Drew flips me the bird and turns on her heel, leaving me stranded under the cold water and with no way to dry off.
And yet, I still don’t hate her.
* * *
“Did you talk to your landlord?”
“Yep.”
“Liar.”
She turns toward me, wiping her hands on the front of her apron. “Excuse me?”
“You’re a fucking liar. You didn’t talk to him. You didn’t break your lease.”
Her eyes dart around the kitchen, looking anywhere but at me, really.
She’s caught, and she knows it.
“How do you know that?”
“I went by today and grabbed your mail because it hasn’t been forwarded here yet. Your landlord had no idea you had moved out.”
“Why were you getting my mail?”
“I was in the area, so I figured I’d stop in and grab it for you.”
“Geeze, you’re turning into a big softy lately.”
I ignore the barb. “Why didn’t you break your lease?”
“Because this is only temporary, Winston. I’m not living here forever, just until I can pay off my car repairs and get my shit back together. This isn’t real. That apartment is. I need to keep paying on it so I don’t lose it.”
“You already did.”
Her face twists into an expression of anger.
“What the fuck did you do, Winston?” Her tone is low, almost scary. You know, minus her being well over six inches shorter than me and all.
“I took care of it for you.”
“Please tell me you’re joking.”
“I’m not. He didn’t charge that much, just half a month’s worth of rent when I threatened to report his ass for all the mold I saw in my short time there. So you’re square.”
“I am not square!” She slams her hand down on the counter then points angrily at me. “You had no right to do that!”
“I did it because you’re too fucking chicken to do it. Why can’t you just accept that I’m trying to help you?”
“Why can’t you just stop? I didn’t ask for your help!”
“Well too fucking bad, because you got it.”
Her stare is so hot, so full of fire.
But I’m not scared.
“By the way, your car is ready. And paid for.”
I walk out of the kitchen, ignoring her screams.
I know she hates me just a little bit more now, but it was worth the risk.
Slice Eleven
Drew
Something’s changed since we kissed and I moved in.
It’s not just the fact that I can’t stop thinking about the way Winston’s lips felt on mine and that I’m now hornier than ever lying next to him in bed every night.
Or that I’m now completely stuck with him since he broke off my lease.
Or that I’m now indebted to him since he paid off my car repairs.
It’s something else.
Something…more. Bigger.
My feelings toward him have turned from hate to…something else.
I don’t necessarily like him, because he can’t stop trying to rescue me.
But I don’t hate him, and there’s a good chance I might even be beginning to understand him. He’s not as mean and vile as he pretends to be. He actually gives a shit about people.
He’s just scared.
I don’t know why he decided to take it upon himself to help me, but I won’t let him get away with it. I’ll repay him one day. I don’t know how yet, but I will.
“How?”
“No wonder my dad won’t let you into the kitchen. You can’t even make the most basic meal ever.”
I peel my attention from the platter I’m arranging and train it on Winston. I was so deep in my own head, I didn’t even realize I spoke out loud.
“What are you jabbering about?”
“I asked you to start the mac and cheese and you just asked me how.”
“Oh.” I wipe my hands across my apron and cross the room. “I wasn’t paying you any attention. Also”—I snatch the blue box from his hands—“I am not making that shit. I’ll make it from scratch.”
He scowls at me. “Hey! That was expensive.”
“It was likely less than a dollar. You can afford it.”
“What’s wrong with the boxed stuff?”
“Everything.”
“You telling me you’ve never eaten boxed mac and cheese before?”
“Of course I have,” I say, sliding past him and to the pantry. “But I’m not feeling it today. I want to make something nice for our friends.”
That and I love any excuse to create in the kitchen. I don’t get to do it much with Simon kitchen-blocking me at work, so I’ll take it where I can get it.
He sighs. “Remind me again why we’re having a cookout?”
“We’re having a baby shower.”
“But you’re not pregnant. Or is there something you need to share?”
I look at him pointedly, because the fucker knows I most definitely am not pregnant, then go back to rooting around for the ingredients for the mac and cheese. “It’s a postnatal baby shower.”
“Aren’t baby showers supposed to happen before you have the baby?”
“Technically, yes, but that didn’t happen.”
“Because you’re stubborn,” he reminds me for the billionth time. “You didn’t want anyone to buy you gifts because you didn’t want to come off as ‘needy’ even though literally everyone has baby showers.”
“You don’t sound annoyed by this at all,” I sass.
“You drive me crazy. You make everything ten times more complicated because you don’t want to be complicated. You’re the most counterproductive person ever.”
“That’s not true.”
“You’re literally making mac and cheese from scratch when there is a perfectly good box of it right here.”
He shakes said box at me, and I snatch it from his hands, tossing it into the trash can.
“Drew!”
“What?” I say innocently. “It’s garbage. I just put it where it belongs.”
The doorbell chimes, and Winston starts for the door to let our guests in, shaking his head and muttering about how annoying I am.
“Annoying or not, we’re about to have some bomb-ass mac and cheese!” I call after him.
He chuckles, and I grin, turning to the pantry.
“Something happened between you two, didn’t it?”
Sully’s sudden appearance startles me, and I drop the box of noodles I’m holding.
“Are you a fucking ninja or something?”
“Sorry.” He gives me a small smile. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
“For not meaning to, you did a damn good job.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Did something happen? You two seem more…snappy than usual, like you’re trying to overcompensate for something. Is it because Winston butted his nose in where it doesn’t belong like he always does, or is it something else?”
I pause, the box I just picked back up beginning to shake in my hand at the thought of admitting out loud that Winston and I kissed, that things aren’t just peachy between us and there’s this added layer of sexual tension.
Is it so palpable that Sully’s now butting his nose into it?
Or is he just curious and trying to bait me into admitting it on my own?
“You don’t have to tell me anything, Drew,” Sully says softly. “But just in case you’re wondering”—his eyes flit to the shaking box—“your silence is speaking volumes.”
“It was a one-off thing,” I confess. “It won’t be happening again.”
“What won’t be happening again?” Wren asks, blazing into the kitchen like she owns the place. “What’d I miss?”
Sully waits for me to say something.
I don’t.
He grins at my best friend. “Drew’s making boxed mac and cheese to g
o with dinner.”
I blow out a breath, relieved yet incredibly annoyed at the same time.
I despise boxed mac and cheese. It reminds me too much of the times in my life when I had no options for dinner except for the eighteen-cent rectangle of crap I had to survive off of for weeks at a time. It didn’t matter how I dressed it up—hot sauce, barbeque, bologna chunks, stale breadcrumbs—it was still the same shit. Makes me want to vomit just thinking about it.
Besides, I know if I make it, Winston’s going to be the victor of our tiff.
Fucking Sully.
Wren crinkles her nose. “Really? But your homemade mac and cheese is the best.”
“I don’t have a choice in the matter,” I grind out, shooting daggers at Sully.
He just grins, slipping out of the room like he didn’t just stir up a whole bunch of shit and find out some personal information about me all at once.
Wren rolls up her sleeves and runs her hands under the faucet. She then holds them up like the doctors on TV shows do after they’ve scrubbed in for surgery.
“I’m ready. Put me in, Coach.”
“Actually,” I say, looking around, “I’m pretty much all set for now. I just need to start the”—I gulp—“mac and cheese about eight minutes before the meat is done.”
“Oh.” She frowns, dropping her hands. “Where’s Riker?”
“Napping. During his own party.”
“The audacity!” She gasps, heading for the fridge. She pulls open the big silver doors and grabs two bottles. “Well, while he continues to be a little bum, let’s crack open a beer and gab. I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”
She slides a drink my way, and I hesitate to grab it.
Not because I don’t like beer, but because I’m a little afraid to drink with Winston around.
I don’t trust myself around him.
Not after our kiss.
“Come on, live a little. Your kiddo is napping and there are plenty of people here to help watch him. It’s been way too long since you’ve relaxed and let loose. At least have one beer with me.”
I stare longingly at the booze, my nervous system already craving the cooldown it will provide.
She’s right. I could use something to dull this constant edge I seem to be on.
“Fuck it.” I grab the beer and crack it open, tipping the sweet liquid back and loving the way it slides down my throat.
“That’s my girl!” She clinks her bottle against mine. “Cheers! Now tell me how it’s going living with my brother. He seems grumpier than usual. Are you not putting out to pay for your stay here?”
The beer I just took a swig of goes flying from my mouth at her words.
“Wren Amanda Daniels!”
She wipes her face off. “First, that was disgusting. Second, what? What’d I say?”
“Me and Winston.” I shudder. “It’s gross.”
“Fine.” She rolls her eyes, leaning against the counter, peeling at the label on her bottle. “At least tell me you’re sleeping with Sully.”
“Does Foster not fuck you enough? Why do you seem extra horny today? That’s usually my role in our friendship.”
“Foster fucks me just fine.” She shimmies her hips, waggling her brows. “I don’t know what’s up with me. I’m just feeling frisky lately, like everything Foster does turns me on. I think it’s the whole upcoming nuptials thing. It’s making me all hot and bothered knowing I’m finally going to be Mrs. Foster Marlett.”
“Are you even allowed to say ‘finally’ when it comes to Foster? You spent years and years completely blind to the fact that the man is head over heels in love with you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbles. “Don’t remind me of my shortcomings. I am well aware of the years I spent away from him. We also got a fun reminder of it last week when we met with the financial adviser.”
“Did it not go well?”
“I mean, it did. It was just an hour of us sitting there having to listen to how badly his ex-wife screwed up his credit. He’s going to be repairing it for a while still. I had to co-sign on a few things for him, and I could tell it made him uncomfortable to have to depend on me.”
“Well, he had better get used to it.” I shrug. “Marriage is a partnership and sometimes you gotta lean on each other a little bit, especially when you don’t want to.”
Wren snorts. “You are so not the one to be giving out leaning advice. You’ve been complaining about Winston left and right when he’s going out of his way to help you and Riker right now.”
I frown. “I don’t mean to complain. It’s not that I’m not appreciative.”
“I know that.”
“It’s just… Well, it’s hard for me, ya know? I’ve been on my own for so damn long and I’ve always had to fend for myself. It’s difficult for me to let anyone else in and help me out.”
“I get it,” she says. “I didn’t want Foster to help me before either, but I’m glad he did. It made us stronger, in a way.”
“How are you both so stubborn? Is that a twin thing?”
“I prefer the term strong-willed.”
I grin. “I’ll have to throw that one Winston’s way next time he calls me stubborn.”
“Now that I find hilarious.” She grabs a carrot stick from the tray I have prepared, dunking it into the tub of ranch I set out. “Winston calling someone stubborn is like a trashman saying the trash doesn’t stink. It just doesn’t make any sense.”
She pops the carrot in her mouth, crunching loudly.
“Okay, first, I don’t think that’s an actual saying. Second, what do you mean?”
“His recovery after the accident—he was so difficult. Didn’t want to go to any doctor appointments, didn’t want anyone’s help. He refused therapy, ignored his prescriptions. Didn’t want to do anything. We had to fight hard for him to actually finish physical therapy so he could use his arm full range. I think the only reason he did was to be able to use his camera again.” She shakes her head. “It was a mess. He was a mess.”
“I…I didn’t know all that.” I sip on my beer. “How did I not know all that?”
“We were new friends,” she explains. “I didn’t want you to have to witness all our family drama.”
I bark out a laugh. “Oh, Wren. You have no idea what family drama really is. Trust me.”
She shrugs, dipping more carrots into the ranch. “Good lord, these are good.”
“They’re just baby carrots. Calm down.”
I spin toward the fridge, grabbing the bag of veggies to replenish what Wren has eaten already.
My mind is racing as little pieces of the Winston I know today begin to fall into place.
The way he groans whenever he stands. The slow gait he has when he has to walk upstairs. The disturbing pop I hear when he reaches up to the top shelf in the pantry.
I don’t think Winston ever finished physical therapy properly. I think he lied, think he pushed through the pain and fed them all a bunch of bullshit so he didn’t have to go anymore.
He’s still living with the pain from the accident, and he’s using weed to cope with it. He smokes to feel everything, because right now all that’s inside of him is pain.
Which makes me feel like an ass, because I shamed him for it.
If there’s one thing I hate more than admitting I’m wrong, it’s admitting I’m wrong to him. He gloats too much, like he enjoys seeing me so off-kilter, and the thought of Winston reveling in my mortification drives me mad. But I owe him an apology.
Maybe I was wrong before. Maybe I don’t like Winston.
Maybe I’m just going insane because he makes me that way.
Or maybe I’m just overthinking all of this because I feel indebted to him.
Yes. That’s totally it. I’m confusing obligations with feelings.
I think…
“Wren, can I ask you something?” I dump more veggies into the tray around her quick fingers.
She pauses midbite. “This sounds
serious.”
“It’s not,” I promise. “It’s kind of silly, actually.”
“Shoot.” She shoves the rest of the carrot into her mouth, leaning against the counter, ready to be my ear.
“How did you know you liked Foster?”
Her brows shoot up. “Okay, not gonna lie, that is so not what I was expecting you to ask.”
“What were you thinking?”
“I honestly don’t know, but it wasn’t that.”
“If it’s dumb, just ignore me.” I push away from the counter and return the veggies to the fridge. “I’m just having an off day. I think my hormones are still out of whack from the baby. I—”
“I don’t mind answering,” she cuts in. “It’s just a hard question to answer because Foster and I have so much history between us.”
“Well…can you try?”
She nods, lips pursed, trying to find the best way to describe it.
“See, when a man and a woman haven’t had sex for a long time and they’re super horny, they—”
“Wren!” I throw a dish towel at her. “I’m being serious right now!”
“I am too. At first, for me, it was about being horny and wanting to get back out into the dating world. Then you”—she looks at me pointedly—“had the fake dating idea and set things into motion for me and Foster. I truly didn’t think of him as anything other than my good friend or my brother’s best friend. He was just Foster. He wasn’t anything special.”
She grins to herself, and I love the way her face lights up when she talks about him.
I wonder if I’ll ever have that same sort of feeling about anyone.
“Then something shifted. Spending time with him just felt so…right. Like that was where I was supposed to be, with him. It was subtle. It didn’t happen overnight. It just happened.”
“But how did you know you wanted to take it further with him? Like…you know…”
“How did I know I wanted to beat cheeks with him?”
I cringe. “Can you not?”
“Sorry.” She laughs, sounding anything but. “It’s just funny seeing you be shy about sex.”
“I just don’t want the guys to hear.”
I Knead You Tonight Page 11