by RC Boldt
Big mistake. Huge.
Though she’s not wearing anything outrageously skimpy, on Darcy’s body, it makes it… fucking sexy as hell. Not to mention, her tattoos. Cursive ink I can’t quite make out adorns one side of her rib cage while the other side has Chinese script. Instantly, I picture myself on my knees, my hands gripping her hips while I trace those tattoos with my tongue. Her fingers would comb through my hair, and she’d moan my na—
“Woman, you done gone and surprised me with those tats,” Tank appraises her, appearing impressed.
Meanwhile, I’m slammed with guilt over my stray thoughts. Fuck. What’s worse is the entire view now that she’s undressed and standing in a fucking terrible excuse for a swimsuit.
The simple black bikini molds to her sleek curves as though it was specifically made for her.
“You can’t wear that.” The words are out before I think.
Darcy makes a face. “What?”
I start sputtering, grasping at excuses. “You’re wearing a bikini. And we never went over whether you’re actually a solid swimmer or not.”
She looks at me like I’m crazy. “Ease up there, Baywatch. I know how to swim.” With another odd look, she adds, “Didn’t realize the bikini police would be on patrol tonight.”
“Oooh, burn!” Tank booms with glee.
My sharp glare does nothing to shut him up. As usual.
But I’ve got bigger fish to fry. I rush to shuck my sport coat and toss it onto one of the chairs before roughly unbuttoning my shirt as I step toward her.
“Stop.” My firm, commanding tone catches her by surprise. Once I’m less than a foot away, I continue unbuttoning my shirt while holding her gaze. “You can’t swim in just”—I jerk my chin to gesture toward her suit—“that. Let me give you this to swim in, to cover you up.”
Darcy just stares at me as if I’ve lost my mind. And right now, I kinda feel like I have. She glances down at herself, over her small but no less perfect breasts, flat stomach, and flared hips before meeting my eyes. “This is a bathing suit.”
“Yeah, well… It’s a little revealing, is all.” I’ve finally unbuttoned my cuffs and jerk the shirt off, leaving me in a plain white T-shirt. “Here.” I try to drape the shirt around her shoulders, but she dodges me, stepping aside.
“Dax, you’re being ridiculous.” With a shake of her head, she huffs out an irritated breath. Then she does the unthinkable. She turns to address my friends. “Guys?”
Fuck. No, no, fuck no.
“You think my suit should be covered up?” With her turned away, hands on her hips, I clench my teeth and force my attention off her ass.
“No, ma’am.” Myers and Watson are the first to answer in unison.
Perry looks at me with hesitance before clearly trying to play it safe. “I think you’d look fine in any type of bathing suit.”
Of course, Tank has to push it.
“Not unless you feel like you’re bein’ objectified like a piece of meat and not a wonderful, intelligent, confident, kind-hearted, and beautiful creature of God.”
How he spouts this off with a straight face, I’ll never know. But he carries it off flawlessly, sounding like a preacher from the deep South spreading the word of the Gospel.
I watch as her shoulders visibly relax, her spine less rigid. It’s as if she needed to hear those words.
She turns to me, and her expression is shuttered. And it dawns on me what I just made her think. Shit. I’m usually good around women. Much better than this, that’s for damn sure.
I’ve just succeeded in making my friend think she should cover up her body. Like it’s unappealing. Flawed.
Fuck. Me.
She takes a step toward the pool, toes at the edge, intent on either jumping or diving in the deep end, but I snag her wrist.
“Darce, wait.”
Rigid beneath my touch, she turns back to me slowly, and I suck in a sharp breath at the hurt in her eyes.
“I’m sorry.” I lower my voice so the guys can’t hear me. “I just got stupid about the guys seeing you in your swimsuit.” I falter, at a loss of what to say. Loosening my grip on her wrist, I slide my hand down to hers and give it a squeeze. “Please forgive me for behaving like a protective… brother.”
I’m about to hurl. I swear, that last word tastes foul on my tongue, but I don’t have any other excuse. Everything else is inappropriate as fuck.
Luck is on my side, thankfully, because the shadows within her eyes subside, and she offers me a timid smile. Sure, it’s weak, but it’s a smile just the same.
“I forgive you.” She tightens her grip on my hand. Her smile widens, and I don’t immediately register the mischievous quality.
Until it’s too late.
“As long as you forgive me, too.”
Then she gives a tug with more strength than I’d imagine possible from someone her size. We both go tumbling into the pool, me still clad in my pants and shoes and T-shirt. Seconds later, we come up sputtering and laughing, and all is right again, which I’m grateful for.
One thing I know for certain, I’ll never find another friend like Darcy, and I’ll do everything in my power to keep her in my life.
24
Darcy
Hitched® Tip #7:
Continue getting to know one another. People change through life experiences. They grow into themselves as time goes by. Don’t wake up years later and realize you’re lying next to a stranger.
♥
Why did I agree to this, again?
I’ve asked myself this question over a million times this morning. Once, when I was woken up from the most amazing sleep only to be at a 6:15 a.m. Zumba class.
On a Saturday.
How I survived is a miracle in itself.
“You ever take dance lessons?”
I groan and raise my eyes up at the handsome face peering down at me. It really shouldn’t come as a surprise that I’m lying prone on the workout room floor after a grueling Zumba session.
Again.
“No,” I finally answer and close my eyes. “That wasn’t a usual offering in foster care.”
Silence greets my answer, and I realize how my response sounded. Shit.
“Sorry, I—”
“Don’t. Please.” I interrupt him with a casual wave of my hand. It looks more like I’m a drunk person flailing about because my arm muscles are so limp and worn out. “I wasn’t saying it to make you feel bad. Just a matter-of-fact answer.” I squint up at him. “Are you trying to say I have no rhythm?”
His top teeth sink into his bottom lip, and I can tell he’s holding back a smile. “I wouldn’t say that exactly.”
I scoff before letting my eyes fall closed with a sigh. “Right.” I know I can’t dance to save my life. Surprisingly, though, I’ve begun to enjoy this class.
I’d enjoy it a heck of a lot more if they’d move it to a later time, though. Not to mention…
“Is it completely necessary for Irene to put her hands all over you? Good grief,” I grumble.
“Aww, is someone jealous?”
At his playful tone, my eyes flash open. I’m instantly confronted by his smug smile and all too charming flash of dimple.
I make a derisive sound and slowly drag myself into a seated position. “I’m just saying, it gets a little old when I have to witness the I love Dax fan club members cop feels of a guy who’s the same age as their grandsons.”
A thick, muscled arm offers a thermos in front of me. “Drink your kale smoothie. You’ll feel better.”
When I begrudgingly accept it with a muttered, “You’re just lucky it tastes more like strawberries this time,” he doesn’t bat an eye.
I flip open the tab on the thermos and take a long slug of the smoothie. Either he’s making them with more fruit to disguise the taste of the kale, or I’m being conditioned to actually like kale.
The latter is scary as hell.
“Feel like going for a ride with me after we get cleaned u
p?”
Lips poised around the spout, I pause. I tip my head to the side and raise my eyes to his while taking another quick slug of smoothie. “Where to?”
“Up to Yulee.”
He wants to visit his family. With me. Again.
Gaze averted, I force a teasing tone. “You’re not saddled with babysitting me this weekend, Dax.” The laugh that I’d hoped would come off easy sounds brittle even to my own ears. “Don’t feel obligated to entertain me.”
He squats beside me, the exposed muscles in his thighs shifting in a fascinating ripple as the fabric of his athletic shorts rides up slightly. A callused finger beneath my chin forces me to lock eyes with him. Concern swirls in the depths.
“You’re my friend. And I know my family would like to see you again.”
What happens when you find a girlfriend? Will I still be welcome at your parents’ house? Will it be awkward if I happen to be there while you’re there for a visit with your girlfriend?
I’m waist deep in treacherous waters, and the undertow of Dax Kendrick and his friendship offerings are pulling me under. I should get out now. The smart thing would be to limit my time with him outside of work. To decline the invitation, head back to his place, and grab my stuff to go home.
Yes, that would be the smart thing to do.
I peer into his eyes, framed by dark lashes, my lips prepared to politely decline the offer. Then he does it.
The corners of his lips hitch upward slightly, just enough for a hint of that dimple to make itself known. “Please?”
Just this once, I concede internally. One more time, and then I’ll play it safer with Dax.
“Okay.”
His mouth stretches into a smile, and that dimple goes from subtly there to full-on status. My stomach lurches as if to warn me I’ve surpassed the waist-deep waters and have just dived in head-first.
I ignore it.
And when he offers a hand to help me to my feet, I work hard to ignore how nice—how natural it feels to have his hand curved around mine.
After this, I’ll back away, I promise myself.
It takes considerable effort to ward off the ache in my chest at the prospect.
In order to change into what I deem a more suitable outfit for visiting with the Kendricks, I insisted on heading home. Dax told me he would pick me up after he changed, too.
The moment I slide into the passenger seat of his truck, I give a silent, heartfelt thanks to the dark sunglasses protecting my eyes.
This shirt of his must be the most audacious one yet.
“Wow.” That’s all I can manage as I stare.
Long, tapered fingers slide his sunglasses up to rest on his head, and he settles his amused gaze on me. “Seat belt, Duchess.” The edges of his mouth quiver, fighting a smile.
Without tearing my eyes from his latest gaudy Hawaiian shirt, I tug the seat belt across me and fasten it. “That a new one?”
“Yep.” His lips give way to form a slow grin. “I can tell you like it.”
“I fear for my retinas if I take off my sunglasses.”
He tosses his head back on a laugh, accentuating the strong cords of his neck. His eyes sparkling with mirth and dimple more pronounced, I’m captivated by this image. The way he looks right now—so happy, carefree, and just… handsome—is something I’ll store in my memory bank.
“Gotta wear it for Mom.” Glasses snap down over his eyes, and he puts the truck in gear. “It’s the little things.” A faint smile tinges his lips as he pulls onto the street and safely merges with traffic.
“Indeed, it is,” I concur softly, allowing my eyes to gloss over his side profile before I finally drag my gaze away. It doesn’t matter, though. The homes, businesses, and palm trees that flit past my window aren’t visible to me.
Instead, my eyes still see the reflection of the man in the driver’s seat. The strong jawline and straight nose with the slightest bump along the bridge. Lips that readily smile. A mouth that lays the softest, most tender kisses on my forehead.
Dax is absolutely right. It really is the little things.
Less than an hour later, after playing our own version of carpool karaoke, we’re still laughing when he pulls into his parents’ driveway. Exiting the truck, he slings an arm across my shoulders as we walk up to the door.
“Ava’s here.” He nods to the other car in the driveway. “You’ll get to meet her this time.”
Nervousness edges its way into the mix, roughly shoving aside the easy, comfortable emotion I had on the drive up. Dax must sense it because he stops and turns me to face him. Large palms cradle my face.
“Duchess.” His tone is a gentle reprimand.
“Yes,” I reply dully.
“Ava will love you.” He dips his head to dust a light kiss on my forehead. His lips linger there, and he finishes with a soft, “Just like everyone else.”
I close my eyes, savoring this moment, and I can’t help but wonder if he includes himself in “everyone else.”
25
Dax
“Then you can start hooking with the tool.”
“Oh, boy.” Darcy sounds worried. “I hope I don’t mess it up.”
“It’s easy, I promise. I’ll watch you and help out if you need me.”
For the past thirty minutes, my attention has been on Violet attempting to show Darcy how to make some complicated-looking bracelet on her Rainbow Loom. The look of extreme concentration on her face while my niece guides her has a smile stretching across my face. The two of them are pretty damn cute together.
“Now I can totally understand why you’re not dating her.”
My sister’s voice draws my eyes away from where I’ve been creeping on the two from around the kitchen corner. I quickly back away and shoot my sister a sharp look.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
My sister shrugs and reaches into the fridge for a bottle of water. “They all raved about her so much.” She takes a long drink. “But now that I’ve met her, I get it. She’s not your type.”
I slide into a chair and fiddle with my cell phone, spinning it on the surface of the kitchen table. Feigning a nonchalance that I’m not really feeling, I murmur, “No, she’s not.”
As soon as the words are out, I instantly wish I could take them back. Because that simple response didn’t sound right. It sounded almost petulant. Like I’m pissed that she’s not my type. Which is stupid.
Still avoiding my sister’s gaze, I continue toying with my phone.
“I mean, there’s nothing spectacular about her at all. Blond hair and blue eyes. Skinny.” Ava makes a gagging sound. “She’s practically an ogre.”
My head snaps up, and my tone is dangerously lethal. “Watch your mouth.”
Two seconds. That’s all it takes for me to realize she’s fucking with me and for her to break into the biggest shit-eating grin.
Dammit.
“Uh-huh. So, that’s how it is, huh?”
Practically gritting out the words from between my clenched teeth, “Don’t know what you mean,” I shoot up from my seat, suddenly feeling antsy.
“Hey.”
Her somber tone has my rigid spine relaxing marginally, and I release a slow breath. “Yeah?”
Ava approaches hesitantly, laying a hand on my arm. “I was only messing with you.”
I make a dismissive sound. “No worries.” I meet her eyes and notice the darker circles beneath her eyes, the hint of red streaks trying to overtake the whites of her eyes from lack of rest.
“Aves.” I falter because no way in hell can I tell her she looks rough. That I think she needs to slow down and pump the brakes on all this overtime at work.
My sister is just as stubborn and prideful as our parents when it comes to not accepting financial help from me, but she also loves her job. It’s never been just about the money for her. In the stories she comes home with, Ava often reminds me that her job may be tough, but it’s also rewarding as hell.
She
shakes her head with a sigh full of exasperation. “Not you, too.”
“You look… tired.” I try to soften it with my tone, but it’s the truth.
“Yeah, well, when you’re trying to help all the babies who need you, it takes a toll.” One petite shoulder lifts in a faint shrug.
“I worry about you.” I tug her to me, wrapping my arms around her in a tight hug. “I wish you’d let me help you.”
She sighs against my chest. “You know my answer to that.”
I twist my lips with regret. “Yeah, but I still wish you’d reconsider.”
We stand here quietly. The only sound is the faint echo of the ticking clock from the living room. God, I remember the times I’d held her just like this. In the fifth grade when some asswipe named Zach Weisman had made fun of her skin color and called her Oreo.
One of the popular girls in her eighth-grade class invited the other girls to a slumber party at her house and told Ava her parents wouldn’t allow her to invite my sister. It wasn’t hard to figure out that all the other girls invited were white.
In the tenth grade, some douche asked her if she planned to be a maid and clean houses when she graduated. Those times, she’d come to me crying, and I’d hold her, pissed as hell, ready to tear limbs from those assholes who’d hurt my baby sister. Each time, I’d calmed her down and promised to fix things.
And I did. In the beginning, it was with my fists, but as I got older, I used my reputation, and the fact my football teammates were at my disposal to intimidate without having to get physical.
I never did tell Ava this, though, preferring for her to be in the dark. But no way in hell could I stand by and allow anyone to hurt her. Least of all for something she had no control over.
“I know about all those times.”
Her voice is so faint, I strain to hear her.
“What?”
She chuckles softly against my chest. “You knocked sense into everyone who hurt me.”