Holy shit.
Of course they’d go to Franklin’s. It’s the town’s gossip cesspool, accompanied by deli meats and cheeses . . . and one of the best mustards I’ve ever had.
And how convenient that I have the perfect view of Franklin’s from Brig’s apartment on top of his garage. And Harper just happened to slip up with the date info? I’m smelling a setup.
I whip around to Brig. “Did you all plan this?”
“Plan what?” He slurps up a huge spoonful of soup. My spine quivers. Seriously, that soup is positively vile.
“Getting me here, giving me the perfect view of Franklin’s—is this all a setup?”
“I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about, but I hope you’re gone by nine because The Bachelorette is coming on, and I swear to Satan himself that if she gives that motherfucker Tag a rose, I am going to scream like a lady. Straight up scream.”
“Jesus. Christ,” I mutter, turning around. I have no idea how we share DNA. I part the blinds and try to peer through the glass again, but a layer of grime makes for a foggy view. “Why don’t you get your windows washed every once in a while? It’s almost impossible to see anything past the dirt and water spots.”
“Sorry that I don’t make it a habit to creep on people.”
“That was a passive-aggressive apology.”
“It was meant to be.” Slurp. Shiver. “What the hell are you looking at anyway?”
“You really don’t know?”
“No, I don’t, and if someone doesn’t tell me what’s going on”—Brig’s voice rises—“I’m going to scream—”
“Enough with the screaming. You know that threat does nothing to scare me and only makes you look like a douche.”
He sighs. “Just tell me. What is it?”
“Eve. She’s on a date.”
“What? Again?” Brig jumps from his seat and digs through a cabinet until he pulls out something that looks like a stick of incense. Lighting it and waving it around his apartment, he makes circles near me, wafting the smoke near my crotch and then up around my head.
Naturally, I smack him away.
The whole scene is absolutely ridiculous. Here’s this man—a grown-ass man—who’s built like me and my brothers, with muscles as big as Rogan’s. He works on cars for a living, for Christ’s sake. And yet he’s waving around a tiny stick of incense and mumbling some sort of chant.
He’s completely lost his damn mind.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“You’re bringing all kinds of bad vibes into my apartment. I don’t need your negativity soaking into every surface, cursing me with your bad luck.”
“I don’t know why I hang out with you.”
He gestures toward the window. “Apparently for good access to Peeping Tom locations.” After he’s done filling the air with what I can only describe as a rank shoe smell, he puts out the incense and comes up next to me, peering through the blinds as well. “Where is she?”
“They must be sitting in the back because I can’t see them.”
“Damn it. Should I text Franklin and ask for the deets?”
“Christ, no. Are you insane? If Franklin gets a text from you asking about what’s going on with Eve, he’s going to know I’m behind it.”
“Ah, yeah, you’re right. That’s totally obvious. Want me to use the Hen Line?”
“What’s the Hen Line?”
“It’s an anonymous call-in where you can put in a request for info, which is texted out to everyone who’s signed up. Text backs are posted to the Hen Line app, so you can find all your answers there.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. That really exists?”
“Where do you think the newspaper gets all its information? The Hen Line is life. Dude, you have to read it. Some of the greatest things are posted in there. Just yesterday, Crazy Old McGwen up on the hill, he was caught outside, sipping coffee in nothing but a polo and a jockstrap—his bare, wrinkly ass just hanging out. There were pictures, and I’ll be honest, I did a shit ton of squats yesterday, thinking of that wrinkly ass the whole time, praying mine stays firm and taut for my future wife.”
I stare blankly at Brig. “You need a life.”
And with that, I grab my things and take off. This visit was a complete waste of time.
I’m halfway out the door when Brig calls out, “Sure, just leave. No thank-you for the soup, for the access to my window, for the cleansing of your aura.” His voice cracks. “You’re a user, Reid. A user.”
Sighing, I turn back and grip the doorframe, plastering on a fake smile. “Thank you, Brig, for being such a generous host, feeding me swill, giving me access to your dirty-ass window, and almost setting my dick on fire with your gross incense.”
He crosses his arms over his chest and lifts his chin. “See, was that so hard?”
Jesus.
Christ.
I slam the door shut and jog down the steps from his apartment to my truck, thinking over everything we talked about, as the gray of spring clouds the sky. The Hen Line? Who even comes up with something like that? Most likely Franklin. He’d do just about anything to beat Mrs. Davenport to the town gossip.
I don’t even know why I went to Brig’s apartment in the first place.
Maybe because I’m desperate to find out anything about Eve and her life beyond Knight and Port.
Maybe because I’m hopelessly in love with a woman who is now dating other men.
Maybe because I’m beginning to realize I made the biggest mistake of my life by letting Eric convince me to break up with his sister.
“Have you heard anything from the Hen Line?”
Yup, I’ve cracked. I’m sinking to a new low, but holy fuck, I can’t go another day without hearing at least the smallest bit of information about Eve and her new dating life. I’m desperate.
“Ha! I knew it! And it took you a whole week to break—I’m impressed. I thought it was going to be a lot sooner.”
“Just fucking tell me if you’ve heard anything,” I say, growing annoyed.
Brig slides out from under the car he’s working on and takes a rag from his pocket as he sits up, wiping his hands before picking his phone up from the ground beside him.
“Let’s see.” He’s getting way too much fucking joy out of this. I can tell from the way his eyes are lit up. I almost didn’t come. I talked myself out of it quite a few times, but after seeing Eve this morning, decked out in leggings and a low-cut sweater, I snapped.
I need to know if anyone else has been inside her sweater. I need all the information, and there is only one person to turn to—though I know he’ll never let me live this down.
“You know, you could always ask Harper. I bet she knows everything since she’s one of Eve’s best friends.”
“She would never tell me anything. Girl code.” I also asked her a few days ago, but she laughed in my face and then walked away. When I asked Rogan to help me out, he basically said he liked sex and wanted to make sure he always got it. He wasn’t about to cross Harper. So much for bloodlines.
“True, those girls are really close.” He taps around on his phone and then pauses, reads something, and barks out a laugh, the sound echoing off the walls of the open garage. “Oh fuck, I think this is the best thing I’ve ever seen on the Hen Line.”
Dread instantly fills me. I just know it has something to do with me. “What?”
“So I anonymously called, asking for information on Eve’s new fling, and it was posted . . . and all the comments are basically telling you to get a life.”
“What?” I rip the phone from his hand and scan the comments.
Nice try, Reid.
If you’re so concerned with who Eve’s dating, you should never have broken up with her.
I guess the Knightly curse really is true, but I thought it doomed you to broken love, not to becoming a complete and total idiot. #TeamEve
“Team Eve? Seriously?”
“Keep reading.�
�� Brig laughs.
He might have the biggest penis in Port Snow, but he definitely has the smallest brain.
“Hey, that one is fucking rude,” I say.
Brig peers over my shoulder and pats me on the back. “At least they’re saying you have a big penis. Read two down from that one.”
I read it out loud. “‘Who are you kidding, Reid? You totally got Brig to post this and are probably bugging him to find out the answers. Leave Brig alone. He’s one of us, and we protect our own.’” I shake my head and hand the phone back to him. “I stand by my statement: the Hen Line is idiotic.”
“Don’t hate because you were called out. Respect the gossip; respect the game.”
“I’m seriously going to emancipate myself from you.”
“What?” he calls out as I walk away. “That’s not even a thing!”
I glance around the manor, taking in the CONGRATULATIONS banners, the smiling faces, and the pink decorations—all for the one girl I can’t seem to stop looking for.
Eve graduated.
And instead of taking her out to dinner, celebrating just the two of us, I got a secondhand invitation from Harper to attend her graduation party. Talk about a blow to the heart. I know how hard she’s been working to earn this degree, and I can’t even celebrate the way I truly want to. I can’t spoil her; I can’t make her a special meal and spend the night making love to her, letting her know just how proud I am of her.
And I only have myself to blame.
To top it all off, it seems like everyone in town is here, making my pursuit to congratulate Eve that much more difficult.
Graduation presents are stacked off to the side, a buffet of food made by Eric flanks the far wall in the ballroom, and music is lightly playing through the new speaker system Rogan had installed when he was renovating. It’s everything I would have planned for Eve if she were my girlfriend, but Harper planned the entire event instead—without an ounce of help from me.
I don’t think I could possibly feel worse about myself at this point.
“Hey, when did you get here?” Griffin says, sidling up next to me, drink in hand.
“A few minutes ago.” My eyes continue to scan the ballroom. “Have you seen Eve?”
“Yeah, and she looks damn good. Ren helped her get ready earlier.” Griffin pats me on the back. “I love you, bro, but you’re a goddamn idiot for breaking up with her.”
Can always count on my big brother to make me feel so much better about myself.
“Well, you’re a fucking ray of sunshine,” I say, looking him up and down. “If you want, I can whip my dick out and you can stomp on that too—put me out of my misery.”
“You know, there’s just something about stomping on another man’s dick that doesn’t appeal to me, but want me to ask Rogan if he’s interested?” Griffin jabs a thumb behind him.
“Fuck off.” I start to walk away when Griffin chuckles and pulls on my shoulder.
“She’s over in the kitchen, talking with Avery.” Shit, Avery’s here? When did she get into town? I’m sure Eve has filled her in on every idiotic move I’ve made over the last few months. “Don’t say anything stupid,” Griffin adds, probably seeing the way the wheels in my head are turning.
“Pretty sure I’ve said way worse at this point.”
After shucking my brother off me, I head toward the back of the manor and into the beautifully renovated kitchen. Marble counters, white Shaker cabinets, industrial-grade appliances, everything top of the line. I wouldn’t mind cooking in there. When I peek around the corner, I find Eve leaning against the counter and chuckling at something Avery just said. Her hair hangs around her shoulders in sultry waves, and she’s wearing a bright-red, flowy dress and a matching red lipstick that makes me ache for her lips.
I’m not surprised in the least that Avery is here. Even though their friendship has been mostly conducted over the phone now that Avery’s living in New York, they still make a point to talk to each other at least once a week. I know this because one time I’d just given Eve a mind-blowing orgasm, but her phone rang, and she took the call, insisting she couldn’t miss a call from Avery.
From the disapproving glance Avery just gave me, I’m going to guess I’m not on her list of people she wants to catch up with.
I wish I was a smarter man, one who made decisions based off of confidence and facts rather than fear and uncertainty, because if I was smarter, I would be standing next to Eve right now, my arm draped over her shoulder, laughing right along with her while sneaking in little kisses here and there, showing Avery that I’m man enough to be with a woman like Eve.
As I approach, Eve looks to the side and spots me. Nothing in her face changes, no sign of excitement or disappointment—instead she gives me a small wave.
Taking that as an invitation, I step forward, hands stuffed in my pockets to keep myself from reaching out to touch her.
“Hey, Eve.” I smile at Avery. “Hey, Avery, it’s nice to see you again.”
Hard eyes take me in, a chastising purse to her lips. “Well, hello, Reid.” Yup, definitely on her shit list.
“How have you been? How’s New York?”
She sneers. “Yeah, no thanks. I don’t want to do this catch-up thing.” She leans in close, her voice just above a whisper. “Thank your lucky stars we’re surrounded by family and friends, or else the heel of my toe would be implanted in your scrotum right about now.”
Wincing, I try to curl my lips up in a smile. “Pleasant. Always nice to see you.”
Smiling sardonically, Avery clears her throat. “I’m going to go see if Harper needs any help with the food.” She excuses herself and leaves me alone with Eve—but not before shoving past me, her shoulder bumping into mine rather violently. Damn, someone has been hitting the gym. That fucking hurt. Tempted to rub my shoulder, I hold back, not wanting to reveal just how strong the girl is, while Eve stands there confidently, a brilliant smile on her face.
“Hey, Reid, how are you?”
Terrible.
Lovesick.
Desperate to feel your lips on mine again.
A little shaken from the minibrute who just blew by me.
“Okay.” I shift on my feet. “Uh, congratulations on graduating. Huge accomplishment.”
“Thank you. It feels good to have it all over with.”
“I bet.” I swallow hard, trying to manage the regret roaring through my body. “The party is—”
“Oh, there’s Krew and Jake; I’m going to go say hi.” She lifts off the counter and presses her hand to my shoulder. “Thanks for coming. Have some food, mingle.”
Excuse me? Krew and Jake take precedence over me?
Before she can get too far, I say, “Your present . . . it’s, uh, in the works. Sorry I don’t have it with me.”
She turns to me, hazel eyes bright. “You didn’t have to get me anything, but thanks, Reid. Have a good one.”
Looking positively radiant, she takes off toward Krew and Jake and wraps them in big hugs. Hugs I wish I received, hugs I would give anything to have at this point.
Fuck me.
Remember when I said I hit a new low? I was wrong. This is absolutely a new low for me.
This is probably the lowest, dumbest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life, but I’m fucking desperate. I struck out big time at the graduation party two weeks ago, and I need to make another move. We open in a few weeks, and I have yet to find out anything about Eve’s dating life. Whatever happened to the loose lips in this town? Just last week I heard about Mr. Thornton getting a bone spur removed and Dr. Bruin throwing up in the toilet once Mr. Thornton hobbled away.
Is that information you think I want engrained in my brain? No, but it’s there.
There has to be some sort of town-wide loyalty pact to Eve because no one is speaking up about her. I need to take matters into my own hands.
And before I get judged, I would like to state for the record that I have used every conventional tactic to find
out information, including but not limited to the following:
Asking her.
Casually asking Eric.
Asking Harper.
Asking Rogan.
Embarrassingly asking my dad.
Scouring the town’s newspaper.
Peering out of Brig’s apartment.
Downloading the Hen Line app on my phone—but quickly deleting it.
And I struck out every single time. So here I am, reaching my new low, which consists of sitting at the Inn, incognito, at a table directly across from the bar so I can oh-so-casually watch Eve as she works.
See? I said it was bad.
But it’s not like I had anything else to do on a Friday night. I’ve put in weeks of late nights in the kitchen, and if I make one more blueberry-and-bacon compote I might chop off my own fingers. I needed a rest. Knight and Port is smoothly coming together. Between the two of us, Eric and I have come up with one hell of a menu. Construction has been seamless too, probably because Rogan has stepped in as well to oversee things with me, which I don’t mind—he’s an expert, after all. He’s well respected in town, so people work hard for him. Eve and my dad are handling the entire business side, and I still can’t quite believe that we’re almost up and running. But despite all the work we’re getting done, I haven’t really seen Eve at all. She’s been doing her thing, and I’ve been doing mine. It’s brutal and wearing on my sanity, but I can’t help but think about what life would have been like if we’d had this team the first go-around.
Then again, if we’d had a team like this in Boston, I wouldn’t be in this delightful situation, hunkering down behind a newspaper, wearing a fisherman’s hat, sunglasses, and the fakest mustache I’ve ever seen—but it was the only thing available at the Pottsmouth dollar store. Who wouldn’t want this life?
“Can I get you anything else, sir?” Jessica, the waitress, asks.
In a high-pitched voice—because that’s so believable—I answer, “Good,” on a squeak.
That Secret Crush Page 25