by Hayleigh Sol
His head tilted and his observant gaze made me feel like I was under a microscope. “It took awhile to get over the broken engagement, the cheating. But, eventually, I got back out there. Even had a couple of what most would consider long–term relationships. One for about a year, another for just under.”
That surprised me. He didn’t give off a down–to–commit vibe. But how well did I really know him? Maybe I was reading into the casual way he’d treated our hookup as the way he approached every woman.
Yep, that was me. Great for no–strings sex, not long–term material.
“What about you?” His question snapped me out of old self–pitying thoughts.
“Oh, uh, my story’s actually pretty similar to yours.” His eyebrows raised. “Engaged too young, planning the wedding, he cheated, I walked.” That was a very tidy summary of the Aaron saga. “Not with my best friend, though. My best friends are amazing people who would never do that to anyone.”
There was an empathic sadness in his eyes that made my own prick with tears. That was unacceptable. I’d wasted enough tears on Aaron to re–salinate the rapidly desalinating parts of our oceans Maya had told me about.
I blinked rapidly, took a deep breath through my nose, and swiped a finger over the mousepad of my neglected laptop to awaken the screen. “Anyway, should we get to work on this bachelor–bachelorette weekend?”
Garrett squeezed my shoulder but pulled his own laptop toward him. We researched the area we’d be staying and came up with a list of activities we thought Tracie and Noah might like to do during the day, then dug in and found some Halloween costume parties for Tracie. I knew she was looking forward to that night more than anything and had already gotten my own costume together.
While sharing screens, Garrett and I had moved our chairs closer together and I was getting distracted again by his proximity. He’d touched me a couple of times, nothing outright sexy—an arm bump when I’d teased him about something, a hand on mine when I’d reached for control of his mouse—but it was the kind of playful flirting you did when you couldn’t help yourself. And I couldn’t help myself when he made some joke about my Halloween costume requiring a skirt as short as the boner–inducing dress I’d worn to the engagement party. I ran my hand up his leg and gave him sexy eyes.
“You liked it, huh?”
I’d meant it as a continuation of our playful teasing, but the hooded look in his own eyes and the way he placed his hand on mine, trapping it dangerously high on his tense thigh, made his desire for a different kind of fun instantly clear.
He swallowed.
I swallowed.
“Bailey.” His low rasp made me shiver and his eyes searched my face, making me wonder if he was reading me like he always seemed to. What did he see?
“Yes?” My response was breathy as hell.
“Don’t you live pretty close to here?”
I nodded, knowing exactly what he was really asking. He didn’t say anything else, though, leaving it up to me to invite him back to my place. Or not.
And I probably would have. If the alarm on my phone hadn’t gone off, rudely crashing through the lust–filled space between us.
When had we gotten so close? I was practically in his lap. Again.
Silencing my phone, I realized what the alarm was for. “Crap, I forgot, I’m picking my brother and his girlfriend up at the airport. I, um, I have to go.”
The crestfallen expression on his face matched my own feelings. “Okay. I should probably go too. I was going to help with closing at Bite Me; they’re a little short–staffed tonight. Maybe we can get dinner sometime this week? Or, bring your brother and his girlfriend by the restaurant. I’ll make something special for you guys.”
Well that was a very sweet offer. One I felt a little more comfortable considering than having dinner alone with him again. Yes, I wanted to climb him like a jungle gym, but I worried about how much I was starting to like him outside of bed.
Fine, I’d always liked him. Except when I thought he was Tracie’s fiancé.
But, the more I got to know him, the harder it was to ignore the other parts of him I was attracted to. His sense of humor, his cleverness, his thoughtfulness.
Like now, when he packed up and walked with me out to my car. He didn’t have to do that, he hadn’t even finished his tea.
“Okay, well, I think we made some really good progress.” We were standing next to my car and I was getting fidgety, not knowing if I should hug him or pat him on the shoulder or what.
His body leaned against mine, pressing my back against the driver’s side door. And then his lips were on mine. Hungry, hot, tempting. I wanted him so bad. He pulled my bottom lip into his mouth and I bit down on his, both of us obviously frustrated and needing more.
Then, he took that lush mouth away and rested his forehead on mine. “You’d better go before I take you in this parking lot.” It might’ve put my back up as him being overly presumptuous, but he seemed as shaky as I was. I couldn’t deny that his words had a powerful effect on my begging–for–attention lady bits.
He opened my door and trailed a hand over my back as I moved past him to get in. I wanted nothing more in that moment than to feel his hands on every part of my skin. Through the window, he gave me a pained half–smile before I drove off.
Dustin and Lindsay gave me hurried hugs and shouted greetings as we all hustled to toss their bags into the trunk of my car before the airport police yelled at us for taking too long at the curb. I’d managed the tricky juggling act of texting with my brother once their flight landed, driving around the arrivals terminal loop twice, and avoiding the drivers who cut across three lanes without looking or signaling as they pinged to and from the curb like pinballs.
My brother and I had grown up in Southern California but Mom had moved to Monterey while we were in college to be closer to our grandmother, before she’d passed, and I’d moved north soon after graduating. Dustin and Lindsay lived in Phoenix now but, with Mom’s birthday the previous weekend and my brother’s next week, he usually came to visit around this time each October.
“The flight was okay for you guys? No screaming babies or fake emotional support animals?” My taunt was aimed at Dustin, who invariably ended up seated near one or the other. Neither of us could understand how pissy people got when a flight attendant reminded them that their emotional support animal had to remain inside its carrier for the duration of the flight.
“I’m starving, how about you Linds?”
“Yeah, I could eat. It was a short flight but at the exact wrong time for a proper lunch or dinner.”
“Did you guys want to get something here or wait until we get closer to your hotel?”
Dustin had his phone out and was scrolling. “Babe, what was the name of that place we found online? The menu looked great and it had really good reviews.”
“Bite Me, I think, wasn’t it?”
Of course it was.
“Yeah, here it is. Have you heard of it, Bay? Know if it’s any good?”
I nodded my head, shooting a smile over my shoulder at Lindsay. “Yeah, it’s really great. I, um, I’m friends with the owner. Who’s also the head chef. He offered to make something while you two are here.”
“He did, huh?” Lindsay’s emphasis on Garrett’s gender was the opposite of subtle.
My brother, naturally, missed it entirely. “Cool, let’s go there. Do you need to let him know we’re coming or anything?”
It probably would be nice to text Garrett a warning, see if he was even at the restaurant as he’d said he would be. But I was driving; I didn’t want to ask one of my passengers to text him and risk them seeing our flirty messages. I also didn’t want to act weird about the situation and raise my brother’s suspicions.
A surprise ambush it was.
I did send a last–minute message once we were walking up to the restaurant, but there
was already one waiting for me from him.
Garrett: I wasn’t nearly done with that mouth of yours, hot stuff. When can I see you again?
Garrett: My invitation to cook for your family stands, by the way. Regardless of how you answer.
Good thing I hadn’t let my brother or his girlfriend get their paws on my phone.
Me: Now okay? Blame my brother’s bottomless pit and savvy internet searching. Or your own high ratings.
He hadn’t replied by the time we were seated. Not that I’d’ve expected him to if he was busy, you know, feeding everyone in the place. Which was pretty packed on a Saturday night. Our server came with our drink orders, asking if we’d had enough time to look at the menu, and my obnoxious big brother answered that I was friends with the chef so we’d be happy to have whatever he felt like making.
So much for sneaking in and out undetected.
Garrett: You’re here? Seriously?
Before I could type out a reply, he was standing next to me in his chef’s getup. I hadn’t realized how damn sexy he looked in the jacket the last time I’d seen him in it. Or maybe I was getting a little desperate for some naked alone time to tenderize his meat.
“Hi everyone, I’m Garrett.” He gave a little wave across the table at Dustin and Lindsay, his hand returning to rest on the back of my chair.
I made the introductions. Garrett asked about food allergies and requests, waving me off when I told him he didn’t have to go to extra trouble for us. He didn’t stay long, heading back to the kitchen to “whip up something interesting”. None of us were fooled into thinking the meal would be anything as slapdash as he’d made it sound.
Over a delicious appetizer, my brother brought up a taboo subject that instantly turned the food tasteless in my mouth. “I’m sorry, I must’ve heard you wrong.”
“Bailey, c’mon, don’t be like that.”
“You’re telling me you’ve been talking to Dad lately, that you’re going to spend Thanksgiving with him and his replacement family, and I’m the one who’s being unreasonable?”
“Look, just because he married Virginia—”
“The woman he cheated on mom with, knocked up, then ditched us all for—”
“Doesn’t mean that she, or our half–sister, are his replacement family.”
Lindsay sat quietly, picking at the food on her plate. I wondered what she thought of this development.
“That’s funny, Dusty, because he pulled a vanishing act as soon as the ink on the divorce papers was dry. Hell, before that even. The only time we heard from him after he moved out was when he rubbed salt in the wounds and invited us to their goddamn wedding. Which, if I recall correctly, infuriated you so much that you told him to never contact either one of us again.”
“I was seventeen, B. Angry at him for having an affair and for the way he handled it.”
“And, what, you’ve suddenly decided to forgive him now?”
“He wants to be in our lives. You’d know that if you’d talk to him.”
“Nope. Not gonna happen.”
My brother leaned across the table, eyes beseeching. “Won’t you even think about it? He’s willing to do whatever it takes, he says. He just wants a chance to get to know us again.”
I scoffed. “Oh, he’s willing, is he? How magnanimous.” My arms were folded tight across my chest, my lips flattened into a straight line.
“You are so damn stubborn sometimes.”
“Dustin—”
“Well, she is.” Lindsay had put a staying hand on my brother’s, which he’d clenched into a frustrated fist on the tabletop. “I wish you’d just let me give Dad your phone number. Or, what about your email address? He just wants to apologize, to be in our lives in some way.”
I felt my jaw clenching so hard, my teeth were grinding together. “Do not give that man a way to contact me, Dustin. I mean it. It’s too little, too late.”
He opened his mouth to argue further but our entrées were brought out and the chef himself appeared. I’m certain one look at me was enough for Garrett to see that things were far from alright here. The broad smile dropped from his face and was replaced with a frown of concern. I shook my head slightly, noticing Lindsay speaking quietly to my brother out of the corner of my eye. Whatever she was saying seemed to have a mollifying effect and I was struck with a bolt of envy. I wished I had someone who could say the right things to calm me down when I was upset. Or hurt.
I forced my jaw to relax and my arms to unlock, resting my hands in my lap, uncertain if I’d be able to eat a bite of what was in front of me.
Surprising me, Garrett squatted next to my chair. “Are you okay? Is there anything I can do?”
My eyes met his and the compassion I saw there nearly had me sliding off my chair so he could wrap his big, strong arms around me. Instead, I shook my head and offered him a small, but appreciative, smile. “Just family stuff. Thank you, though. And thank you so much for making something special for us; it’s delicious.”
“You mean the food you’ve barely eaten?” He rose from his position, concern for me still in the lines around his eyes and mouth, even as he followed my lead in lightening the mood.
He said something about what we were eating, that he hoped we’d enjoy, and left us to our tense silence.
“Bay, I’m sorry.” I looked at Dustin, almost stunned to see the sincerity in his expression. My brother was a good person but apologizing to his little sister wasn’t exactly a common occurrence. I glanced at his girlfriend. “Lindsay tells me I need to let you have your own relationship—or not—with our parents. And she’s right. I have to support you in doing what’s right for you just as I hope you’ll support me in doing what’s right for me.”
Wow, what a wise and mature gesture to come out of my older brother’s mouth.
Again I looked at Lindsay, hoping she read the gratitude I was sending her way. “Thank you.”
Now to shove down my own gut reaction to his bombshell and be an adult myself. “I hope you’ll have a nice Thanksgiving. Not sure I’ll want to hear all about it”—my lips twisted wryly—“but, well, I won’t try to talk you out of it…or make any snarky comments.” That last would be a challenge for me and we both knew it.
Dustin nodded, Lindsay released her grip on his now relaxed hand, and we all worked together to move on to other topics of conversation. I didn’t know about them, but I was emotionally drained by the end of dinner. None of us opted to have dessert and, since our server notified us the meal was on the house at Chef’s insistence, we were out the doors in record time.
Mid–October in the Bay area was still mostly sunny and warm, but the evening temperatures could be chilly. At least to someone who’d grown up in Southern California. Shivering in my sleeveless top, I hugged my brother and his soon–to–be fiancée—I wondered if he was still planning to propose; I hadn’t seen a ring and they certainly hadn’t made any big announcements—when I dropped them off at their hotel.
The fatigue I’d been feeling at dinner was gone by the time I unlocked the door to my place, replaced with a restlessness that left my skin humming. I was waiting for the latest changes to the app and website design from the team so there wasn’t really any work I could dive into to occupy my mind. Flipping through various streaming services and the DVDs I owned killed almost an hour of time but only amped up my edginess. I even scrolled through book recommendations on Amazon, hovering over a Regency romance I thought Simone would likely pounce on. Even after downloading it, and a couple of others that didn’t sound like carbon copies of every other clichéed trope currently dominating the Bestseller’s List, I realized I didn’t feel like reading. Movies, tv, books—nothing sounded good.
There was one other activity virtually guaranteed to calm a restless mind. And I knew just the man to help me with my problem.
I picked up my cell phone, unlocked the screen, and opened the string of te
xts between Garrett and me. I put the phone back down. Walked a loop around my apartment. Which took all of thirty seconds.
Picked up the phone again. Put it down. Did another lap. Looked at the blank screen of the tv, then at my closed Kindle case. Wandered into the kitchen, opening the fridge, then the pantry. As if food was what I needed.
Back to the table I’d left my phone on. Staring match with the device.
It won.
Pro tip: a smart phone might truly be more intelligent than the human who thinks she has a chance at winning a no–blink battle of wills.
Throwing my hands up in defeat, I swiped it off the table, unlocked the screen, and opened the texting app. Agitated as I was, I kept screwing up my finger swipes and had to go back, delete, and re–type every third word. I let the hand holding my phone drop to my side and closed my eyes. Took a deep breath, held it for a count of four, then let it out slowly for a count of seven.
Was that right? Or was it in for eight, hold seven, out for four?
I never remembered the breathing technique properly, except that it usually made my temples hurt from the long hold rather than making me feel sleepy or relaxed.
Phone screen up. I slowed my twitchy little fingers down and managed to type a coherent message.
Send.
Chapter 12
Me: Hey babe, are you still up?
Maya: Depends… Is this a booty call?
Me: Close. I need you to help stop me from making a booty call.
Maya: Ha! That doesn’t sound like the Bailey I know and love.
Among my five besties, Maya was one of the better choices to handle my current predicament. We’d all shared details—in varying degrees—of first kisses, crushes, attempts to round bases, and hookups. Each of the women in our group was sex–positive, comfortable with the fact that we’d been doing the no–pants dance for years, some of us more regularly than others.