by Tawna Fenske
This new information was not helpful. “Come on.” She slung his arm around her shoulders, taking some of his weight. “Let’s get you inside.”
His gait was slow but even, and he didn’t protest as she led him down the hall to the guest room. He sat down hard on the bed and toed his shoes off, stripping his T-shirt in one fluid motion.
Kayla glanced away, surprised by the heat in her cheeks. For crying out loud, she’d seen a man shirtless before. Hundreds of them in her work as a photographer. She’d even seen this man shirtless, stretched out on top of her with muscular arms bracketing her body as he slid between her legs and—
Stop it.
She busied herself getting him a glass of water and a couple ibuprofen. When she returned to the room, he’d already slid under the covers. His jeans lay in a heap at the foot of the bed, but no sign of his boxers. Was he naked under her lacy peach duvet?
Don’t think about that.
“I’m leaving water for you right here.” She set it on the nightstand, along with the pills. “There’s some ibuprofen, too. You know where the bottle is if you need more.”
“You’re the best.” He sat up in bed and reached for her hand. “Seriously, Kay.”
She smiled and eased down beside him, not sure why this felt awkward. “Need a hug?”
“God, yeah.” He pulled her against him, surprising her with the ferocity of the embrace.
It felt good, though. Comfortable and familiar but also really, really good.
That was…different.
She squeezed him back, conscious of his breath in her hair, the steady rise and fall of his chest.
“Love you,” he murmured against the crown of her head.
Kayla squeezed her eyes shut tight and reminded herself it was the sort of thing friends said all the time. They’d said it to each other plenty. It didn’t mean anything. Neither did the funny flutter in the core of her belly.
“I love you, too.” She kept holding him, not sure how to let go. “You’re a good guy, Tony.”
Silence. His breathing had slowed, and it took her a few beats to realize he’d fallen asleep.
With a sigh, she eased him back onto the mattress and pulled the covers to his chin. Her chest ached as she took one last look at him, then turned and walked from the room.
It was still early—barely ten. She had time to check out her new book. Usually, she ignored these woo-woo self-help things, but her sister had gushed about it after going through that workshop. A jab? Another attempt to draw Kayla in line with her blissfully coupled family?
Or just a simple, no-strings-attached gift?
Kayla wasn’t sure but figured she could skim and find out. She’d glanced quickly at the pages when it arrived, then abandoned it on the couch, where it rested now.
Go Get It! The Life You Want, The Love You Need, by Dr. Patience O’Toole. The letters blazed bright green and commanding from the stark white cover, along with the tip of the bookmark scrawled with Katie’s familiar handwriting.
Miss you, sis! I wish we could be closer. We read this in that communication class I told you about. It really helped me, and maybe it’ll help you!
A ripple of guilt wiggled through her as she moved through the living room and into the kitchen. She sucked, plain and simple. Kayla was a bad sister, a bad daughter. She had her reasons, but that didn’t excuse it one bit.
She set to work making a mug of peppermint tea. As it steeped, she tried not to feel guilty about her last conversation with her mother. When are you coming to see us?
Soon.
Truthfully, she didn’t know. She loved her family. It wasn’t her fault they lived in Ohio, 2,400 miles away. Or maybe it was, since she’d been the one to move to Oregon. She tried to stay in touch, but…yeah. She’d failed at that.
At a lot of things.
The tea finished brewing, so Kayla grabbed a handful of gingersnaps and carried it all into the living room. Setting her stash on the coffee table, she curled up on the couch and tucked her feet under her.
Pushing back familiar, familial guilt, Kayla picked up her book and flipped to a random section near the front.
So, life hasn’t gone how you expected. Or maybe you want something you haven’t yet attained. What an opportunity for self-reflection, my friend! Use this book to guide you through acknowledging and repairing the ways you’ve knocked yourself off the path you’re destined to travel.
Kayla flipped the page and took a sip of tea, trying not to let the words sting.
It was true she hadn’t gotten all she wanted out of life. She had it pretty good, with amazing friends and a great career as a photographer.
But yeah, it would be great to be married. Not just married, but with a guy she adored who loved her right back. She wanted kids, wanted a closer relationship with her family. So how the hell did she get that?
Maybe the book would help.
Angling the book up, she kept reading.
Think about what you really want. Not what you say you want, but, deep down, what your heart desires. Maybe you dream of reaching a career milestone. Maybe your goals are more personal—getting closer with family or even having a family of your own.
She set the book down. Okay, yeah…that was definitely directed at her.
Her heart squeezed a bit as she thought of her mom and dad. They were getting older, but they were still blissfully in love. What would that be like?
Frowning, she tried to recall what Tony had shared about his own parents. Interesting that he’d remember the day his dad walked out. He’d never mentioned it before, so maybe it impacted him more than she’d realized. What did she know about his mother?
“We’re estranged,” Tony had said stiffly the one time she asked about his mom.
Kayla hadn’t pushed. Hadn’t seen any reason to, really. He’d made it clear he wasn’t big on the whole meet-the-parents scenario, which always bummed her out a little. Not that they’d dated seriously enough to warrant family gatherings, but having him by her side would have made it a helluva lot easier to face the hordes of nieces and nephews and happily married sisters she saw each time she went home to visit.
She picked up her book again and kept reading.
You owe it to yourself to get to the bottom of why you’re not achieving your dreams. Are there ways you’ve been sabotaging yourself? Blockades you’ve erected that stand in the way of you becoming the best possible version of yourself?
Kayla’s phone chirped beside her mug on the coffee table. Leaning forward to peer at the screen, she laughed at her sister’s text.
KATIE: What’s with the text about loving Justin Bieber songs? Are you high?
Still grinning, Kayla picked up the phone. She tapped the call button and tucked the phone against her ear, picking up her mug as she settled back on the couch.
““It's after midnight here and I'm in potty training hell," Katie said by way of greeting. "Tell me you have a good story about getting drunk and going home with a hot guy."
“If I’d gone home with a hot guy, would I be calling you?”
Her sister laughed. “I hope so. Old married ladies thrive on naughty stories from their little sisters.”
“I’m only a year younger than you, dummy,” Kayla reminded her. “And you’ve only been married four years.”
“Whatever. You sound way too sober.”
“Sorry to disappoint.” She glanced toward the hall, where Tony lay slumbering in her guest room. “There is a hot guy in my house, if that makes you feel better.”
Kayla could practically hear her sister’s eye roll through the phone line.
“Let me guess—Tony?”
“How did you know?”
“Lucky guess. Call me crazy, but do you think keeping your sexy BFF around might be killing your dating life?”
Kayla bi
t back her irritation, glancing at the cover of her book. Is that what Dr. O’Toole meant by self-sabotage?
“My dating life is just fine.” She cleared her throat and changed the subject. “Did I tell you I got the contract for that coffee-table book?”
“No! When did you find out?”
“Yesterday morning,” she said. “If the book does well enough, they might even give me a gallery show to support it.”
“Kay, I’m so proud of you!” Katie smacked something hard, probably her table. “Why didn’t you call me immediately?”
“Sorry, I thought Mom would. Or Dad. I texted them right after I got the call.”
“That explains it,” Katie said. “They left yesterday for some couples’ retreat. You know how they are.”
“Yep.” She definitely did. Patty and Carl had been married thirty-nine years and still acted like honeymooners. She’d be annoyed if she weren’t so proud of them.
Smoothing the book’s spine under her palm, Kayla shifted the phone against her ear. “I just started the book you sent.”
“Oh?” Katie was playing it coy, trying not to sound too invested. “How do you like it?”
“I’ve only read a few pages,” she said, “but it’s…good so far.”
“I’m glad you like it.” A long pause, probably while Katie gathered her thoughts. “I just want you to be happy, Kay. And I miss you.”
Kayla’s heart squeezed. “I miss you, too.”
A childish giggle echoed in the background, and Katie sighed on the other end of the line. “Roxy, what are you doing out of bed?”
As her sister switched into mother mode, Kayla tried to ignore the pinch of jealousy around her heart.
This. This was what she wanted.
And also, maybe, this was why she didn’t visit more often.
“Sorry about that,” Katie said, coming back to the phone. “Kids, you know?”
“Sure,” Kayla said, even though she didn’t know. “I should probably go.”
“Call me tomorrow, okay?” Katie said. “I want to hear all about the photo contract and the book and the hot smokejumper sleeping in your guest room.” Her sister paused. “Wait, is he in your guest room or your bed?”
Kayla sighed. “We’re not together; I told you.”
“I can dream,” Katie said. “I know I’d climb that like a cat tree if I were you.”
“You’ve never met the guy!”
“A girl can admire her sister’s Instagram posts, can’t she? The way he fills out a T-shirt…”
“Katie!”
“Gotta run,” her sister said, laughing. “Congrats on the photo thing.”
“Thanks. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Her sister clicked off, and Kayla did the same, glancing at her watch. It was only ten thirty, but Kayla felt tired all of a sudden.
Why wasn’t she achieving her dreams? Sure, she’d landed a great photography contract, but her emotional goals weren’t doing so hot. Was she sabotaging herself? Had she erected blockades?
Maybe she needed to read more.
Heaving herself off the couch, she scooped up the mug and the book. She’d head to her room and change into jammies. Nothing like a Friday night alone in bed with a good book.
As she passed by the hallway, she cast a look toward the guest room. An image flashed in her mind: Tony bare-chested with her sheets tangled around his waist, eyelashes resting on his cheeks.
Stop thinking about that.
She shook her head. The man epitomized erected blockades. Maybe she’d lend him the book after she finished. Maybe he could help her figure out where she’d gone wrong, and vice versa.
Closing her bedroom door, she leaned back against it and set her mug down as she scanned her rumpled red sheets; her nightstand drawer, where her sex toys lived; and the iron headboard, where she’d tied more than one lover.
Somewhere along the way, she’d definitely gone wrong.
I want more out of life.
It wasn’t the first time she’d had the thought, but something about it hit her differently now.
“All right, girl,” she murmured as she tucked the book tighter under her arm. “Time to figure out how to get it.”
…
Tony woke to the smell of fresh coffee and the sound of his brain beating itself against the inside of his skull.
He opened one eye, expecting to see his familiar plaid comforter and the big-screen TV on the wall.
Instead, he saw a vase of dried flowers on a white dresser. On the nightstand—white instead of his familiar black pine—sat a full glass of water and a lamp he didn’t recognize. And what was up with this comforter the color of Creamsicles?
His gaze landed on a framed black-and-white print, and his confusion eased. He knew that photo. He’d been with Kayla when she took it more than a year ago. A scenic landscape of pine trees against a snowcapped peak, the sunset lighting the mountains with otherworldly hues of pink and orange. They’d been two weeks into dating, and they barely made it through their romantic picnic before tearing off each other’s clothes.
Tony closed his eyes and shoved the memories back into the cupboard in his brain. What the fuck was he doing? He knew damn well that relationships weren’t just mountain sunsets and grassy meadows.
They were his mother standing at the window, waiting for Tony’s father to come home.
They were anger and rage and harsh words hurled by a man intent on making her smaller and smaller until the mom Tony knew vanished completely.
With a sigh, he rolled over and grabbed the glass of water. That’s when he spotted two small pills. “I love you, Kayla,” he murmured.
“What’s that?” Her voice, then the rest of her, drifted into the room. She was a vision of heat and energy clad in red running tights and a matching red sports bra. Damn, she had great curves.
What? He could admire his friend’s physique.
“Sorry, I thought I heard my name.” Kayla reached the edge of the bed, and, catching his eyes on her bare midsection, she laughed. “I went for a run. Not like you haven’t seen it all before.”
Right. He had, hadn’t he?
Jerking his gaze to her face, he sat up and tossed the pills in his mouth. “Thanks for this.” He gulped them down, conscious of her perfect backside easing onto the edge of the bed.
But he didn’t let himself look. Just kept his gaze trained on those bright blue eyes and her hair tied back in a ponytail.
“Thanks,” he said again, setting the glass on the nightstand. “Sorry I got a little out of hand last night.”
She smiled and picked up his empty glass. “No, it’s okay. I mean, understandable, under the circumstances.”
He looked at her for a long time as the soupy fog of his memory began to clear. “Shit. I said something about my parents, didn’t I?”
She nodded slowly, eyes searching his. “You want to talk about it?”
“Nope.” He absolutely did not.
“Fair enough.” She stood up to refill the water, and Tony glanced under the covers, relieved to see he had his boxers on. At least he hadn’t stripped in front of her. What else had he done?
Kayla returned with a full glass and handed it to him without comment. He chugged down half of it, grateful for her friendship, her compassion, her really amazing breasts—
“Sorry.” He lowered the glass, hating himself for objectifying his best friend. “I appreciate you taking care of me.”
“Please,” she scoffed. “You’ve done it enough times for me. Remember that time you came and got me after that awful Tinder date?”
Tony scowled. “You mean the guy who grabbed your car keys and wouldn’t give them back until you agreed to another drink?”
“No, actually—but thanks for that.” She leaned down to s
cratch her bare ankle, tickling Tony’s chest with the end of her ponytail. “I meant Rodney, the guy who thought a swingers’ club would be a great spot for a first date.”
He frowned. “I didn’t even know that was a thing until I showed up to get you.”
“Right? Anyway, I’m glad I didn’t have to explain it to an Uber driver, so thanks for saving me.”
“Don’t mention it.” Damn, why did Kayla have such lousy luck picking good men?
Like you’ve got room to comment.
He cleared his throat. “Got any plans today?”
“I need a shower, and then some errands. There’s this book I started reading, the one my sister sent me, and actually—” She paused, and Tony seized the chance to grab the water glass again. God, he was parched. “Actually,” she continued. “I’ve been thinking about my situation and your situation and how similar they are. I never thought so before, but after what you said last night—”
“What did I say?” He chugged more water, hopeful some hydration would wash his memory back into focus.
“You want to get married.”
Tony choked on his water, spattering the soft peach duvet all the way to the foot of the bed. He coughed and heaved, waving Kayla off as she jumped to her feet and made a grab for him.
“I’m fine. I’m fine,” he wheezed. “Don’t give me the Heimlich.”
She sat back on the edge of the bed with a worried look. “Are you okay?”
Eyes watering, he set the empty glass on the nightstand. “What exactly happened last night? Did I propose to you or—”
“What? Oh, God—no!” Kayla laughed, bouncing on the edge of the bed. “I’m so sorry. I should have phrased that better.”
Still fighting to catch his breath, Tony set his glass on the nightstand. He should definitely be wearing pants for this. And putting some distance between him and Kayla’s spandex-clad breasts.
“What the hell did I say?” He flung off the covers and hoisted himself from the opposite edge of the bed. “Marriage? Did I say something about getting married?”
“You did.” She tipped her head to the side. “Are you telling me it was the cinnamon whisky talking?”