by K. A. Tucker
She sits up slowly. “The rest of us aren’t much better. Rita wants Jake to propose now that she’s pregnant, and he won’t. I’m a suspicious freak.” She throws a casual hand my way. “And look at you.”
“Look at me, what? Hey, I haven’t lied or cheated on anyone. I’ve made zero commitments.”
“Yeah.” She turns to look at me, the moonlight highlighting the sadness on her face. “And you’re going to miss out on all the wonderful things that come with committing. Just think how nice it would be to have one person that you trust so completely.” More matter-of-factly, she states, “Reese was here on Sunday. She saw it all. She’s a part of this, whether you like it or not. You should ask her to come up for Friday.”
I hold up my phone. “I did. No response and I know she’s read it. Maybe she doesn’t want to come. I wouldn’t blame her. It’s a funeral, Elsie. Not a party.”
“What’d you say to her?” Elsie frowns as I let my phone fall into her hand. Scanning the text message, she groans and then flicks me in the ear. “You’re such a dumbass.” Tossing the phone at my chest, she stands and walks toward the door, shaking her head. “Tell her you barely noticed the girl and that you want her to come. Good night.” The door closes softly behind her.
And I’m left staring at my phone, wondering if Reese is already asleep. Listening to my big sis, I quickly type out:
I didn’t screw around with anyone and I want you to come to the funeral. Please.
And I wait.
Chapter 31
REESE
I stare at the screen of my phone as my brain begins to process what my heart has already figured out.
I have a real thing for Ben.
A thing that made my insides clench up when I read that awful joke he made about women throwing themselves at him; that made disappointment swell when he told me his mother wanted me at the funeral, and then made my entire being melt in relief with this last text.
Friends go to their friends’ parents’ funerals. That’s normal. I’m sure Ben will have lots of friends there to support him. That’s why he’s asking me to come. It’s a fucking funeral! His father’s funeral!
And I know that I want it to mean more.
Okay. I’ll be there.
I stare.
With my chin resting in the palm of my hand, I stare out the glass, over the cubicles, to the empty, dimmed office, picturing that giant guy with his deep, adorable dimples, walking by my office with that big grin, throwing me a wink.
And I keep losing my train of thought as I picture myself hopping on my bike and going to see him. To see how he’s doing. To make sure he’s not reacquainting himself with the neighborhood’s female population.
“Oh God,” I groan. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” The cool wood feels soothing against my forehead as I gently bang my head against my desk. Jack was right. Here I am, already bringing it into the workplace. What if it means nothing? Then what? What happens when he comes back? What happens when another stripper strolls in? Or I see him flirting with another woman? I feel like I have something to lose here.
Ben has wormed his obnoxious self into my heart. I’m actually starting to feel sorry for Mercy, and all the other girls he has surely left in his wake. The scariest thing is that he does it by being himself—a kind, funny, easygoing guy who sends a text to say hi and calls to ask a girl to sing to him because he wants to. He doesn’t hide who he is; he doesn’t lie or promise anything. He doesn’t play stupid head games. Whether those girls are completely clueless and fall into the accidental trap or stand on the edge and knowingly do a swan dive into it, like I just did, we all eventually fall for Ben’s charm.
And now I can’t breathe under the weight of those consequences. I need to get out of here.
“I got you an extra-big piece!” By the giddiness on the waitress’s face, you’d think she was serving a movie star.
“Thanks.” With a sigh, I break off a chunk and slide the tangy filling into my mouth, letting it melt over my taste buds.
Ben was right. Sometimes, change is good.
“And?” It’s so sudden, so close to me, and so unexpected, that I jump. “What do you think? Isn’t it the best key lime pie you’ve ever had?” Good grief. She’s actually watching me eat. It’s beyond irritating.
Maybe that’s why I decide to be a complete bitch and say, “I’ve had better.” It’s true. I have. At a lovely little citrus grove about two hours north, surrounded by laughter and love and friendship. But when she turns and leaves, a deflated frown on her face, I instantly feel guilty.
“Reese?”
My stomach drops at the sound of his voice. I turn back to find familiar green eyes staring down at me. “Jared?” This is so not what I need to deal with right now.
He gestures behind him absently as he explains. “I just stopped by your office, hoping to catch you before you left for the day. Some lady with a big mole said you’d probably be here.”
Mrs. Cooke. I told her I was taking a break and then I’d be back. I’m actually planning on working late tonight, to make up for whatever I miss tomorrow while at the funeral. And because I’ve gotten very little done, since I’ve been busy fantasizing like a moron.
Sitting up, I self-consciously adjust my shirt as Jared folds his tall body into the other chair. “I don’t remember you liking limes,” he murmurs, shaking his head, a little crease lining his forehead.
“I don’t remember you dressing like a Nordstrom mannequin.” Seriously, what the hell is he wearing? A dark green sport coat and what I can only describe as “trousers.” I mean, he still looks good, but he’s never been the metrosexual guy, preferring the “I just picked these clothes up off the floor and don’t I still look hot” style.
“Couldn’t walk into a law firm looking like a welder, now, could I?” He pauses, glancing around. “Where’s your lawyer boyfriend?”
Is that what this little getup is about? Is he feeling inferior to Ben? I grit my teeth against the smile. And then I remember that Ben isn’t mine and probably never will be, and the smile runs off on its own. “At his mother’s. His father died last weekend.”
“Oh.” He frowns. I note that there’s no “sorry” attached to that. It would be the polite thing to say. Then again, I was usually the one picking up on manners where Jared lacked.
He settles a heavy gaze on me, his face unreadable. “So I learned all about Facebook privacy settings last weekend.”
I feel my cheeks burn as I avert my gaze to a miniature palm tree next to our table. I haven’t dared look at his profile since last week, preferring ignorance over seeing a picture of a restraining order that I figured he was filing against me.
After a really long, unbearably awkward silence, I realize that he’s waiting for my response. So I clear my throat and offer, “I warned you, didn’t I? You never can be too careful about the crazies.”
He dips his head. “I probably should be fucking furious with you, Reese.” Peering up from under heavy lids, he admits, “But I’m not. I deserve it. I deserved having the apartment trashed. I deserve sitting there and watching that asshole suck your face in front of me.”
A spike of annoyance jumps inside me, the need to defend Ben overpowering. “Ben hasn’t done anything to you.”
Jared’s knowing glare makes me correct that. “Okay, fine. But in his defense, he had no idea who you were.”
A smile quirks Jared’s lips. “Fair enough. If it were you and me out there and we came across a couple going at it, we would have done the exact same thing. Maybe with a little less passion, but . . .” His words drift off in a wry tone.
“What did Caroline say about it?” I dare ask.
“I’m not telling her.” He reaches forward to rest his hands on the table, only inches from mine. Something tells me it’s a very conscious move on his part.
“And does she know that you’re here now?”
“She doesn’t own me, Reese.” He heaves a sigh. “We haven’t talked in a few days. She’s staying
at her friend’s house right now. I just . . .” His face pinches together as he closes the gap to take my hand. “I knew the day I ran in to you here that I’d made a fucking huge mistake. I should never have left you. I want you back.”
“Huh.” That’s all I can manage as I slump back into my chair, all ability to speak gone as a nauseating swirl of emotion rises in my chest. This is not what I expected. Back? “Back for what?” I hear myself ask out loud and immediately bite my tongue.
His shoulders sag as if relieved of some huge weight. “Please just give me another chance. I know you want to.”
“What makes you so sure?” Because suddenly, I’m not so sure, either.
“Oh, come on.” A slow, seductive smile curls his lips as he reaches forward and entwines his long fingers through mine. He knows that smile has the power to melt all of my defenses. I’ve told him as much a thousand times. “Lurking on Facebook, hunting me down at paintball. The way you walked into that bar in your little red dress, flipping your hair around like you didn’t have a care in the world, getting up on the stage. You knew that’d get my attention. And you did. Now I’m giving you what you want.” He pulls my hand up to his mouth, until the heat from his mouth is dampening my skin. Just like he always used to do. “I can’t stop thinking about you. You know we were amazing together.”
It’s strange. I’ve pictured this moment before—though Jared was much more contrite in my version—and it always came with a euphoric high. Now, though, I’m not feeling euphoria. Not unless anxiety and guilt is a part of the emotional package.
“Yeah, we were great together. And then you crushed me by cheating on me. And then marrying the girl!” I shake my head as I pull my hand away from him. “And now you’re ready to cheat on her—your wife—with me?”
Resting his elbows on the table, he begins rubbing his face with both hands. “I can’t help who I love and I never stopped loving you, Reese. I just thought I loved Caroline more. But I don’t.” His hands drop. “Not the same way that I love you. Please, give me another chance. Just . . . come back to my place. Let’s talk more.”
“We’re talking now.”
His eyes drop to my mouth with a secretive smile.
I know what he’s looking for and I highly doubt talking is a part of it.
I smirk. Funny. If this were Ben, he’d have come right out and said he wanted to take me home to get into my pants. Then again, this would never be Ben because he’d never play with my heart like this.
“I don’t think so.”
His lips twist pensively.
“What?”
He shakes his head and frowns. “I’m just trying to figure out if you’re playing hard-to-get or if you’re actually turning me down.”
I could really screw with him. I could go to his condo, climb into his bed with him, and take back what was taken from me so long ago. Even if just for one night. If he truly loves me—I’m beginning to wonder if Jared knows how to love—it would hurt him. It would crush Caroline.
But it would kill me.
I stand. “Goodbye, Jared. Don’t ever call me again.” I’m making a smart decision. For once.
Throwing a twenty down on the table for my order, I turn to walk away.
To see a set of red, watery eyes that match the red hair framing her face. I don’t know how long she’s been watching, how much she picked up from that. Enough, I would say. Enough that I should feel better about this. This should be victory.
But all I can feel right now is relief that I’m not hanging on to a memory that I’ll never get back. And pity, for her, for being in love with a guy like that.
“He’s all yours, Caroline. But honestly, I think even you’re too good for him.” I walk past her without a glance back.
A knock sounds at my door a second before Mason’s half-tamed dark mop pokes in. “Hey, Jack and I were thinking we should all go out to dinner tonight . . .” His voice drifts as he watches me stuff the last of my clothes into a brimming knapsack.
“I’m heading to the grove now.” After what just happened with Jared, I can’t wait another night. I haven’t even messaged Ben to tell him that I’m coming. I’m afraid he’ll tell me not to and, well, I just need to be there.
I need to see Ben.
“Oh. Okay.” He looks down at the bulging white folder held together with a thick rubber band that sits gripped within his fingers.
“What’s that?”
He sighs and glances furtively up at me. “Just a case I’m working on.”
“Yeah? What’s it about?” I ask, pulling the zipper on my backpack. Mason can usually carry on a semi-normal conversation if it’s about a case.
“Hey, do you think you can take a look at the suit I laid out for tomorrow? You know me and colors.”
“Uh . . . okay?” Mason has never asked me to do that. “Why don’t you ask Lina about that?” My hands freeze. “Oh, shit. Did you break up?” In the next breath, I accuse him, “You didn’t hold her hair while she puked, did you?” I haven’t talked to Lina since last weekend. If they did break up and I’m just finding out about it now, then I’m a really shitty friend.
“No! I mean, yes, I did! And no, we didn’t break up.” He’s completely flustered. “I just . . . I’m asking you because you’re here. But if you want your family showing up to the funeral looking like a clown, then fine, I’ll just—”
“Okay! Jeez.” I stroll past him and into his room, smiling to myself over the term “family.” Even with the divorce, he and Jack are my family.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter as I see the burgundy dress shirt with tiny taupe ducks all over it. “What is this, Duck Dynasty Goes Formal?” I yank the shirt and toss it into the trash can. Fishing through his closet, I find a plain navy shirt. “That works.” I turn to find him leaning against the door frame, watching me. “Did you actually pay money for that shirt?”
He shrugs. “The guy at the store said it was in style.”
“So were ‘grandma’s couch’ floral pants and you didn’t see me wearing those, did you?” I pass by him, heading to my room.
“Did you really have to throw it in the trash?”
“Yes. Don’t ever shop without Lina or me there again. Ever, or I’ll disown you.” I grab my backpack off the bed, desperate to get on the road.
“Mrs. Cooke sent a big flower arrangement on behalf of the firm.”
“That was nice of her.”
“It’s supposed to storm tonight. Are you sure you don’t want to take the car?”
“Yup. I’ll make it before the storm rolls in.”
He’s standing there, looking at me all awkward. “Okay, well, ride safe or whatever you call it. I guess we’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Mason, why are you being so—”
My words cut off as Mason reaches out and gives me a tentative hug before almost jumping away and storming out of the room.
Shaking my head, I turn and leave, desperate to see Ben’s smile again.
Even if it’s only as friends.
Chapter 32
BEN
“Pick it up, darling. I’m going alone,” Mama orders, taking me out of the round.
I toss my cards down and fold my arms over my chest, smiling as I watch Elsie and Jake try to trump her, fond memories flooding me. Sunday night was always game night at home, out on the back porch. No excuses. In the earlier days, even my dad would come out sometimes. He’d usually be working on furniture designs and end up passed out in the chair, but I knew, by the way Mama stole glances his way and smiled, that she was just happy to have him there.
When we were young, and Mama’s parents were alive, it was Go Fish. There was a brief stint of Monopoly somewhere in there, but after Jake and I tag-teamed against Elsie to make her cry too many times, the game mysteriously disappeared. To this day, I don’t know where Mama hid it.
We all learned how to play euchre the summer of my eleventh birthday after my grandpa died of a heart attack.
My grandma had moved into a home, preferring the peace and quiet over five kids in their teenage years. With us plus Mama, we always had more than enough players. That changed quickly, though, with each Morris kid leaving home as soon as they had an excuse, until it was just me and Mama sitting out on that porch on Sundays, resurrecting Go Fish.
I can’t believe it’s been eight years since we’ve all been in one place.
And tonight, while it’s Thursday and not Sunday, we’re all playing cards under Mama’s roof again. The happiness is radiating off her.
“Will you be fine in Ben’s room?” Mama asks Tara, Rob’s wife, as she and my brother come down from putting their two girls to sleep in the largest room of the house, with enough space for all four of them.
“Yeah, it’s perfect, Wilma. Thank you.” Tara’s a soft-spoken brown-haired woman with big eyes. She seems nice but she doesn’t talk much. Way too quiet for my taste. And too skinny, but Rob always did like them twiggy. I get the impression that I make her nervous. The two times I’ve walked into the kitchen with just her there, she’s left in a flash.
“You mean my room? Ben stole it after I moved out,” Rob retorts, slapping me across the back as he walks by.
“And it finally saw some action,” I murmur, shooting a wink Jake’s way. Of all of us, Rob was the shyest around the girls.
“It saw plenty of action, you jackass,” Rob scoffs.
“A hand job from Molly Mumford doesn’t count.”
“Boys!” Mama exclaims as Jake and I burst out in laughter. Even Elsie can’t keep the giggles under control. No doubt, she remembers. The three of us had cups pressed to the wall between Elsie’s and Rob’s old room, listening to the entire thing.
“I think the best part was when Molly screamed and said, ‘It’s so sticky!’ ” I say, that last part with a high-pitched squeal, reenacting exactly how I imagine the girl looked, holding my hands up in the air, my face a mask of horror.