Played (Trapped Book 3)

by Beverley Kendall

  I could tell by her expression that if I forced the issue it would have put her in a bad mood, so I’d let the subject drop.

  But he hasn’t been far from my mind.

  “If Erin doesn’t want to get back with him, what does it matter why they broke up?”

  “If one of Paige’s ex-boyfriends showed up at her mother’s house looking for her, and you arrived to pick her up, wouldn’t you want to know what went on between them?”

  Mitch scowls. “I’d kick his ass.”

  “That and you’d go all FBI interrogator on Paige.”

  Mitch simply grunts in response because he knows it’s the truth.

  “Kingsley!” The sound rings out above the din of the bar.

  I turn in the direction of the voice and spot Trent not ten feet away.

  Oh shit. Looks like we’re going to go from discussing Erin’s ex-boyfriend to an encounter with her ex-crush in one fell swoop. Like I need this in my life.

  “Hey, Calder.” Mitch motions him over.

  It wasn’t that long ago when Mitch couldn’t stand the guy. A situation I had only made worse. But my best friend isn’t stupid. He loves his fiancée—and sex—too much to remain at odds with the guy she thinks of as a big brother. Never mind that he’s also his daughter’s godfather.

  Trent quickly makes his way through the crowd to join us at the bar. He’s not a bad looking guy. Paige says he looks like Superman—the British one—but I don’t see the resemblance except that they both have dark hair. Trent is roughly my height and looks like he works out or plays a sport in his spare time. Like Mitch, he’s wearing a suit, his dark gray with a dark burgundy tie, and from that I take it he’s a pencil pusher. He probably works with numbers. Maybe a statistician or something in that vein. Those guys make some nice change straight out of college.

  After knowing him a bunch of years, it’s kind of surprising that I don’t know what he does for a living. But then the only time I see him is at Paige-related family events and I’ve never gone out of my way to strike up a conversation. To be fair, though, he’s never gone out of his way to talk to me either.

  After he greets Mitch, Trent turns to me. “Hey, Josh, how’re you doing?”

  “Good. Good,” I reply with a nod.

  I can just hear Erin. Be nice.

  “You here with anyone?” Mitch asks, shooting a quick look around.

  Trent checks his phone and then glances at the door. “I’m meeting someone in a few.”

  Since they’re practically brothers-in-law, I shift down one seat to make room for Trent to sit next to Mitch. “Take a load off until she shows up.”

  I assume he’s referring to a woman but what the hell do I know. I figure he’ll correct me if I’m wrong. He doesn’t. He orders a beer while he waits.

  We spend the next five minutes talking shop. That’s when I discover a few things I didn’t know about Erin’s ex-crush. He’s a senior literary agent specializing in film and TV rights. He recently took a new job at an agency considered the William Morris of the South. And right now, he’s negotiating the film rights for a psychological thriller that’s been on the New York Times bestsellers list sixteen weeks running. Interesting stuff and apparently very lucrative given the car he drives.

  Once we’ve exhausted the topic of our respective jobs and the mischievous escapades of his goddaughter, Trent casually addresses Mitch with his next question. “So who’s this Chelsea woman Paige wants me to show around?”

  Mitch’s brows draw together. Realization dawns a moment later, his expression clearing. “Oh yeah, Chelsea. April’s friend.”

  Trent nods.

  April is part of what I like to call the New York coalition. She’s engaged to Mitch’s friend Troy. She’s gorgeous. But then all the girls are. There are a total of four couples we’re friendly with. They all try to make it out here every year for Bree’s birthday party. And because two of his former college teammates now play in the NFL, we’re able to get together with Zach and Troy and their fiancées whenever either team plays the Falcons in Atlanta, which is usually a couple times a year.

  Mitch shrugs. “Paige and Erin are supposed to meet up with her next week. All I know is she’s brainy as hell.”

  “She’s an identical twin,” I add. The guy has a right to know if he’ll be showing her around.

  Trent’s gaze shifts to me, his eyebrow cocked. “Paige didn’t tell me that.”

  “Erin mentioned it to me.” Two days ago, she’d said something about having reached out to the sister of a friend of April’s who’d recently moved to Atlanta. She and Paige are taking this roll out the welcome mat thing seriously. And that’s because they like to excel at everything.

  “Erin.” Trent says softly, a smile on his face. “How’s she doing? I haven’t seen her in a while.”

  My jaw gets tight and any goodwill I’d started to foster toward the guy flies out the window. Mitch covers his mouth in a weak attempt to hide a smile.

  “We’re dating.” I’m not trying to sound territorial but what the hell’s with the smile? Anyway, this time it isn’t a secret so…may as well get it out there. Let him know what’s what.

  Trent grins, amusement lighting his eyes. “Congrats. You’re a lucky guy. I was only off by a couple years.”

  I lean forward, brace my forearms against the rounded edge of the bar and angle toward him. “Off a couple years?” What the hell is he talking about?

  “I thought you two got together a while back but—” he shrugs “—I must have been seeing things.” He takes a drink of his beer.

  Seeing things, my ass. He’d probably seen us together that summer. Where and when is a mystery, but somehow he knew.

  “What about you? You seeing anyone?” I ask in a shoot the breeze voice.

  Trent isn’t fooled. A knowing smile inches across his face. “Infatuation is a hell of a thing, isn’t it?”

  What? The sudden change in topic nearly gives me whiplash. And he’s not making any sense.

  “Erin got over hers for me the second you came on the scene.” He lets that hang out there for a moment. “Got it?”

  In other words, Pipe down. I’m not interested in your girl.

  Okay then. I’m glad the air between us has finally been cleared.

  With his lips lightly pressed against the mouth of the bottle, he smiles and says, “Now I see why you and Kingston are such good friends,” before taking another drink.

  Mitch snorts. “You should take it as a compliment.”

  “What, that guys think I’m out to steal their girlfriends?” Trent shoots back, his voice as dry and dusty as tumbleweeds. “A guy can get burned that way.”

  His tone is flippant, but I sense there’s more behind his remark. A story.

  “Anyway, getting back to this Chelsea chick, tell me the truth,” he says, addressing Mitch. “Is Paige attempting a hookup here or what? I think she just graduated from college so she’s too young for me regardless.”

  I snicker. “What are you, old man? Twenty-five?”

  “Twenty-six.”

  Dear God, he’s serious.

  I throw my head back and laugh. He’s my age. And Chelsea has to be around Erin and Paige’s age. “Yeah, that’d make you a regular Hugh Hefner,” I say, rolling my eyes. The guy is full of shit. He needs to come up with another excuse because that one’s a pig without wings. It just won’t fly.

  Mitch gently taps his empty mug twice on the bar top. “Paige said you’re the only single guy she trusts not to take advantage of her, so I honestly don’t think she’s trying to set you guys up. Chelsea is the shy, quiet twin. Her sister is worried about her finding her feet here and making friends. Anyway, I get the impression she’s concentrating more on her career than she is in finding a boyfriend.”

  Shy, quiet and brainy with questionable friend forming abilities. No wonder Paige and Erin are so eager to take her under their wing. But that means they’re going to expect us all to do our part.

  Tre
nt heaves a sigh of resignation. “Okay, as long as she’s not trying to set me up with her, I can show her around a bit.”

  “Erin also plans to invite her to Paige’s bachelorette party, which by the way, is now the bachelor and bachelorette weekend getaway.” The invites are going out next week, but I may as well give them a heads-up.

  The look Mitch sends me tells me that either Erin hasn’t mentioned it to Paige yet or Paige is good at keeping at least some things to herself. Whichever it is, this is news to him.

  I hold up my hands, exempting myself of responsibility. “It was Erin’s idea. Evidently, your fiancée wants something different. She isn’t into strippers.”

  “Shit, is this going to be a couples thing?” Trent looks as if he couldn’t be subjected to a worse fate. That also pretty much answers my question as to whether he’s seeing anyone.

  Mitch’s mouth firms. “Don’t even think about it. You’re going. Paige will have my head if you don’t.”

  It had taken them almost two years to get to this place. A place where Trent’s presence doesn’t make Mitch tense and irritable. Things had been bad enough when it had only been Paige’s feelings he’d been worried about. But when the matter of winning Bree’s affections arose, my best friend had nearly lost his shit. I’d never seen him that insecure in my life.

  “I don’t want to be the only single guy there,” Trent mutters absently as he checks his phone.

  “You won’t be,” I assure him. “I’m inviting a couple of Mitch’s friends from work and they’re both single.” Caleb and Mike work with Mitch at his father’s firm as junior architects. “And Erin says a few of the girls she’s inviting are single, and that doesn’t include Chelsea.”

  Erin and I had taken it for granted that all the couples would be rooming together—we sure as hell will—and to keep their costs down, Trent, Mike and Caleb can share a triple. Or not. Mr. Senior Agent doesn’t appear strapped for cash. Maybe he’ll want a single.

  After shooting a glance toward the door, Trent abruptly stands and places his empty beer bottle on the bar. “Okay, gentlemen, looks like my appointment’s here. I’ve gotta run.”

  I follow the direction of his gaze to find a blonde wearing one of those white power suits signaling to him with a polite wave of her hand. I get the feeling she’s a client or has something to do with his job.

  “See you later.” And with a tip of his chin, my ex-nemesis is gone.

  The second Trent disappears into the crowd, Mitch slips onto the now vacant bar stool beside me. “Just between you and me, Paige is totally trying to set him up with April’s friend.”

  I smile and drain the last of my beer. I thought as much.

  Erin

  “How late are you going to be?”

  I sigh and glance over at the yellow caution tape. I want to see him tonight just as much as he wants to see me. “I’m not sure. Maybe another hour or so. It depends on how long it’ll take before I can talk to one of the officers.”

  I’m covering a fatal accident on the spaghetti junction involving a tractor trailer and an SUV. The acrid smell of burning tires is thick in the air, the small fire only recently put out by the firemen on the scene.

  When I first arrived, northbound traffic was at a crawl. Now it’s come to a complete halt, and the southbound traffic is backed up at least five miles. Normally, Derek wouldn’t have sent anyone out, but the SUV belongs to a state representative who’s been recently accused of sexual misconduct.

  The guy driving the tractor trailer walked away without a scratch and they’ve airlifted one of the two occupants of Rep. Steve Graves’s SUV to the closest hospital. They won’t release the name of the deceased until they’ve notified next of kin, but my job is to get as much of the story as I can. I’ve been taking notes since I arrived.

  “How close are you to home?”

  I know why he’s asking, and he’s right if he’s thinking tonight is not going to happen. “Twenty minutes or so.” Another sigh escapes and with it comes the realization that I’m not going anywhere but home. “I think I’m going to have to take a raincheck for tonight because by the time I get out of here, it’ll be late and I still have to write the column and send it before midnight.”

  Last night he’d gone out with Mitch, so I hadn’t felt bad working late, but tonight he’d made plans to take me out for dinner and then I was supposed to spend the night at his place. My sexy lingerie is packed and sitting in the trunk of my car.

  If his disappointment can be measured in silence, he’s feeling it in spades.

  I look up to see the officer I’ve been trying to get a word with for the last fifteen minutes walking towards me. “Listen, Josh, I’ve gotta run. I’ll call as soon as I can.” I retrieve the mini-recorder from my pocket.

  “Alright. Keep me posted.”

  “I’ll make it up to you. Promise. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  After ending the call, I pocket my cell phone. Now back to work.

  I arrive home after nine to discover my mother—never one to sit around the house—is in Savannah visiting her sister. My aunt Scarlett—my grandmother loved the movie Gone with the Wind—and my mother are like oil and water, and can only take each other in small doses. I give it three days before my aunt calls an end to the sisterly visit and sends my mother packing.

  The first thing I do is change into comfortable clothes—yoga pants and a thin cotton t-shirt that hits me mid-thigh. Then I tackle the report about the accident.

  Sergeant Smith hadn’t exactly been a font of information, but what I can report is that Rep. Steve Graves is alive and in the IC unit in the hospital, and the deceased person who was in the car with him was a woman who wasn’t his wife. The media is going to have a field day with this.

  It takes me thirty minutes to type up the report and turn it in to my editor by nine-thirty. Her goal is to have it posted on the website and get a jump on the ten o’clock news.

  Only after I’ve clicked send on the email do I take a moment to breathe. My thoughts immediately turn to Josh, whom I was supposed to call when I got home. Grabbing my cell phone off the desk in my room, I rectify it as I pad down to the kitchen.

  “Hi. I’ve been waiting for you to call.”

  The idea of him sitting around waiting for me to call isn’t an unpleasant one, I’ve got to admit. In fact, I like it. I like it a lot.

  In the kitchen, I make a beeline for the industrial-sized refrigerator. “Miss me?”

  “If you only knew how much. I think I’m suffering from Erin withdrawal.”

  I let out a snort. “I didn’t know there was such a thing.”

  “Are you saying that’s never happened to you? With me?”

  Opening the refrigerator, I peer inside. “Not that I can remember,” I reply, doing the utmost best to attain epic deadpan tone.

  His low chuckle tells me I’m not fooling him. “Are you saying you’re not missing me?”

  God yes. “It’s manageable.”

  “So you can wait until tomorrow to see me?”

  “If push comes to shove, I’ll probably be good until Thursday or Friday.” Says the woman who’ll be thinking of him naked when she gets herself off tonight.

  “Should I turn around and go home then?” His tone is innocuous but his words are not.

  My gaze skitters over the glass container of stuffed cabbage rolls. Not exactly what I was in a mood for tonight, especially since Josh promised me Italian.

  I pause before abruptly turning and looking toward the front. “Where are you?”

  His voice is all quiet seduction when he says, “Come to the door.”

  I’m flying down the hall before he can complete the sentence. Quickly disengaging the deadbolt, I wrench open the door and am met with a grinning Josh mounting the front steps.

  He holds up a large, brown paper bag. “If you can’t come to dinner, I thought I’d bring dinner to you.”

  “Get in here.”

  I don’t have to
wait long before I’m in his arms and he’s kissing me. Without removing my mouth from his, I tug him inside and close the door.

  “I bought enough for your mother,” he says against my lips.

  “She’s in Savannah.”

  He lifts his head. “You’re home alone?”

  I nod.

  A devilish glint enters his eyes. “Then I’m really really glad I came.”

  “Me too.” He’s the perfect end to an exhaustingly busy day.

  I glance at the bag in his hand. “What’re you feeding me? It smells delicious.” Whatever it is, it beats leftover stuffed cabbage.

  “Linguine with crispy baked shrimp scampi and cheesecake for dessert.”

  That sound you can barely hear is my heart melting. The louder sound is my stomach doing a celebratory dance.

  Placing my hands on the sides of his face, I pull his head down for a kiss. “You’re a godsend.”

  Josh hums his appreciation, his tongue doing a thorough exploration of my mouth. “Food and then dessert,” he states, breaking the kiss.

  Dessert, as always, turns out to be the best part of the meal. The cheesecake I save for breakfast.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Josh

  “When are you going to bring Erin home for dinner?”

  It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes. My mother started in on me right after she met me at the front door, exclaiming, “My baby’s home,” and hugging me to within an inch of my life.

  That’s what happens when I miss one too many Sunday dinners. This past week, I finally told her about Erin. All I can say is I’m glad I never introduced her to Chloe.

  “When I’m sure she’ll be able to survive an entire night of interrogation.” I give my dad the side eye.

  He glances at me, shrugs and then continues eating his dinner. I know that look. I grew up with that look. That’s your mom. You know how she is.

  To give you an idea of what my dad’s like, he’s the strong, silent and self-reliant type. He put himself through college and juggled graduate school with a wife to support and two kids in diapers. By the way, I didn’t hear that from my dad, I heard it from my mom. He started his own public relations firm when he was thirty and it’s now the third largest in Georgia.