Falling Over (Falling In Series Book 3)

by Andrea Hopkins

  “It’s not unrequited. For us or for you.”

  I snort. “I’m pretty sure Cady would say differently. Her boyfriend, too.”

  “If you really think that, then you’re dumber than I thought.”

  I’m about to ask him what the hell that means but then Angel walks through the door with her guitar slung over her back, a big-ass bag of notebooks, and two aluminum casserole dishes in her hands. Conversation forgotten, Dyl grabs the food and I take her bag, grunting at the weight of it and wondering how the hell she managed to carry all this from her car.

  Wonder Woman in the flesh.

  “Thanks boys,” she says softly with a warm smile that lights up her entire face—kind and real. Exactly like her.

  “Just finish a writing sesh?” I ask her. Angeleigh’s a singer-songwriter, heavy on the songwriting, very light on the singing. She developed quite a following playing her music on YouTube years ago, and was actually sought after by tons of indie labels and even a few major ones but she turned them all down, at least as a performer. She never wanted to be a star. She just wanted to share her music. So, one of those major labels nabbed her as a writer. She’s been working steadily for the last five years. Writes music for mostly indie artists but has collaborated with a few big names as well. One of those collaborations earned her a Grammy last year. To say that she’s dope as fuck would be a gross understatement.

  We make our way through the hallway and I suck in a deep breath, bracing myself for the impending Cady and Blaine the Small Dick Wonder sighting, but once we reach the kitchen all I see is Dylan uncovering one of the dishes Angel brought, stealing a piece of fried chicken with a loud groan as he inhales the damn thing in two seconds flat.

  I look around the room, trying to be all covert and shit, but leave it to Dyl to crush one’s hopes.

  “They’re outside, in the hammock,” he murmurs around another piece of chicken before walking outside with a wink. The fucker.

  I turn toward the French doors, squinting at the windows and sure enough, they’re practically on top of each other, doing god knows what as they swing between the fucking trees. Mother…

  “I heard about your epic IKEA meet-up,” Angeleigh nods in the same direction I’m glowering at. A small smile is tugging at her mouth, a single thick but sculpted eyebrow raised in curiosity.

  Yeah, nope, not biting. Besides, curiosity kills, and I happen to like my pseudo third mom.

  “Mom told me you’re working with Delaware King. This is his first album since rehab, right?” I counter, hoping to successfully change the subject. Angel stares at me for a beat as my eyes plead with hers to just let me have this one. She sighs and shakes her head but lets it go.

  “Yeah, we started just after Christmas. It’s his big comeback album. It’s going to be amazing. He’s gone back to basics. Finding the soul again. You’re gonna love it.”

  “Hell yeah, I will. I love every song you touch. How’d Caveman Cole take it? I know how much he looooves when you work with dudes,” I ask with amusement. She rolls her eyes and smiles back.

  “Just as you would imagine. Camped outside of the studio—stone-faced, biceps bulging with his arms crossed against his puffed-up chest, and throwing murderous glances to anyone who came within a hundred feet of me, including poor Del. He took it in stride, though. And once he informed my giant, sexy-ass guard dog that he was madly in love with his childhood best friend, Cole backed off. Well, he dialed it down a good thirty percent. It’s as good as it’s gonna get, and I’ll gladly take it.”

  “Damn right it’s as good as it’s gonna get. Should be counting his lucky stars I didn’t throat punch him the second he came in for a hug that first day,” Cole growls as he enters the kitchen. His eyes are focused solely on his Angel—shining with complete and total adoration. He wraps his ogre-sized arms around her tiny body, and they both sigh at the contact. I smile, then rub my chest, feeling a sudden ache underneath my palm—dull and envious.

  “You okay, kid?” Cole asks, his attention finally leaving his wife. I nod, mustering up another smile that I hope is convincing, but highly doubt that it actually is.

  And that assumption would be correct.

  “We didn’t know she’d bring him. If we’d known…”

  I wave him off, stopping that conversation before it starts. “It’s fine.”

  “No, it’s not fine. And neither are you. Be a man, own your feelings. Be pissed. Be disappointed. Jealous. Feel everything you need to feel. Ingest that fuel, ’cause you’re gonna need it if you wanna get her back.”

  I stare at Cole, mouth agape, wide-eyed and mother-effing dumbfounded.

  “What about Blaine? He’s like a parent’s wet dream.”

  Cole nods in agreement. “Blaine’s a good kid. In different circumstances, I’d probably be arranging their marriage right now,” he admits before letting out a loud oomph as Angel elbows him in the stomach. He clears his throat and gives Angeleigh a very pointed look that only makes her grin. He kisses her nose and all is forgiven. “But as near perfect as the kid is, he’s not you. And you can deny it all you want and you have for far too long, but there has never been a single moment in which you’ve looked at my daughter with nothing short of respect and love. A love that seems to never wanna quit, no matter how far you shove it down or how much you fuck up. And although she may hate you, she loves you, too. You just need to find out which one she feels more and whether or not Blaine has already won the game before you even started playing. But, if I were a betting man, I’d say the odds are in your favor. You just have to capture her heart before he does.”

  Well, shit.

  “Again, with the long speeches. Christmas wasn’t enough? I’ve known you for twelve years and I’m pretty sure that’s the most you’ve ever said to me in all of those years combined.”

  “You may be right. I’m kind of exhausted now,” he yawns like a bear coming out of hibernation. Then out of nowhere, picks Angel up, causing a piercing squeal of surprise to pop out of her mouth and cradles her to his chest before grabbing two beers from the fridge and tipping them to me on their way out.

  “You know, that little speech sounded suspiciously like a blessing,” I tease at his retreating back. He turns around at the entryway, his impish smirk now more visible than ever through his freshly-trimmed beard.

  “That’s because it was.”

  Well, double shit.

  Angel winks and then they vanish down the hallway, leaving me alone to disable the mind-grenade he just threw at me. That, and trying not to scratch the overwhelming itch to run outside, snatch Cady from Blaine’s arms, and then deftly flip over the hammock, knocking him on his ass.

  The image brings a legit smile to my face.

  “What the hell are you smiling about?” A cutting, familiar voice asks from across the kitchen. I turn my head toward the back doors and there she is—looking as fucking beautiful as ever in a simple white sundress that falls a few inches above her knee, her signature low-top red Chucks, and a scathing scowl that would make me laugh if I wasn’t certain she’d shank me with a butter knife.

  Instead I settle on blatantly checking her out. My eyes move from her Converse to her smooth and toned bare legs, up to her curvy hips and thick thighs that I’m craving desperately to slide my fingers, my tongue, and most importantly, my dick in between—feel them wrap around my waist as I drive into her—fuck, yep, now I’m hard. Awesome. Simmer down, little Big Ben. I lick my lips and breathe through my nose as my eyes drift over her slightly cinched waist and up to her absolutely fucking perfect breasts. Just a little over a handful and holy shit, I can see her nipples through her light fabric. Looks like I’m not the only one who’s hard. I visually skim over her exposed collarbone and the delicate slope of her flushed neck, slowly making my way back up to her face.

  And just like every other time my eyes find hers, I struggle to find a breath. It catches in my throat, and my entire body is momentarily frozen.

  Goddamn, you�
�re beautiful.

  A light stain of pink covers her cheeks and her scowl deepens.

  “You can’t say things like that,” she whispers.

  Shit, did I say that out loud?

  Fuck it, it needs to be said, on repeat.

  “The fuck, I can’t. I’ll say it whenever I damn well please, and you’ll listen because it’s the honest to goddess truth. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Inside and out. And if you don’t like hearing it—tough shit. I plan on telling you any chance I get because you deserve to be reminded every fucking day, so get used to it, Bug.”

  “When did you become such a pushy asshole?”

  “The second I lost you.”

  “You can’t lose what you never had.”

  “Yeah, I heard you the first time. You think if you keep saying that, you’ll actually start to believe it?”

  “Fuck off,” she snarls before turning around to leave. Shit.

  “Wait, fuck, you don’t need to go running to Blythe—”

  “It’s Blaine and you know it,” she says, her voice raised and annoyed, but I see the slight tilt of her mouth and subtle amusement sparkling in her eyes. She’s fighting a smile.

  “That’s what I said.” And there. There it is. The smile that could bring any man to his knees. It spreads widely across her face, showcasing two of the most adorable fucking dimples I’ve ever seen. She ducks her head, shaking it out, as if the motion could erase the smile from her face. It does. But the memory still lingers—filed away and saved on my mind cloud for later.

  “I hate you.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “I know.”

  We stand in silence for what seems like hours but I know is only mere minutes. Our eyes locked on each other, our chests rising and falling to the same beat. She licks her lips and my gaze falls to the movement. I swallow thickly, my vision blurs, and my thumb twitches—aching to trace the glistened fullness of her mouth. Fuck, this scene is becoming all too familiar. What is it with kitchens in this damn family?

  “What are we going to do?” she whispers, her small voice sounding confused and desperate at the same time, breaking through the cloud of lust hovering over my body.

  It takes me a moment to think, to catch my breath again, to shake off the bewildered state she somehow always leaves me in, just by being in the same damn room as me.

  “I’m going to stop saying stupid shit. Maybe be a little less of an idiot. And you’re going to stop slamming doors in my face—stop running and avoiding me—”

  She opens her mouth to deny it, but I shut it down with a single lifted eyebrow. She rolls her eyes and turns her head, but nods soon after. It’s as good as I’m sure I’ll get. I’ll take that as acceptance.

  “And then, once we can manage to do those things longer than a few hours, we can try to be…friends.”

  “Friends?” she asks, skepticism and uncertainty clear in her voice. If I’m not mistaken, which I could very well be, there might have been a flash of disappointment, but it was gone all too quickly, if it was even there in the first place.

  “Friends.” I nod resolutely, even though the last thing I want to do is get friend-zoned by Cady. But damn it, if it means I can be near her without her either running in the opposite direction of me as fast as she can or wanting to serve my balls to me on a silver platter, then hell, I’ll put Ross, Rachel, Chandler, Monica, Phoebe, and even Joey to shame. Friends ain’t got nothing on me!

  She’s eyeballing me—most likely gaging whether I’m being genuine or not. This right here—the lack of faith she has in me now, the doubt, will be the first thing I remedy. She used to trust me to no end, but I just kept pushing, bending, twisting, contorting that trust until it broke into a million tiny, cynical pieces.

  “I think—I think you have your work cut out for you…not saying dumb shit or being a raging moron—both of which are deeply part of the essence of who you are as a person and asshole. Yeah, I don’t think the odds are great. But I’ll play.” Her mouth curves into a wry grin at an attempt to exude a sort of carefree confidence, but it falls flat. I can see the vulnerability behind the façade. It’s not easy to find, most people would glaze right over it, but I’m not most people—not when it comes to Cady. It’s her eyes—the startling blueness, like the Oregon summer sky, bright but wary of an impending storm.

  We stare in silence once more, the large kitchen suddenly feeling too small, cramped and stifling.

  “I should probably get back outside. I was supposed to bring out the fruit tray.” She tugs at her bottom lip repeatedly with her teeth and I have to grip the counter to stop myself from backing her up against the back door and fucking her into it so hard it breaks.

  Damn, that image does not help one fucking bit. I take a deep breath.

  “Yeah, wouldn’t want to keep Richie Rich Dickhead waiting, now would we?”

  “Be nice,” she scolds, but I can see the smile she’s trying to hide from me again.

  “I’m always nice.” I counter, and she snorts, loudly. What? I’m totally effing nice. At least eighty-percent of the time. Sixty? Fine, forty, okay? You happy now? Geez, assholes, the lot of you.

  Cady shakes her head, the smile she was holding back finally sneaking out, lighting up her face and my godforsaken heart like it’s the damn Fourth of July. My eyes follow her petite and curvaceous body, thankful that she gained back most of the weight she lost over the fall and winter because damn, what I wouldn’t give to have my hands all over that softness again, feel her against me, writhing and panting and—fuck, I need to stop before my dick weeps in my jeans. Too late, pervert. She walks over to the fridge, brushing past me without a single glance or word. I can smell her though, the scent wafting to my nose with each step she takes—vanilla and pine, like she’s been rolling around in the damn forest with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s.

  She takes the fruit bowl out, shuts the door, and just as she turns around, I take two large steps and I’m right in front of her. She gasps loudly, the bowl nearly slipping from her hands, but she catches it before it falls. I place my palms on the refrigerator door, caging her in with only the bowl between us. The chipped ceramic is pressing into my chest as I try to get even closer.

  She looks up at me warily, her grip tightening on the old bowl as a shudder runs through her body. Her pink tongue darts out, wetting her lips, and I can’t help it—I groan, loudly.

  “Ben? What are you doing?”

  “I don’t know.” And that’s the truth. I have no fucking clue what I’m doing. All I know is that she was so close, closer than she has been in a week and her damn smell—fuck, her smell is like a drug. One inhalation and I’m hooked. I have to be near her. Smell her. Touch her. I have to touch her.

  So, I do.

  With one hand still splayed by the side of her head, I lift the other and turn it around, softly running my knuckles down her cheek before sliding over her full bottom lip, tugging it lightly with the pad of my thumb. She sucks in a breath as her eyelids close and my heart pounds like a fucking hammer in my chest. I literally ache to kiss her. It hurts, it hurts so fucking bad—the need, this need to take her, to feel her, to love her. It’s festering, so goddamn overwhelmingly I don’t know whether to howl in frustration or do what I really want—what will surely get a good ball-kneeing, but fuck it, it’d be worth it. And it’s not like I can really stop it, anyway. She’s too close and I’m too far gone—too damn addicted, and I’ve gone far too long without a fix. Years too long.

  Cady’s eyes flutter open and I expect to see disgust, anger, annoyance, hatred, but all I see is want.

  I stumble back a step—now I’m the one who needs to suck in some air.

  She stares. Waits. Her chest rising and falling more quickly than normal. I give her three seconds. Three seconds to walk away. To end what we both know is about to happen before it even starts. Three fucking seconds…

  She stays.

  I exhale. One step away and she’s mi
ne. Grabbing the bowl from her hands, I take the step and—

  “What’s taking so long, babe? You get lost?”

  The voice stops me in my tracks. Cady gasps slightly, eyes widening, then blinking a few times before focusing on the voice behind us. I turn around and sure enough, motherfucking Blaine. If I didn’t hate him before…

  “Hey, Ben.”

  I ignore him and turn back to Cady, only to find her smiling at the asshole—her cheeks lightly flushed, her eyes a sparkling, clear blue. She takes the bowl back from my hands, casting me a brief look that guts me without a touch. Relief. She looks fucking relieved that we were saved by the asshole.

  “Sorry, Ben and I were talking and I, um, got distracted and whoosh, the bowl slipped out of my hands. But thankfully, Ben was here to make sure it didn’t fall. That would’ve been…a grave mistake. For everyone.” Her eyes flick over to mine once more and yeah, I get it. Message fucking received.

  “Good looking out, man. See you out there,” Blaine nods at the back door, an easy smile spreading across his face, but he’s no fool. He eyes me one second too long, his gaze slightly narrowed and most definitely suspicious.

  The corners of my mouth begin to tilt up and before I know it, I’m grinning like the Grinch who stole Christmas.

  His smile falls—his jaw set and clenching.

  That’s right, motherfucker, the gauntlet is thrown down. It’s on like King Kong, and I’m about to destroy your world and steal your girl.

  He nods as if he can hear my thoughts, but once Cady makes her way to his side, he pulls her in for a kiss and yep, I’m back to squeezing the granite countertop so hard I’m briefly afraid I’ll snap a finger, but it’s not enough to tear my eyes from the horror show playing out in front of me. Thankfully, it’s over quickly, but then the asshole has to sweep her up into his arms with the most self-satisfied look, I have to grip the counter again to stop myself from pummeling his smug-ass face.

  “Blaine, what are you doing?” she yells and squeals at the same time, flapping her arms adorably. I’d be amused if I wasn’t so focused on not stomping over there and wrenching her flailing body from his arms. In fact, I release the poor countertop and take two steps toward them, when bitch-ass Blaine opens his big-ass mouth, stopping me in my tracks.