve loved him forever, before you even knew you did, honey. The day will be beautiful, and it’ll feel perfect because at the end of it, you’ll be Mrs. Reeves.”
Her shoulders slump and that frown on her face softens. She flips her hand over and grips mine fiercely.
“And you and Corbin will be there. Like always.”
“And we’ll kick the ass of anyone who screws up your day. I promise.”
Her lips spread into a wide smile. I might have screwed up the pep talk at times, but I’ve given her what she needs. “Thanks, Trey. I love you.”
“How ca
n you not? I’m fucking awesome.” I unclench her hand from mind and shove her to-do list in front of her. “Now, get to work. You’ve got crap to do before you can worry the day away about your wedding.”
She sticks out her tongue at me, but listens. When she notices me not moving, she glances at Willow again and grins back at me. “Do you need another drink or anything before I head out?”
I duck my head back to my notes before she can see me roll my eyes. “No. I’m going to work here for a while, though.”
“Um-hum. Work. Sure you are.” She scoots out of the table, and before I know it, her lips are at my cheek. “Thanks for everything, Trey. See you later.”
Chapter 4
Willow
The redhead, Caitlin, kisses Trey’s cheek. Something about the sweetness of it has me freezing while rinsing out the portafilter from our coffee machine. Even though he told me they’re not dating and she’s been his best friend forever, I still feel a strange tightening in my stomach watching them.
His hand was just holding hers. The way they laugh and tease each other.
Either he has unresolved feelings for Caitlin, and secretly loves her, or he’s a kind of guy I don’t have much experience with—the nice kind. Regardless, once Caitlin leaves and Trey turns to me, eyebrows raised like he’s expecting me to jump into a conversation I’m not one hundred percent sure I want to have or am ready for, I’m more uncertain than ever.
I’ve just gotten out of a relationship where, for five years, I slowly gave away pieces of myself and my pride and my independence. I’m in absolutely no hurry or ready to become part of a we anytime soon. I have too much on my plate with Mom and work, and frankly, I need to spend some time thinking of myself for a change.
And yet isn’t that exactly what Trey is offering this weekend? A weekend where I can selfishly take a few days for myself?
It makes his offer so very tempting, and for the rest of my shift, I’m not nearly as friendly or focused as I try to be. Trey has turned my mind into a mess, and the day seems to last four times longer than usual.
Fortunately, the post-lunch rush is busy enough to keep me going as we hand afternoon–pick-me-up caffeinated beverages to what feels like half of Portland as they head back to work after long lunch breaks, needing something to keep them awake.
It’s one of the things I love so much about Portland, that you can walk everywhere, and since the building I’m in is right downtown in the Pearl District, it’s so close to everything. Parks where there’s always live music and artists. Families running around. Women and men shopping just a few streets away. And interspersed through all of it are high-rise buildings that hold thousands of different workers, and yet the streets are quiet with a calmness I haven’t seen in any other metropolis.
It’s nearing in on three when I told Trey I’d be at his place, and I’m finally finished with my list of cleaning chores we’re supposed to complete before leaving.
“Hey, Molly?” She’s scribbling on the back of a receipt, and I have no doubt whatsoever that what she’s drawing in ink on crinkled paper is a masterpiece. Someday, her work will be in museums—she’s that talented. Or, at least, she’ll have her own art showing. I’ve already brought up her work more than once to Cara, and she’s definitely interested.
“Yeah?” She doesn’t bother looking up.
“Do you mind if I take off a few minutes early?”
I haven’t been able to forget Trey’s cocky, smug grin earlier, like he knew I’d cave and want to date him. Little does he know, I have rules. This weekend might be a fun getaway for me but there’s no way I’m risking giving him even the smallest piece of my heart.
Her head swivels in my direction and she sucks the ring on her bottom lip. She winks at me, and a piercing in her eyebrow dips low. “I don’t know, Willow. Not sure I can handle this crush all by myself.”
She waves out her hand still holding the pen. We have four customers and they all have their drinks. Heads are bent toward laptops and phones.
“Thanks.” I laugh lightly at her intense expression. She’s been working here for years, and I have no doubt that even if we were slammed in the middle of the morning rush and the line was fifteen deep, she’d still be able to handle it without breaking a sweat, or a nail…which is more than I can say for myself.
I untie my apron and tuck it under the counter before grabbing my small purse. Walking to Trey’s, I think of the conversation I had with Cara the other night, when her eyes had almost popped outside her brain and she had gaped at me.
“Trey Kollins. Holy crap, he’s almost as hot as Braxton. You have to go to San Diego with him! And take your camera. I want a shot of him in a Speedo.”
“I doubt he wears Speedos.” Although the very idea has me imagining what he would look like in one. All that muscled body would be delicious to view in person with very little clothing. The man is so beautiful my jaw dropped the first time I met him. The muscles. She has a point.
“I bet he’s fantastic in bed,” she says, leaning in and playing with the straw from her smoothie.
“It has been a while,” I drawl, my confession slipping out before I mean for it to. But she’s putting images in my head, pretty ones, ones where I’m digging fingers into muscles and throwing my head back in ecstasy. It can’t be helped.
Trey is sexy enough to create the naughtiest fantasies.
She had barely let me get a word in as she rambled.
“It’s a weekend, honey, not a forever, or even a hint at one. He’s asked you out for months and you keep saying no. This guy is interested, just tell him up front where you’re at with everything.
“You can give him a weekend.”
“I’ll check on your mom if it’ll make you feel better.”
It was her final statement that sealed the deal for me, catapulted me into crazy-land, where I actually started considering this. Is it so wrong of me to want a weekend away to recharge? And do it on the arm of a sexy, sexy man? Knowing my mom will be checked on by someone I trust definitely removes one of the roadblocks in my way.
* * *
—
Trey’s home is gorgeous. I spent the ride in the elevator twiddling my thumbs, deciding whether or not it’s a good idea for me to be here, but now that I am, I can’t stop gawking at not only the size of the place, the view of the city I can see even from the entryway through a wall of windows at the back, but also because of how it’s decorated. Dark browns and creams with splashes of a muted blue. There are candles on tables that hold matching lamps, and three large couches that look designed for a man his size and made for sprawling on. There are knickknacks on the tables and on the fireplace mantle next to his enormous flat-screen television, and there are even a few cages with candles inside on the floor in front of the fireplace. It looks like a family home, not a bachelor pad, and based on the little I know of him…I don’t know, I guess I’ve been expecting some sort of scary tech lab, like the Batcave, rather than the come-in-and-kick-your-feet-up vibe he has going on.
He had opened the door for me minutes ago like he was waiting for me and is in the kitchen off to my right grabbing me some water from his fridge.
“Here.” He hands me the glass and steps back.
“Thank you.” I take a sip, having a difficult time calming my trembling nerves.
Trey is one of, if not the, best-looking men I’ve ever seen in my life. Square jaw, clean-shaven. Sharp cheekbones and a wicked smile, with his mop of dark hair that required a haircut weeks ago. Somehow in the months I’ve been working at Java Joe’s, I’ve come to know a lot about him simply based on the way he looks. It’s not entirely uncommon for him to arrive at the coffee shop in a pair of loose sweats with mismatched socks, a shirt that looks like it’s been in a crumpled ball on the floor for weeks. Other days he’s dressed like he is now, in jeans that fit him from hip to heel, like
they were sewn for his body. In a long-sleeve navy henley with buttons at the throat that allow for a small amount of his chest hair to peak through. The sleeves are so tight around his biceps, I can see the bulge and flex of them as he moves through his apartment, eyeing me in a manner that’s unnerving and yet at the same time, shoots tingles of awareness into my lower stomach.
Oh dear Lord. I should not have come here.
“So.” He swipes a hand over his mouth, and his hands press to his hips. He seems almost as nervous as me, and thank goodness. I had expected Trey to be all cocky and bossy. He frowns and huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.
Is it possible he’s even more nervous than me?
“I need a date for Caitlin’s wedding,” he finally says. “And I was hoping you’d come with me.”
He spits out the words quickly, like he’s not exactly happy about needing a date, and I can feel a laugh bubbling within me. How can this sexy-as-hell beast of a man seem so uncomfortable?
“I know that. Can I ask why it looks like you want to choke while you’re asking me?”
He swipes his hand over his mouth again and I swear I hear him curse. Shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath, his jaw slides to the side once, then twice. “Y-you…you make my tongue tangle.”
“What?” But as soon as I ask the question, I understand. It’s his stutter and it makes him mad. “Never mind. Sorry.”
“You should be,” he says, and there’s a look in his crinkled eyes I can’t decipher. “It is your fault.”
“Excuse me?” I jolt back, my grip tightening on my water.
“New people. Extreme exhaustion. Pretty women.” He winks, his cocky swagger firmly back in place. “It all makes it worse.”
He says it unashamedly, almost arrogantly. And yet he’s grinning, and I feel my own lips lift at the edges. “So once I’m not so new…”
“You’ll still be beautiful.”
If this is his way of getting me to agree to his ridiculous proposal, it’s working. I can’t remember the last time a man called me beautiful. “Looks good. Nice. Sweet.” I heard those all the time from Scott. Rarely beautiful.