The Next Day (Foothills Book 2)

by Carrie Thorne

  “Those pieces were incredible. If they don’t want them, there are hundreds of others that will.”

  Dragging her ass off the couch, she shrugged. “I’ll know soon enough.”

  Taking her water glass to the kitchen, she drained the last of it and set it in the sink with the lunch dishes. Freya adjusted the waist of her jeans, ensured her top was feminine, somewhere between sweet and edgy, and worked her tongue over her teeth to ensure no lunch greens remained. Okay. No problem.

  Why was she so nervous? It wasn’t like they were her real in-laws. Or, well, they were real… just not permanent. Ouch, that was almost worse.

  She swung her backpack and heaved her suitcase and glared at the door, wishing she could hide under the covers like she had when she was a little girl and tried to skip school. Not that the strategy had ever worked.

  From her burrow on the recliner, Sophie laughed, “I thought they were only here for a few days. Why did you pack your entire wardrobe?”

  “Toiletries, personal items, and a variety of outfits with layers, in part because I need to make it look like I live there, and because I don’t know if we’ll be taking them for a drive to the city or hiking or sit around all day. I know nothing about these people, except that they don’t deserve Zane for a son.”

  “Makes sense. I’m lucky; my future in-laws had pretty much adopted me before I even met Asher. And as much as Paul drives Asher nuts, he loves him to bits.”

  “You do have good future in-laws. Are you letting him propose yet?”

  “Nah. I’m thinking of beating him to the punch just to be ornery.”

  Inhaling every molecule of oxygen that would squeeze into her lungs, she rested her hand on the doorknob. “Wish me luck?”

  “You don’t need it. But good luck anyway.”

  Turning the knob and swinging the door open, Freya dashed out the door and slammed into the brick wall she had almost considered anticipating this time. Hands steadying her shoulders, sweeping down her arms, Zane chuckled in his gruff timbre that vibrated deep into her as effectively as the little toy she kept in her bedside table.

  “Sorry,” she murmured, the smile inevitable as she looked up and met his gaze for the first time in weeks. Were his eyes always so rich? Biting her cheek, she grinned even bigger. “You know what? I used to be considered graceful. Aware of my surroundings. Yet whenever you’re around, I rush and knock into things and feel like a complete moron.”

  “I hear that a lot.”

  “Smartass.”

  He snatched her suitcase in one hand and laced his fingers with hers in the other. Weeks ago, the simple gesture had rocked her resolve. Now… it anchored her to the here and now, yet set her flying into the clouds like one of those expensive dragon kites she’d never been able to master.

  Annulment. Freedom. No man to affect her productivity or change her plans or… Shit. This sucked.

  At the stairs, he waved her on ahead. His groan was audible as he walked a few steps behind. “What?” she asked.

  “Has anyone ever told you that you should be an ass model?”

  “Huh. Nope. Little weird.”

  “Just saying. If you could see it the way I do? You’d paint nothing but that ass.”

  “I have no response to that,” she laughed as she walked into the apartment.

  “The rest of you is good too. Hell, your rack could be on the cover of Playboy.”

  “Not so much,” she rolled her eyes.

  “Again, just saying. I’m fond of them. They’ve gotten me into a whole lot of trouble.”

  “It’s been a long two weeks, hasn’t it?”

  He tugged his short hair in his fist. “Apparently. Okay. I’m moving on. We’re not officially cohabitating, we’re merely covering for a lie I told before the marriage issue. Nor will we have sex or anything resembling what married people do.”

  “Except meet the in-laws.”

  “Except that.” He grinned and set her suitcase on his bed. “Oh shit, I almost forgot.” He opened his bedside drawer and pulled out her ring. He stepped close and held the ring up for inspection.

  Taking a deep breath, he took her hand and exhaled slowly, his eyes heavy on the thin piece of expensive metal. Prickles danced over her skin as he slid the ring over her finger, only the slightest resistance at the knuckle before settling in like it belonged.

  “This is really pretty,” she sighed.

  “I, uh… I picked it out.” His cheeks flushed pink.

  “You remember?”

  He nodded. “Bits and pieces have popped back in. You insisted we pick out each other’s rings. Some sort of test.”

  Biting her lip, she resisted the flutter that beat in her chest. Randy had picked out a sweet ring for her, a gold band with a fleck of a solitary diamond, but boring. Vince hadn’t exactly bothered with anything fancy; they were broke art students at the time anyway, so he’d folded an IOU into an origami-style ring. Clever, but it hadn’t even lasted as long as their pitifully short engagement. Giovanni had a lovely ring passed down through his family, but it was so extravagant it felt heavy on her finger, and he’d delivered so many warnings that she better not lose it, that it never felt like hers.

  “Oh,” she startled, digging into her pocket. “I have yours, too.” When he held out his open hand, she set it gingerly in his palm. It suited him.

  Clearing his throat, unloading the weight of the untimely moment, Zane opened the top drawer of his dresser and gestured to the closet. “Make yourself at home,” he shrugged. “Really, I can’t thank you enough for doing this.”

  She wanted to scoff that they probably didn’t deserve all the effort, but swallowed her judgment. Who knows, maybe they weren’t the jerks she’d made them out to be. Just a few comments from Zane now and again, and she had the distinct feeling they were heartless pricks. But if it helped Zane to find what he was looking for, she was all in. “You can pay me back later.”

  “Yeah?” he tugged his lower lip between his teeth in a wicked grin and stepped toward her… then backed up again. Yep, this was going to be a long couple of days. “Anyway, I’ll, uh, go put away the groceries.”

  18

  Saved by the Bell

  They managed to behave themselves for a solid two hours until his parents arrived. His jaw had been ticking like mad as he stared at the words swimming around on the page. Giving up, he tossed the book onto the middle cushion their bare feet shared.

  Setting her sketch onto the chaise next to her, Freya nudged his foot, a snarky grin on her face.

  “What?” He nodded.

  “You.”

  He feigned a scowl.

  “You could have told them to stay in a hotel.”

  “I know.”

  “But you were pleased they were showing an interest.”

  “Thanks Freud, but, yeah, I suppose you’re probably right.”

  She scooched across the couch and scooped his arm up until he wrapped it around her and pulled her against him, then rested her head on his chest. Worry already lightening, the easy connection was both stirring and painful as she filled the hollow in his chest. “You have siblings, right? Do they get along with your parents?”

  “We don’t not get along. They’re decent parents, when they pay attention. Honestly, they’re overbearing as shit and self-absorbed, so any of their attention is usually uninvited. I think we all prefer flying under the radar.”

  “You’re not close with your siblings?”

  “I think we’d like to be closer, but my sister’s always on the go with the Air Force, and my brother never stops to take a break. And, well, you know me, I’m not one to call just to chat.”

  “You chat with me.”

  “That’s different.”

  “Because I’m your wife?” She leaned up and grinned.

  Reaching around, he pinched her middle and tickled until she squealed out of his grip. “Drunk or not, you said yes, and now you’re stuck with me for the next five days.”

&nb
sp; Swinging her leg over, she straddled her knees around him and bit her lip, grinning and scowling and shaking her head at him. “I can’t help but say ‘yes’ to you.”

  Adjusting his posture, he tried to resist. He really did. But with those perfectly rounded breasts right in front of his face, well, he was fresh out of the willpower to fight it. Teasing at the hem of her top, her skin like silk, he trailed his fingertips up her sides and around her ribs.

  Resting her hands on his jaw, thumbs teasing over his stubbled cheeks, she leaned in and pressed her mouth to the corner of his lower lip. Nipping, she pleaded entrance.

  With a hungry growl, he swept his tongue over hers, exploring the furnace that blazed as their mouths met. Rising higher, he slipped under her bra and cupped her breasts with his hands, thumbs pinching over the instantly tightening buds.

  Tipping her head back, she gasped, leaning into his grip.

  Massaging, squeezing gently, heat blazed through him, his cock painfully hardening. Slipping up her top, he shifted the bra out of his way and continued his caress, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to her chest, the curve of her breast. As she panted and hummed at his touch, he took her into his mouth and suckled.

  Crying out, she trailed her hands down his abdomen, rocking against his cock that was aching, straining for release. With her clever fingers, she slid his zipper down torturously slow. The second he was free, she didn’t give him an inch, her hands gripping and driving him out of his damn mind. Halfway to heaven, he thrusted into her hands.

  And the fucking doorbell.

  Leaning back on the couch, he let out a mirthless groan before buttoning back up, his cock aching from lack of release. “Typical.”

  Breathless, she laughed as she pulled her bra back over the girls and adjusted her top, “Saved by the bell, I think you mean. I was about two seconds from, well, you can pretty much guess.”

  “Fuck, me too. A little too effective of a distraction,” he added.

  Shaking her head, Freya rose to her feet and extended her hand, hoisting him off the couch. She opened her mouth to speak, but shook her head again. Straightening his shirt, smoothing his hair, leaving him a little rumpled like he knew she preferred, she moved to his side and laced her fingers with his.

  Clinging to her quiet support, he moved to the door and twisted the knob, bracing for the inevitable.

  “Zane, honey, we’re so glad to see you.” His mother blasted into the room with the force of a damn nuke. Her arms wrapped around him and ripped him from Freya.

  His father followed close behind, extending his hand and shaking Freya’s vigorously. Pasting on a chipper smile, Freya said, “It’s great to finally meet you.”

  Releasing her son, Susan Harris turned to Freya and offered a half-assed shoulder-pat hug. Freya complied. Craig Harris hugged his son as vigorously as Susan had.

  Neither of his parents came close to matching his or Freya’s heights. Zane had always wondered where he came from, as Craig’s eyes were a murky brown and his mother’s were a stony gray. Where Zane’s hair was a rebellious brown, Craig’s was white blond and, well, no one knew Susan’s actual hair color, as she’d donned multicolored highlights since before he was born. Craig sported a slight tummy, but was otherwise stalky trim, while Susan was rail thin.

  Like so many discontented youth, Zane had always wondered if he had been adopted. He still silently clung to at least the idea of artificial insemination with egg and sperm donors, but he’d seen photographs of pretty much the entire pregnancy. Including his slimy red body screeching as his parents smiled for the camera with their new baby.

  “Zane, honey, I can’t believe how long it’s been. Wow,” Susan stepped back and admired her son.

  Lacing his fingers with Freya, he pasted on a relaxed smile while chewing his cheek raw. “Yep,” he forced through gritted teeth and a tight smile.

  Craig nodded buoyantly. “Wow is right. Since we saw you last Christmas, you’ve been busy. Out of the Navy and married, and you moved to this delightful town.”

  Under his breath, Zane couldn’t help but mutter, “Christmas before last.”

  Susan looked up, her scowl lines deep between her eyebrows as she considered. “Has it really been so long? Wasn’t that a wonderful holiday. All three of our children, home at last.”

  The unmistakable metallic taste of blood flooded his mouth as Zane bit down harder into his cheek. They didn’t deserve to be reminded that his brother hadn’t been there.

  Squeezing his hand to let him know she was on it, Freya smiled, “How was the drive? I hear you can see the glow from the Eastern Washington wildfires on the horizon?”

  Craig scooped up their bags and strolled inside, grinning his typical dopey grin, “That was something. We’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Nodding, Freya’s hand stayed locked with his, her smile equally forced. Anyone from the area, or with half a brain, really, had been following the devastation. She smiled and responded, “Something, yes. Your flight was uneventful?”

  Susan sauntered into the kitchen and stared into the refrigerator.

  Releasing Freya’s hand and giving in to the inevitable, Zane followed and rested his hand on the fridge door. “I should have picked up some wine. Sorry, I wasn’t thinking about it. Would you like water or beer?”

  His mother pondered, her famous pensive face not diminishing the perfection of her eyebrows. “Is the beer local? I would love something original.”

  “It’s original alright,” he muttered.

  Craig set their suitcases next to the bed-height air mattress Zane had picked up in anticipation of their arrival. “I’d love one, too. Thanks.”

  Susan took her beer and wandered around the apartment, nosy and curious. Good thing Freya had merged her stuff with his. She even checked the medicine cabinet, smiling and commenting on what a cozy home they’d made. As expected, she asked, “This apartment is lovely. Do you know the neighbors that own the house?”

  Releasing all the air from his lungs, Zane gulped the first half of his beer and dropped onto the couch. “Yeah. Remember, Asher and his girlfriend are buying the place, so we’re staying here while we find something more permanent?”

  Susan nodded knowingly before lowering to the opposite end of the couch, “Oh yes, of course. I remember now. Will you be designing your own place? Or, well, I guess it’s been a while. If you need some creative input, we’ll be happy to help.”

  Cheek worn away to little more than hamburger, Zane tried to chew on his tongue instead. Maybe he’d try some Irish moss for the next batch, with some Northwest hops.

  Freya glanced out the window, then back again, “We’re not quite there yet. Foothills has some great properties, but we’ll wait for something perfect to open up and go from there.”

  Craig nodded, “Of course. You can’t create the design before you know the location.”

  Utter darkness. Blackness. Where mysteries began. And where Freya’s imagination took over. Crisp night air cooled the overheated bedroom while dark clouds shifted to conceal the moon.

  Scooted until she was about to fall off the side of the bed, she knew Zane was at the opposite edge. He smelled so damn good, that hint of cedar and sex that spun her in a confused tornado. His breath was forced and steady, equally unsettled.

  “Zane?” she asked.

  “Yeah?”

  “You awake?”

  He chuckled under his breath. “I am now. The creaking wheels in your brain woke me up.”

  “Want to have sex?” Her massive grin scrunched up her nose so far, she squinted.

  He groaned, counting so quietly she almost couldn’t tell, slower than the bathroom clock on the other side of the wall.

  “I mean, we’re already cohabitating.”

  Five more counts. “We’re already going to be damn lucky to get that annulment. The only thing we have going for us is that we haven’t consummated it.”

  “I was kidding anyway.”

  “No you weren’t.�
�� She could hear the lilt in his voice, the subtle smile as he teased her.

  “How do you know?”

  “It’s like the handholding. You don’t like being told you can’t do something.”

  “I can follow rules.”

  “Can? Yes. Easily and with grace? No.”

  “Smartass.”

  He chuckled again. “Hey, I’ve got twelve years of following orders under my belt.”

  “I’m not sure I’ve ever cared for rules.” She glared up at the growing light on the ceiling as the clouds broke to reveal the moon.

  “I can see that.” The sheets shifted and rustled as Zane rolled to face her. Like a submarine in rough seas, Zane’s hand crossed the divide between them. He intertwined his fingers with hers.

  A lead weight on her chest, Freya forced each breath in and out. The subtle connection, so natural, insignificant by all accounts, was exactly who he was. He wouldn’t break the rules, but would bend them for her. And she really, really shouldn’t let him. “Your parents are nice.”

  “Yeah, they are that.”

  “You’re right though, they don’t see you at all.”

  “Nope.” His thumb grazed along hers, circling over each groove.

  “I don’t think it’s personal. They seem quite content with their own interests.”

  Zane didn’t respond, but took a protracted deep breath; she could just make out his tightening posture in the dim light.

  “Have you thought about what to do tomorrow?”

  “I haven’t exactly done anything touristy around here. What do you think?”

  “There’s always Mount Rainier. Or the wildlife park to see bison and elk. Downtown Seattle, the waterfront, aquarium, the underground, shopping.”

  He audibly winced, “Not downtown. Where normal people like you and I will want to do the typical touristy things, they’ll turn it into an architectural tour.”