by RC Boldt
After taking a nice hot shower, I put on my clothes from yesterday. It feels similar to a walk of shame except there’s no real shame. Just a tad bit of embarrassment at having Dax bear witness to my pity party at the bar.
I exit the bathroom with the intent of stripping the sheets off the bed so I can toss everything in his washer but stop short.
My hand flies to cover my mouth. Giddiness courses through me, and I feel like a kid on Christmas morning at the mere sight I’m greeted with. A large wooden tray sits atop my bed with a plate of food and a tiny glass vase with a single flower in it. The stack of pancakes is definitely not the usual kind I’d order out. They actually look like they’re made of whole wheat or something healthy—typical Dax—but they still look delicious. He’s placed sliced strawberries in a smiley face on the top and a small container beside the plate contains what looks like syrup.
A paper napkin beneath the fork and knife appears to have something written on it in marker. I carefully withdraw it from beneath the utensils, offering a quick glance at my closed door before I unfold it.
Happy birth week, Duchess!
Spoil yourself. You deserve it.
Hope you enjoy breakfast.
P.S. I went out for a quick run. I promise I’ll be back to take you to your car in time for work.
I carefully scoot onto the bed and pour a little syrup over the pancakes. Then I cut a small piece and pop it into my mouth, unsure of what to expect.
Oh, holy cow. This is delicious. In no time at all, I’ve devoured the pancakes and am quickly succumbing to the throes of a food coma. Carefully, I lie back against the pillows and blow out a long breath. I’m partially tempted to take a day off because honestly, I can’t recall the last time I called off work.
Of course, reality rears its ugly head when my cell phone dings, notifying me of an email. It’s from one of the women scheduled to attend the mixer tonight. Evidently, she’s one who requires a bit more handholding than the others since she’s asking me if she should wear a black dress or a red one, and she even included photos.
I hurriedly type a response.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Angela,
I recommend you wear what you’re most comfortable in. If it’s a dress you’re going to continuously fiddle with or tug on, I would not suggest wearing it. Your constant movements will draw attention, and it can be seen as lack of confidence.
We’ll see you this evening at The Lemon at 6 p.m. sharp.
All the best,
Darcy Cole
She should be able to take it from here. I understand the women can feel nervous or unsure, especially if they’re not familiar with my services and the entire process, but overthinking things can lead to nervousness and lack of confidence that are glaringly evident to a man. That in itself is a turnoff.
I set the phone back down and close my eyes, imagining a workday when I could do whatever I wanted. Where my workload wouldn’t dog my heels, Grim Reaper style. It’s a nice fantasy.
“When do you decide it’s enough?” My sister’s question from a conversation we’d had earlier this year rears its ugly head.
I knew she worried I was pushing myself too hard to get the business off the ground. But I want—need—to make her proud. Not just of me as her sister but also as her business partner.
Having someone like Ivy know me inside and out means she knows the inner workings of my psyche. Sometimes better than I do.
She knows exactly why I’ve been working myself to the bone. Why I continue to do so.
I want to make money. Lots of it. Not with the intention of spending it frivolously, though. I want it because the more I amass, the safer I feel. The more I feel like I will never again be in that position I was in all those years ago.
Right now, though, I’d love to change my email to have an out-of-office notification. To take a day to myself.
Of course, then I receive an email from Leif regarding an issue with a potential client’s background check.
I expel a long sigh. The universe has given me a sign.
I’m not meant to take a day to myself just yet.
23
Dax
“I feel like an idiot.”
Darcy fusses with the collar of my button-down dress shirt before she smooths her hands over the sport coat. “Nonsense. You look handsome. And this is just a casual little meet and greet.” When her eyes flick to mine, she gives me a comforting smile.
She looks beautiful as always, but the dress she has on tonight is gorgeous, accentuating her slim figure and leaving her shoulders bare. The deep blue shade brings out her eyes, and her hair falls around her shoulders in soft curls. It still amazes me she’s single.
“Just please don’t go far.” I mash my lips together and pinch my eyes closed in a wince. Jesus. Could I possibly sound more pathetic?
“Hey.” I open my eyes to barely a squint when she places one palm against my cheek. “It’s going to be great. Some amazing women are in this group.”
I raise my hand to cover hers and gaze into her blue eyes. “Thanks, Darce.”
She withdraws her hand, and hell if I don’t immediately register the loss of her touch.
“Well, let me make sure everyone is ready, and I’ll come back for you in just a moment.”
After I nod, she’s off in a flash, leaving me alone in one of The Lemon’s back rooms. I begin pacing, nervousness radiating off me in waves. It feels like hours instead of mere minutes before Darcy opens the door to peek her head inside.
“All se—” She stops abruptly, a frown marring her features. Quickly, she steps inside and closes the door behind her. With her head tipped to the side, she studies me for a moment before waving me over to her. When I step within a foot of her, she closes the distance and frames my face with her hands, bringing our faces barely an inch apart.
“Listen to me.” Her eyes are pleading with mine. “You’re not only smart as hell but kind and handsome, too.” Her minty breath hits my senses, and I detect a darker swirl of blue in her eyes. I never realized how pretty they are. “You don’t have any reason to be nervous. Just be yourself.”
I nod slowly, careful not to dislodge her hands from my face. Somehow, she has the power to calm me. She holds my gaze for a beat longer before she drops her hands and takes a step back.
With a hopeful expression, she tips her head in the direction of the door. “Ready?”
I drag in a long, deep breath before letting it out slowly. “Ready.” I advance to the door and twist the knob, pushing it open to allow her to exit first. Once she steps out into the hallway, I close the door behind me.
“Darce?” She peers at me in question. I step forward and take her hand in mine, giving it a quick squeeze. “Thanks… for everything.”
Her expression softens. “Of course.”
Then she opens the door to the large private room, and it’s showtime.
“You were an absolute hit.”
Darcy slides beside me on the barstool after finally wrapping up the mixer. She’s just escorted the three women I narrowed my choices down to toward the exit. With a tired sigh, she sets her small purse on the bar and thanks the bartender for the water he’s just slid in front of her.
“It helped having you there,” I confess. I’m not bullshitting her, either. Just knowing she was there, flitting around the room, was comforting.
“Well, what do you think?” She fastens her lips around the straw and takes a long sip of water. “I really like your choices. But”—she leans in—“I’d love to know who your favorite is so far.”
You.
The answer startles me so much that I flinch.
Darcy frowns, concern etched in her features. “Are you okay?”
“Just a muscle spasm.” I reach for the area near my left rotator cuff and rub it gingerly. As if I’ve ever had a muscle spasm there before in my life.
I’m mentally rolling my eyes at my
own damn self right now.
“So?” She traces a fingertip along the cool surface of her water glass, her eyes tracking the line it draws through the condensation. It feels like she’s avoiding my gaze for some reason. “Who’s your favorite?”
“Uh”—I try to shake off unsettling emotions brought on by her innocent question—“I’d probably have to say Monica right now. With Shanae a close second.”
“Great!” Darcy’s response seems genuine and satisfied, aside from the edges of her smile that seem a little stiff. Then again, she’s probably exhausted.
“You really love your job, don’t you?”
She nods, eyes bright with happiness. This smile seems more natural, easy. “I really do.”
“So, you set up the date for us?”
“Yes.” She withdraws her phone from her purse and starts swiping the screen. “Just let me know if you have any changes to your schedule.”
“I will.” I wrestle with whether I should ask her or not.
Fuck it.
“Hey, uh… do you feel like hanging out?”
Her head snaps around, and her eyebrows lift in surprise. “Tonight?”
I raise a shoulder in a half shrug. “I know it’s late, but some of the guys planned to come over and swim. Blow off some steam.”
She smirks. “They didn’t blow off enough at the three-hour practice earlier?”
I shake my head with a laugh. “Not a chance.”
“Well…” she hedges, as if scrambling for an excuse not to come. “I’d have to stop by my place and get my suit.”
“You don’t live far from me, remember?” I drape an arm along the back of her barstool and lean in, my eyes locking with her blue ones. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how to swim.”
Her breath catches, lips parting, before she appears to compose herself. A sassy expression spreads across her features. “I know how to swim, Kendrick.” When she turns away from me to take a long sip of her water, her blond hair slides over one of her bare shoulders.
“I know how to swim, Kendrick.” It’s dumb as hell, but I hate her using my last name. It somehow throws up an invisible barrier between us.
Without realizing it, I reach out and toy with the end of one of the loose curls, and my fingertips graze the silky skin of her shoulder. It takes me a moment to realize her entire body has stiffened.
Shit.
I release her hair like it’s on fire and just singed me. With a quick motion, I retract my arm and turn to take a long drink of my own water. Jesus, what the hell’s wrong with me?
With more concentration than it requires, I focus on shuffling the ice cubes in my water glass with my straw. I clear my throat, purposely avoiding Darcy’s gaze. “So, what do you say? You coming over to swim?”
She hesitates, and I push on. “The guys will be there, so I know they’d love another person to witness their never-ending harassment of me.” I turn and fix a grin on her. It feels forced, and I fucking hate it. It shouldn’t be this way—ever—with Darcy. We’re friends.
“Okay,” she finally relents.
A genuine smile spreads across my face now. “Great.” I slide off the barstool and gently grasp her upper arm to help her down. She grabs her clutch, and without thinking, I place a hand on her lower back as we walk through the bar to the door.
It’s natural. It’s nothing. It’s just me being protective of my friend.
I don’t want to admit to my first instinctive urge after I helped her down from her stool.
It’d taken a goddamn Herculean effort to stop myself from reaching for her hand.
The vehicles parked in my driveway tell me the swim party has already begun without me, which isn’t exactly a huge surprise. My house is open to my buddies because they’re an extension of my own family. However, they all heed my one rule: leave the far-left side of the driveway clear so I can park in the garage.
Once we’ve parked both our cars, Darcy follows me inside the house and out to the back. A drawstring bag draped over her shoulder has a towel and a change of clothes for tomorrow—because I didn’t want her driving back home late tonight.
In a pair of well-worn jean shorts, the frayed edges teasing her toned thighs, and the strings of a bikini peeking out from beneath her loose-fitting tank top, I suddenly wish I had a spare one-piece suit hanging around for her to wear instead.
I wonder if I can get her to wear one of my shirts over her suit.
It only gets worse from there.
“Hey, hey! Big D’s home!” Myers hoots.
“’Bout time,” Tucker Perry, our tight end, grumbles good-naturedly.
Tank frowns. “Thought Watson would be here by now.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” I shoot back, joking.
Our lineman hoots. “Now, now. You know when you bring this lovely lady with you, there’s no way disappointment can be had.” He grins wide at Darcy. “Always a pleasure, Miss Darcy.”
“Speaking of Watson.” I reach below the counter of the half-circle grill and prep area to grab two bottles of water from the small fridge there. With a quick twist, I hand one to Darcy and twist off the cap of my own. “Where’s he at?” I invited him, and he told me he’d stop over.
I take a drink of water just as Tank answers.
“He’s too busy groomin’ his pussy.”
It’s like Niagara Falls. Both Darcy’s and my mouthfuls of water spew forth. Everyone’s frozen and staring in Tank’s direction.
I glare at him, the others sputter, and somehow, Darcy’s the first to speak up. “I’m sorry… what?”
My teammate grins. “He rescued a little pussy cat. Boy done fell in love.” With emphasis on the last word, his smile stretches even wider. “Had to take his new lady to the groomers. Said he’d be over afterward.”
“Tank,” we all groan in unison.
His expression is one of pure innocence. “What? All I did was tell you why he’s late.” Through the sliding screen door, the echo of footsteps sounds inside the house. “There’s kitty boy now.”
A moment later, Watson steps outside, cradling a tiny ball of white fluff barely larger than the size of his hand to his chest.
“Hey, man.” He greets me with a quick handshake. “Sorry about having to bring her along, but she’s still a little shaken up after her visit to the groomers.” He peers down at the kitten. “Didn’t want to leave her alone. I promise she won’t get into anything. She’s really well-behaved.” Her fur practically disappears when he pets her, covered by his large palm.
I’m not a cat person—at all—but I have to admit this little thing is pretty cute. I step closer. “Hey, girl.” I glance at Watson. “What’s her name?”
“Catsy Cline!” Tank offers. “Or Hello Kitty?”
No one even bats an eye; we all ignore him.
Not that it makes a damn bit of difference.
“Ooh! I know. Katy Purry. Now, that’s a good one.”
Watson’s amused gaze meets mine, and he mumbles, “He never stops, does he?”
“Nope.”
“Her name’s Snow.”
“Hey, Snow.” I trail a finger over the top of her head softly. She instantly nuzzles me, purring, and shifts in his grip to try to get closer to me.
Watson laughs. “Looks like you’ve made a friend. Wanna hold her?”
“D’s always been good with p—”
“TANK,” everyone warns.
Tank feigns innocence. “People and animals was what I was ’bout to say. Geez.”
Snow is pawing her way out of Watson’s grip in an effort to come to me. Which is how I end up awkwardly cuddling a tiny snowball of a creature against my chest while Watson strips off his shirt and stows it on one of the chaise lounges.
Darcy moves closer and coos at the kitten. It dawns on me she probably never grew up with a pet of any sort. Especially not in foster care.
Her eyes lift to mine, and she whispers, “You’re not a cat person, are you?”
I glanc
e over to see Watson’s now standing by the edge of the pool, chatting with Myers and Perry. Out of earshot, thankfully.
“Not really,” I admit. “But she’s cute.”
Snow nuzzles my chest and purrs loudly now. I pet her and murmur quietly to her.
“If only the ladies from the mixer could see you now.” Darcy’s eyes crinkle at the corners, her features lined with affection. “With this little cutie.”
“Doubt holding a kitten would make any impression on them.”
Something indecipherable passes over her face. “Trust me. You holding a kitten would be guaranteed to burst some ovaries.”
Do they burst yours?
The question reverberates in my mind, but I tamp it down.
Watson approaches, and I hand Snow back to him. He cuddles the kitten and focuses on Darcy with an easy smile.
“Tell the truth, Miss Darcy. Did he bribe you to come over? Be honest. I won’t judge too harshly.” The blatant interest on his face sends uneasiness rushing through me.
I shoot him a warning look, which does exactly nothing. In response, he smirks.
Jackass.
Darcy just laughs, taking it all in stride as she heads to one of the chaise lounges. She sets her bag down on the seat, a large beach towel peeking out at the top. “I guess you could say it’s a form of community service,” she jokes, fixing a wide smile on him.
I swear I see him blush—fucking blush.
She reaches for the hem of her tank top and peels off the cotton, letting it drop to the chaise. The moment her fingers land on her shorts, my breathing stutters, and I feel a strange sensation wash over me again. I tear my eyes away and instead turn to look at my guys, figuring they’ll serve as a distraction.
Bad move.
Because all four of them are staring directly at me with shit-eating grins. Like they know something I don’t.
Suddenly, their attention returns to her, and everything falls quiet. I attempt to brace myself before turning to look at her.