The Next Day (Foothills Book 2)

by Carrie Thorne

  “Charming,” she backed away and took the empty glass from him, refilled it, and left it on the nightstand. “I’m not taking advantage of an intoxicated man.”

  “Come on, a few more minutes the other night and I would have taken advantage of you,” he slurred.

  “But you didn’t. Nor will I. And I was warm and fuzzy, you’re going to be lucky if you remember any of this tomorrow.”

  “How was your date with Dr. Practical? Was he as good of a kisser as me?”

  “What was that you were saying about always putting your foot in your mouth? It might be a good time to extricate that foot and go to bed.”

  His stomach rolled as he let his imagination run wild; maybe that goodnight kiss had been the G-rated version compared to what they might have been up to earlier. “Didn’t feel like making a night of it?”

  “No.”

  “Did he agree to go with you to the wedding?”

  “I didn’t ask him.”

  His eyes fought to shutter closed, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from chewing on his own bullshit. “You’re pretty. He’s an idiot.”

  She stared, hesitating in his bedroom doorway with her arms crossed.

  Fuck no, not sympathy. He really couldn’t take it from her. Furious Freya was so much safer. “I’ve got nothing, Freya. No future. No dreams. And I sure as hell don’t know what to do with a woman as interesting as you. You’d be bored with me in a day.”

  “Goodnight, Zane,” she whispered, closing his bedroom door, her heels clicking across the wood floors.

  Closing his eyes, he crashed and slept hard.

  Tapping her foot on the floor, Freya debated. He was so trashed. Heading outside, she crossed over to the main house and eased in the front door, collapsing against it as it clicked closed.

  “You okay?” Asher was dressed in nothing but jeans, filling two glasses of water in the kitchen.

  “Yeah.”

  “Have fun on your date?”

  “I did. It was nice to see Seth.”

  “What’s bugging you?” he set the glasses down, rested his palms on the island and waited.

  Exhaling every last molecule of air before speaking, she shrugged. “Zane’s drunk.”

  “Drunk? Stoic Zane?” His brow scrunched together.

  She nodded. “You should go check on him.”

  He stood tall, looking toward the bedroom, then to Zane.

  Her face fell, “You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?”

  He nodded.

  “I’ll go get changed and crash on his couch.”

  “No, I should go. That’s the whole reason I dragged him up here. Guy hasn’t let himself feel a damn thing since that op.”

  “What happened?”

  “It was right before I got out. Zane and I crossed the street to check out a stupid hunch. Jack and the other guys waited behind. Their building got hit. A lot of them didn’t make it. Jack did, but he didn’t walk again, then, well, you know, he passed a few weeks ago. Zane and I… not more than a scratch between us.” Asher’s teeth gritted together, a darkness heavy over his expression.

  “And Zane just got out, right?”

  “Wasn’t even out two days when he got the call about Jack.”

  Freya stepped close and hugged her cousin. Even overseas, she’d tracked his whereabouts, not sleeping while she knew he was deployed, celebrating every return. As had his sister and his parents and aunts and uncles. Zane didn’t have any of that. “You go crawl back in bed with Sophie. I’ll get changed and crash on Zane’s couch. Sort of my fault that he’s drunk anyway.” She backed away to head toward her bedroom to change.

  Feet locking in place, Asher asked, “Your fault?”

  “Yeah. I, well, I sort of kissed him. And he kissed me. A lot. And then we keep agreeing on how that’s a dumb idea.”

  “What? When?”

  “Um, pretty much every time we’ve said so much as, ‘hello’ to each other.” She felt her cheeks go red as she recalled every touch. His hands on her, his mouth. Damn, he was a really, really good kisser.

  “Okay, so he implied something about he liked you, therefore he wasn’t going to do anything about it. Now you’re saying the same stupid thing. What is wrong with you people?”

  “From what it sounds like, he fell in love once and it was awful and he’s not risking it again. I, on the other hand, have been in love many times, and always manage to get my heart broken because I’m too caught up to see the forest for the trees. I’m not getting engaged again. Fool me once, you know. Fool me three times, and I fold.”

  Asher winced, letting out a less-than-sympathetic laugh. “I’m sorry. But… can I be there to watch when you two get your heads out of your asses and realize that’s a load of bullshit?”

  “I’m not risking getting tied up again.”

  Asher grinned wickedly. “You might like it.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Shut up. You know what I mean. You and Sophie have found this great balance. Not everyone has that ability.”

  “You’re scared. And that’s not like you.”

  “I am scared. Of getting my heart broken. Again. I’m tapped out.”

  “Just keep telling yourself that. Randy was convenient, that wasn’t love. I didn’t get to meet Vince or Giovanni, but trust me, Zane is twice the man they are.”

  “He is a good guy, I can feel that. But–”

  Asher shook his head. “Nope. Stop arguing with yourself. You do what you need to do to protect yourself, and Zane will do the same. Do me a favor? Don’t fight it, and see what it can be like with a good guy.”

  She smiled, “You’re a good guy, too. Sophie’s lucky.”

  “I know,” he winked. “Goodnight.”

  Freya tugged off her heels and carried them back to her bedroom. She slipped off the pretty black dress she’d stolen from Sophie’s closet, quite a bite shorter and fitted on her than it was on Sophie, but she didn’t mind showing a little leg. Pulling on yoga pants and an old t-shirt, she slid her feet into an easy pair of sandals and packed a bag with a change of clothes, toothbrush, hairbrush, and grabbed a pillow and blanket, unsure if he had the basics yet. Not exactly the overnight she’d been picturing with him; with how drunk he was, she might be there half of tomorrow too, if he hadn’t sobered up yet or slept with his head over the toilet bowl.

  Crossing through the blue glow over the driveway, she quietly entered his apartment and set her bag by the couch, quickly throwing together a makeshift bed. Before crawling into the blankets, she checked on Zane, finding him out cold, mouth open.

  Watching him sleep on top of the blankets, his long limbs sprawled and making the queen-sized mattress look like a toddler bed, she resisted to the nagging hollow in the pit of her stomach, aching to get crawl in with him and make everything okay. To make sure he knew that he was a good guy. One of the best, she suspected.

  Scowling, she kicked herself, dragging herself back to the couch. Dropping onto the cushion, she punched her pillow fluffy and threw the blanket over her legs. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. She was doing it again. What was wrong with her? A few good kisses with a gorgeous man, and she was flashing forward to snuggling and white picket fences, not giving a damn what it did to her.

  How was that going to work when she went on gallery tours? When he was no longer a muse, but a brick that smashed her creativity? Or when he realized she wasn’t what he’d wanted after all? That she was needy and moody and opinionated? Getting caught up in the fireworks was blinding; and she’d been burned so bad by the blasts of her past.

  She sealed her eyes shut and tried fruitlessly to not imagine indulging, just to experience what she knew they would be capable of together. She was great at casual dating, sex, enjoying the company of a decent man. But there were those few she had met, like Zane, that set her heart on fire.

  By late morning, Zane stumbled out of the bedroom, head in his hands to block the chipper birds and bright sun. She’d showered, brushed, changed, and curled up w
ith a book. Cozy in the corner of the couch, Freya adjusted her coffee and set her book down.

  He scowled when he saw her, “You didn’t have to crash here.”

  “Yes, I did. You looked like hell.”

  While he stopped in the bathroom, she poured him a cup of coffee and a glass of orange juice. Pulling out a frying pan, she got started on a big greasy breakfast to absorb some of that liquor.

  Feet shuffling across the floor, he looked like a beat-up sexy teddy bear, all drippy from the shower, rumpled and ripped. He parked at the stool where she’d set out his hangover coffee and juice. After a testing sip of coffee, he looked up at her, “You don’t have to make me breakfast, too. Bad enough I acted like an ass last night.”

  “The worst you did was call me pretty and compliment your own kissing skills.”

  “I remember. It takes a hell of a lot more than that to make me forget a gorgeous woman in a little black dress,” he grinned, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

  She cracked the eggs and added some milk and cheese, fluffing them up, enjoying the sizzle as she poured the savory mixture into the pan. “I suspect you needed to let go a bit. When’s the last time you did something reckless? Alcohol-related or otherwise?”

  He snorted, then gulped down the juice until only the lingering pulp coated the side of the glass. “Long time.”

  “You were due. Sometimes it’s good to make stupid mistakes. Reset the bar a little.” She’d made more than her fair share of mistakes; not learning from them would be downright moronic.

  “Maybe.”

  “No offense Zane, but you’re less of a mess than you think.”

  She scooped a heap of scrambled eggs into a bowl and slid it toward him, dishing up another for herself.

  Inhaling, he closed his eyes before digging in. “We’ll see. I’ve got a hell of a lot of memories from a great military career, both good and horrible. Sometimes I think I should have stayed until retirement like I’d originally planned, but I was so fucking done. And now? Now I’m a thirty-four-year old unemployed, divorced, socially-awkward nobody crashing at his only friend’s parents’ apartment while I come up with something to do with the rest of my life.”

  “So, you don’t have a dream right now. That’s okay. You could use a break, some time to find yourself again. You’ll figure out what you want.”

  “Easy for you to say. You’re living your dream.”

  “I am. And now I’m home again, another dream that doesn’t jive well with my career. As glad as I am to be home, I’ve got so much work ahead of me, to keep this going. It wouldn’t be hard to lose everything I’ve accomplished.”

  “But you know what you want.”

  “Mostly.” She held her bowl in one hand, her fork in the other, and leaned against the opposite counter. Stuffing her mouth full with a huge bite, she shrugged, unsure what to say. That she felt lost and found all at once? Being home was amazing, but selling her work was going to be so much harder.

  “Do you still need a date to the wedding?” He didn’t look up, but ate another bite. Why was he so hard to read? Did he want to go? Or was he just feeling guilty?

  “I think I’ll go alone. Let them know I don’t give a shit what they think.”

  He swallowed another bite and chased it with a gulp of coffee. “Whatever you think. But it’s not like I’ve got anything else going on right now.”

  “Are you sure? I mean, it won’t be fun. It will be a gigantic party filled with family I haven’t seen in years.”

  “Lake Tahoe you said? I’ve never been, but I’ve heard it’s beautiful. We can go as friends, maybe make out a little, nothing major, then we can go hiking, swimming, whatever.”

  She grinned and rinsed her bowl out before adding it to the empty dishwasher. “Make out?”

  “I’m not saying it’s why I’m offering to go with you, but let’s face it, it’s going to happen.”

  “The hotel is all booked up. Think we can bunk together and not go beyond making out?”

  “I’ll do my best, but no promises.” He glanced down between his legs and shrugged, “This poor guy hasn’t seen much action in the last… way too fucking long.”

  Shaking her head, she couldn’t help the corners of her mouth that turned up, the humming between her own legs as she debated if this was the dumbest decision she’d made in her entire life. And she’d done some stupid things. But, as she’d said, sometimes you have to make a few mistakes to reset the bar. “Alright. I’ll call the airline and see if there are any seats left. If we do end up having sex, remember, what happens in Tahoe stays in Tahoe.”

  Shaking his head, full grin spread across his cheeks, he cleared his dish, came around behind her and pressed against her backside, one hand splayed across her abdomen while the other reached around her to put his bowl in the sink. “Then we’d better make the most of it,” his gruff voice whispered.

  Pinning her against the counter, her back still toward him, he brushed his lips along her bare shoulder. Trailing delicate kisses on her skin, the tip of his tongue tracing the contour of her neck, he tormented her. Her legs trembled beneath her until she wanted to start their weekend early. The heat of his mouth on her, the subtle seduction proving exactly why she couldn’t keep him. Already, he was so much more than Vince and Giovanni and Randy all combined; if he asked, she’d strip down right here and give herself body and soul.

  Turning in his arms, her gaze brushed over his perfect lips, swept over his chiseled jaw, and locked onto those storybook eyes. No wonder she was a goner. Her pathetic brain turned her right into some princess in a remote tower, pining away for the prince that would inevitably let her down. “One weekend. That’s it.”

  No hesitation, he meant it when he agreed. “One weekend.”

  7

  Room Service, Please

  Shifting in his seat, Zane stretched his legs out front and wished she’d let him upgrade their seats to first class. Her cousin, her family, she’d said, so she insisted on paying.

  His fucking knees. Now that the seatbelt sign was on, he moved his foot to the aisle in a bleak effort to get comfortable.

  As he closed his eyes, Freya chuckled at his side, “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “You look like a salmon in a sardine can,” she laughed again.

  Turning his head, he opened his eyes and let the corner of his mouth quirk up. “Can I please upgrade us to first class on the way back?”

  She nodded, still grinning at him, those devilish blues taunting him.

  Closing the narrow distance between them, he brushed his lips over hers long enough to absorb the zing he’d come to crave, then settled back and shut his eyes again to relive her taste, the exquisite spice of those lips.

  “My parents are only three rows back,” she hissed.

  The plane jerked forward and back, then rolled away from the gate, the miniscule vent above his head blasting a weak stream of cool air over his eyelids.

  “So?” he grinned to himself.

  “So?” Her whisper turned to a shrill mumbling, “I told them you agreed to come as a pity date. That you’re Asher’s friend and you had nothing else to do this weekend and I’m paying you back with a painting.”

  He could picture the frantic look on her face, those fiery blues sparking at him without even looking. Sighing, poorly attempting to hide his smug grin, he said, “Didn’t want to admit you’re paying me back with a weekend of nonstop sex?”

  Her quiet chuckle erased the last shred of doubt he’d had that this was a stupid idea. “Whatever happened to hiking and swimming?”

  “That was before you agreed to sex. I see no reason to even leave our room now.”

  “I believe I acknowledged that sex was going to happen. But you do have a point. Except we’ll have to leave for the wedding.”

  “Yeah, that. Then right back upstairs.” He adjusted his pants and was glad he’d worn thick jeans. One weekend to make up for the last two, almost three
years of celibacy. Not exactly by choice, more lack of interest. Too much shit on his mind. May as well make the most of it; his interest was definitely stirred.

  “Could you at least pretend we’re pretending, for my parents? My mom will get all excited if she thinks we’re into each other, and my dad will hold a gun to my back and force us to the sacrificial altar.”

  “And I thought Asher was a commitment-phobe.”

  “Do your parents get you?”

  Well that blew his good mood. He opened his eyes and sat up; his hamstrings spasmed from the lack of space. “No.”

  Freya bit her lip and lowered her eyebrows in a sincere apology.

  Exhaling, he sucked it up to get it over with. “They don’t even know I’m out.”

  “I’m sorry,” she reached over and traced her thumb along the edge of his jaw.

  “Not the first time they’ve let me down. And I have no doubt I’ve let them down many times too.”

  “It must be tempting to give up on them.”

  “Tempting?” he raised an eyebrow. “Done. I’m not wasting my time on them again.”

  Her hand stilled, resting against his cheek. Trailing his fingers along the contours of her wrist, he kissed her palm, then laced his fingers with hers and lowered their joined hands to the armrest between them.

  As much as his parents were worthless, hers seemed great so far. When they’d met up at the airport, Freya’s parents had immediately enveloped her and asked to meet her young man and fussed and fretted as parents are supposed to. Her father had given him the evil eye, until Freya had made it clear he was coming as her plus-one as a favor. Then he’d only given an occasional suspicious sideways glance. Her mother had hugged him as fiercely as she had her daughter, nearly busting his ribs with her enthusiasm. As much as they didn’t understand Freya, they loved her.

  During takeoff, Freya inhaled slow and easy, watching out the window as the engines roared, the plane steadily gaining altitude. He watched as her eyes danced with merriment as the cars shrunk to ant-size, the highways no more than lines in the sea of green, and they rose above the clouds. Pulling her feet up, she slipped off her shoes and pulled a sketchbook and a tin of pencils from her purse.