The Careless Boyfriend

by Erika Kelly

  She winced, and he knew she didn’t want him to continue, but it was a story that needed to be told. “Everyone just went on like nothing happened, finding their friends, sitting down, but you just sat there, like you were in so much pain you couldn’t even function.”

  “True story. I landed on my tailbone.”

  “I hauled ass to get to you, but before I could, I saw you get back up. You kept your eyes on Cady. When you hit her row, you made your way down it until you got to her. You stuck your ass out, forcing your way in between Cady and Melissa. You remember what you did?”

  “Of course.” She said it nonchalantly, like it was no big deal.

  But it was. “I was racing up the stairs when I saw your expression, watched you lean right into her ear. What’d you say, Knox? Say it to me right now, what you said to the most popular girl in our class who’d just hurt you in front of the whole school.”

  “What’s your point? You think I want to remember my past in that town?”

  “The point is that you’re a badass. You said, ‘You know the interesting thing about people who have no fucks to give?”

  Knox arched a brow and gave him just a hint of a smile. “‘We’re dangerous. Like, really, scary dangerous. Watch your back.’”

  That’s right. “And then you sat with them until the drill ended, and we were allowed back into the building.” The best part came afterwards, though. “The entire school talked about what you did for weeks.”

  “Yeah, well, the Bible calls for an eye for an eye.”

  A smile cut through the tension. After school that day, Cady had been getting into her boyfriend’s truck, when Knox came up from behind and yanked on the waistband of her jeans. Cady had fallen onto the asphalt hard—into a dirty puddle—but Knox had just sashayed away. “I hung out with you because you were fierce. I liked you. I liked hanging out with you, more than with anyone else. I—”

  “Bullshit. Don’t feed me—or yourself—some stupid lines. I wasn’t your friend. I was nothing to you.”

  “Are you out of your mind? Is this what you’ve been thinking all these years? What the fuck did I ever do to give you that impression?”

  “You left me.” It was the flatness in her tone, dead as roadkill, that impacted him way worse than if she’d screeched. “You walked out of that hotel room, and you never looked back. Friends don’t do that. I get it. I’m not angry. You were pissed at me for hanging onto Robert long past the end-date, I got that. But if you cared about me at all, you would’ve contacted me at some point. There are plenty of ways to keep in touch with someone, and you didn’t find one of them.” She reached for the door, like she might close it. “How’s that for the truth?”

  Five pellets fired with pure menace. Each one hit the target. His body shook with fear, hurt, and wild frustration. “I did what I had to do.” He spoke through gritted teeth.

  “No, you did what you wanted to do. Just like you always do. That’s your MO. You washed your hands of your pity project. And, believe me, I don’t blame you, but we should at least be honest about it.” She took a step back and slammed the door in his face.

  His body was on fire. His pulse thundered. “You want honesty?” It was like fighting against the undertow, reaching the surface, and filling his lungs. “I’ll give it to you. I was in love with my best friend’s girlfriend. That’s why I left and never looked back.”

  Chapter Ten

  Lost in the world of her designs, Knox contemplated the idea of a detachable skirt, so the bride could take it off and wear white satin shorts to the reception. Oh, I like that. Her pencil flew across the page as images came to mind. Yards and yards of organza, cut to look like feathers, big—bigger—ach, so feminine—and then the shock of hot pants underneath. Edgy.

  Excitement flooded her, making her fingers shake. This was when she knew she’d come upon a great idea. Her body’s visceral reaction. Wait, what if the shorts weren’t white? What if they were pink? She reached for a different pencil. No, stronger contrast. Purple. And, to give a little hint of what lay beneath the lavish skirt, she’d tie a purple sash around the waist. No, purple petals—two satin flowers at the back. Wait. No. She flipped the page to draw the back of the dress. A bustle, with a row of three purple organza flowers along the seam.

  Yes. Love it.

  Until fear crept in and clamped its jaws into her heart. What’re you doing? Random sketching wasted precious time, because she wasn’t designing collections anymore. She was making two custom dresses. And, while she might have all these requests, until she spoke with the brides and discussed pricing and specific details, she didn’t have any actual orders.

  I’m giving up my dream.

  No. You’re not. The pop-up show is at Granger’s. The social media campaign could very well get her the kind of attention she needed. She knew it, because the dress page already had several thousand followers. People seemed to love watching the process, and the camaraderie between the women, too.

  Amelia had done an amazing job with it. Each post was clever, the photographs stylish and fun. She’d get that call from Jack Abrams, and this would all lead to a couture show on a Paris runway.

  Canned laughter caught her attention, yanking her out of her reverie. She looked up to see that the movie had ended, and the TV was on, which meant she must’ve switched over at some point. She patted the sheets, looking for the remote, and thumbed the power button. The room went dark. Setting the sketchbook on the nightstand, she shoved a pillow between her legs, rolled onto her side and closed her eyes.

  You’re going to get in bed, find a good movie, and wind up sketching until you fall asleep.

  Gray knew her. He just did. And that made it easier to believe the bomb he’d detonated at her feet. Finally, after losing herself in her sketches—blocking out his confession—she let it come flooding in.

  I was in love with my best friend’s girlfriend.

  Shock waves rolled through her, slamming into every cell in her body. In love with me? Her brain sorted through snapshots from their childhood, trying to catch a glimpse of his expressions. But what could she make of them? She could mold a memory into anything she wanted.

  Gray didn’t lie. He didn’t have to—he had enough confidence and self-possession to own everything he said and did. Which meant…he’d loved her. That’s why he hung around me.

  All her life she’d felt less than Gray Bowie. He was handsome and powerful, confident and competent. In high school, he’d walk down the hallway, and people would look up from their conversations, pause while reaching into their lockers, just to watch his easy gait, his infectious smile. He radiated authority. He was that unicorn who seemed to fit perfectly in his own skin, while the rest of them were gangly and awkward and unsure.

  Gray’s bombshell opened up a whole new perspective. It made her see just how deeply she’d let the bullies shape her perceptions about herself. Tonight, Gray had removed that lens.

  Not that anything could’ve happened between them. Robert would never have let go of her. She’d had to move to New York with no forwarding address in order to free herself.

  She kept skimming the edge of the bomb site. It was too bright, too scary to look in. He’d loved her? He’d loved her.

  Gray Bowie had loved her.

  Now, it almost seemed ridiculous to think of all that time he’d spent with her as anything else. No one spent that much time with a pity project. You invited her to party here and there, you heard of an opportunity and tossed it her way. But you didn’t spend every free moment with your project.

  He’d dropped the bomb, and she’d slammed the door in his face. She’d let him tell her a truth so big and horrible—he’d been in love with his best friend’s girlfriend—and then walked away.

  Was he still on the couch, watching mindless TV?

  She needed to find the guts to go out there and respond. Because what kind of person just closed her eyes and went to sleep with a confession like that hanging in the air?

&n
bsp; More, she missed him. She never should have locked him out. He was right—she’d never planned to take a bath in a hotel tub. Ew. Not unless she had an arsenal of cleaning supplies.

  Not having a clue what to say to him, she threw back the covers. She hadn’t been in love with him. That had been so far out of the realm of possibility, she hadn’t even contemplated it. But she’d liked him better than anybody. Tell him that.

  She flung open the door, ready to talk…only to find the suite dark, the couch empty.

  Why did she feel like she’d missed an opportunity? Should she knock on his door? Wake him up?

  Yes. Do it. He deserved a response, even if it had taken her an hour to find her lady balls. She pressed her ear to his bedroom door but didn’t hear a sound. Lightly, she knocked. “Gray? You up?”

  “Yeah. Yep.” His voice sounded gravelly.

  When she opened the door, she saw a flash of white, as he flipped the covers back and swung his legs off the bed. He snatched his boxers off the floor, jamming his legs into them and yanking them up. Scrubbing his face, he stalked towards her. “You all right? What’s going on?”

  “I believe you.”

  “Sorry?” He looked so adorable, this big mountain of a man, wearing nothing but bright red boxers with a green Grinch printed all over them. His broad, hairy chest, so toned, so fit, those bulging biceps, and rock-hard thighs—my God.

  This man had loved her.

  “I believe you.” This time she smiled because those were the three most powerful words she’d ever said.

  “Still not getting it.”

  “I’ve been working through what you said. I started with total dismissal. No way did Gray Bowie have feelings for me. Then I moved on to, okay, yeah, you don’t spend all that time with a pity project. You put on latex gloves and feed her Thanksgiving dinner once a year. You don’t lie on her bed, feet against the wall, and talk about her dreams of being a fashion designer.”

  He watched her, like the glitter was settling and the image inside the snow globe was becoming delightfully clear.

  “But then, the truth started to sink in. You had a busy life. Not just your competitions, but your brothers, your dad, and uncle. And then—bam—it rose right up out of my subconscious and smacked me in the face.” She came closer to him. “Gray, you chose me over time with your brothers. Well, over a lot of things. And I didn’t see it because of them. Of what assholes like Cady and Melissa trained me to believe. That I was trash. I thought flipping them the bird made me rise above it. I thought my little revenge plots made me invincible. But I didn’t see how my impressions about myself and the world came from them. Gray, the idea that you loved me? It just didn’t compute. A guy like you?”

  His eyes softened, and he cracked a shy grin. Oh, Gray Bowie all vulnerable like that? That was hotter than his abs, his medals, and his lazy smile combined.

  “I don’t know how it would’ve changed my life if I’d seen the truth,” she said. “But I can tell you it changes me now.”

  He didn’t say anything, and awareness broke over her like a cracked egg. Don’t forget that he walked away, stayed away for seven years. He’d had no intention of ever seeing you again.

  Oh, God. He was talking about a childhood crush, and she was standing here gushing at him. “I mean, I know you don’t love me anymore. Of course. Obviously. I’m just saying that you’ve given me a whole new perspective on my childhood, and it’s pretty damn amazing. We’re good, though. We can work together without you thinking that I’m, like…that I expect…you know, that I think you’re still in love with me.” She laughed, but it sounded as phony as it felt. “Anyhow. I just wanted to say I believe you. That’s a big moment for me, not you, so I obviously shouldn’t have woken you up to tell you. I could’ve kept that one to myself. So, anyhow. I’m a weirdo. Goodnight.” She gave him a smile she was pretty sure could only be found in a Fun House hall of mirrors and started to go.

  But his years of training served him well, because his arm shot out, wrapped around her waist, and jerked her against his hot, hard chest. “Never keep anything to yourself.” He leaned in until she could smell the toothpaste on his breath and the clean-linen scent on his skin. “I love every fucking thing that comes out of your mouth.”

  And then he pressed those beautiful lips to hers, and her heart exploded. Desire, sharp and fierce, burst in her core, the current so strong it flooded every fiber and tissue in her body. Immediately, she lost herself in the feel of his smooth, warm skin and the command of his tongue as it took possession of hers.

  Gray’s kiss started with supreme confidence, making it feel like he was in charge, that she was along for the ride—a thrilling but controlled ride. One you knew couldn’t go off the rails.

  And then it faltered. He let out a sigh that sounded desperate. The power of his touch gave way to a tremble in his arms, and his body heated up to blistering.

  His control turned reckless, wild. She’d never been kissed like this—like he needed to gobble her up but couldn’t get all of her in at once. Like he needed to consume her, get his fill before she was snatched away. Everything about Gray—his scent, the way his strong hands roamed her back as though he couldn’t believe he got to touch her—the passion in his embrace—lit her up, flipped on all the lights—and she wanted it. She wanted this torrent of yearning and desire and need.

  Until those strong hands slid down and cupped her ass and gave her a lusty squeeze. The press of his rock-hard erection against her stomach sent up warning flares—sex—and, God, sex with Gray Bowie?

  Panic had her pushing him away. “I…” Her fingertips brushed across her sensitive lips.

  Those blue eyes worked hard to read her, his chest pumping, arms still curved around her, so that if she took one step forward her bottom would fit snugly back in his hands.

  And it struck her—like really hit her hard—how much she wanted that.

  “I’m sorry.” What was she doing? “I…goodnight.”

  Wind—too cold for mid-September—cut through Gray’s sweatshirt. People gathered at the bottom of the ramp, his brothers and a bunch of guys who’d come out of the training facility to catch his final run of the day.

  He sucked in what was meant to be a calming breath, but it hurt, like there was a vise around his lungs. That damn kiss. It kept popping up like a game of Whac-A-Mole. He’d stomp it out, and then, out of nowhere, it’d pop back up, taunting him. Landing like a punch to his solar plexus.

  Breathe. He took in the dark gray mountain range, the bright snow draped across the summits like a sparkling, white blanket, and the brilliant blue sky. Hurt like fuck to fully accept it, but…

  His heart didn’t want him.

  She’d responded to his kiss—her body had gone hot, her hands clutched at him, no question about that—but when she’d pushed him away, he’d understood it was different for her. She’d never seen him as anything other than a friend, and then out of nowhere he’d declared his love for her and…it had been a shock. So, yeah, she’d responded.

  But he’d seen her expression afterwards. She didn’t want him like that.

  “Dude,” Brodie called from down below. “Time for your afternoon snack? Need a juice box?”

  He let his middle finger answer for him. Focus. Bending his knees, he took off, gaining speed down the inflatable ramp. Anger and frustration propelled him until he launched like a rocket. A wild sense of recklessness took hold and, during that first rotation, he knew he had the speed and amplitude to pull off a triple. He shouldn’t do it—not here, not now—but, dammit, she didn’t want him.

  Gripping his board, he threw himself into a third rotation, the world a blur of green, brown, and blue. As he spun, a tumult of emotion roiled like carbonation in a soda can. He spotted the airbag and…stomped his fucking landing. Hell, yeah.

  His brothers went nuts, shouting and clapping.

  Except Fin. “Jesus Christ, Gray.” His hands clutched the side of his head. “Are you out of your min
d? You don’t pull a triple twelve-sixty on a training ramp.”

  “I know, right?” Electrified, Gray made his way to the edge of the bag and jumped off, where Brodie met him with a fist bump.

  “Solid,” his brother said.

  Still vibrating with the rush of his trick, Gray sat on a bench and unclipped his boots. The chatter around him—the guys excitedly going over his run—tamped down the volume of his thoughts.

  Until Brodie broke away and dropped onto the bench beside him. Arms folded across his chest, he watched the group talking and laughing. “He’s pissed because you took off for a few days. Not because you pulled off that trick.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve got a business to run.”

  His brother tipped his head back, closing his eyes against the bright sun. “I never realized how alike we are, you and me.”

  “How’s that?”

  “We’re businessmen, like Dad.” Brodie pushed back, stretching his legs out in front of him. “That’s not a bad thing.”

  “I’m not apologizing.”

  “No, but our family’s all about sports, you know? Mom made out like Dad’s business was evil because he wasn’t around much. And then, when she took off, he quit, so…nobody said anything, but it was like being a businessman was bad. Being an athlete was good.”

  He could see that. Still, that hadn’t been his issue.

  “I’m just saying, I get it. You need more than this.”

  That’s true. “Yep.”

  “I just wonder if your heart’s in it.”

  His back straightened. “What’s that supposed to mean? I just pulled off a—”

  “I know. I saw. I just think Dad created this…mentality when he made that damn trophy case for my Olympic medal.”