by Tawna Fenske
“That depends on what I said.” He bent down and picked up his jeans, straightening just in time to catch her eyes on his ass. At least he wasn’t the only one appreciating his best friend’s form.
She grinned as he buttoned up his fly. “You told me you’ve always wanted the wife and kids and family and the whole mess.”
“I don’t. Absolutely, I do not.” He didn’t, right?
“Whatever.” She waved a hand like that wasn’t the point, but wasn’t it? “Look, whether you want to get married someday or not, the fact remains that you can’t seem to keep a relationship for more than a few weeks. Don’t you want to figure out why?”
“Not particularly.” Only…maybe he did? “Look, I’m just bad at relationships.”
“Right, but why?” She tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear and smiled. “The book my sister sent—it’s a self-help book called Go Get It! The Life You Want, The Love You Need, and it got me thinking about relationship stuff and my issues and your issues and—”
“I have issues now?”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course you have issues. Commitment issues. Duh.”
She said it like the fact was obvious, but Tony wasn’t so sure. “Maybe I’m just a shitty boyfriend.”
“As someone who dated you for a brief window of time, I beg to differ.” She folded her arms over her chest. “In fact, I’d make a wager.”
Tony scrubbed a hand through his hair and wished he had a toothbrush. “Isn’t it a little early in the morning for making bets? The last bet you made ended with me drinking way too much cinnamon whisky.”
She shrugged, unfazed by his grouchy bullshit. One of countless reasons she was such a good friend. “You know how we talked about you joining me on this road trip?”
“Yeah,” he said slowly, struggling to keep up. “It’d be cool to see some of those old fire zones again.” Plus he’d be there to watch out for her, something he’d never in a million years admit to a woman who took pride in being self-reliant. “I do love road trips.”
“Right, so here’s the idea: What if you really did come with me? I take my photos, you give me your insights about the fires, and we make it our mission to settle a bet along the way.”
He eyed her. “What is this bet, exactly?”
“A bet about the reason you’ve got no relationship sticking power.”
“I’m not seeing the connection.” It was possible he’d pickled his brain.
Kayla just smiled. “I get to pick the forests I’m photographing for this thing. And I was thinking how so many of your exes are near the sites of old fires.”
“Not all of them,” he muttered, feeling more than a little called out. “I’ve dated plenty of women around here.”
“Right, but there are tons to pick from near fire zones. Your college girlfriend outside Boise—or what about that professor up in Washington? Or flings from your years as a Hotshot, like that preschool teacher or the one who got married last year. Heck, Becca even has a piece of the puzzle.”
He blinked at her. “How do you remember all my exes?” They’d talked about it, sure, but he never realized she was paying so much attention.
She ignored the question as she smoothed her hands down her spandex-clad thighs. “You’re erecting all these barricades, walling yourself off as a means of self-protection, but—”
“What language are you speaking right now?” She sounded like a damn self-help book. Probably the one she’d been reading. “And why is this all about me?”
“Fair point,” she agreed. “I’ve got work to do, too. That’s exactly why it makes sense for us to team up on this. On figuring out our shit.”
“Maybe I like my shit the way it is.” Only he kinda didn’t.
She knew it, too. He could tell by how she looked at him and softened her voice just a little. “You’re so convinced you’re just a bad boyfriend,” she said. “And maybe that’s true. Or maybe you’ve got commitment issues you need to address. That’s my theory. Either way, all those women have the answers.”
“So what’s your idea? We’d just—interrogate my exes or something?”
“Not that, exactly. It’s a work trip, so obviously most of our time would be spent checking out the forests and taking pictures and driving. But what if we met up with some old girlfriends along the way? A casual lunch here and there, and maybe we just happen to probe a little to find out where they think things went wrong between you.”
He stared at her, hardly believing his ears. Maybe he was still drunk. “And you’re thinking they’ll just—what? Open up and give me all this insight into why I’m a bad boyfriend? Why would they do that?”
“Are you kidding?” She laughed. “What woman wouldn’t want a chance to tell a guy how he screwed up?”
Tony frowned. “That’s encouraging.”
“Okay, not screwed up, exactly.” She waved a hand the way she often did when searching for the right words. “Look, we both have different theories about why your relationships fail—hence, the bet. Why not go directly to the sources to settle it?”
“You’re an ex,” he pointed out.
She folded her arms over her chest. “And you’re obviously not buying my theory about commitment issues, so we need other sources. Seriously, it’s a great plan! If an ex came to me and asked me to list all the ways he’d messed up, damn straight I’d share. Hell, I’d build PowerPoint presentations for some of them.”
“Women are weird.” He shifted on the bed, wondering if maybe this wasn’t completely bonkers. She did raise some good points.
Kayla grinned. “Women are weird,” she agreed. “So are men. But this could be a way for us both to get to the bottom of why all our relationships crash and burn. You did say you want to change that, right?”
“Maybe.”
Deep down, he really did want to stop screwing up. To change the course of his relationship trajectories, which generally torpedoed straight into the ground. What if it could be different?
Maybe Kayla had a point. Was he a commitment-phobe who needed to get over his issues?
Or maybe his theory was right. Maybe he was just a bad boyfriend who could learn to be a better one.
Or maybe…well, what if there was something else at play?
He swallowed, wishing for more water. “So what’s the pot? Are we wagering more Fireball or something?”
“Ugh, no.” Kayla made a face. “If it has to be liquor, make it something fancy. How about The Emerald 1865 from Ransom Distillery?”
“That’s pretty specific.”
She shrugged. “It’s my dad’s favorite whiskey. You got a better idea?”
“No, that’s fine.” Shit, had he just agreed to this? At least the stakes seemed small enough, and he’d liked that small Oregon distillery when they’d visited together last year. “Okay, I’m in. As long as we interrogate your exes when we get back.”
Kayla grinned. “Then it’s a plan. Or a bet. Whatever.”
She stuck her hand out, and it took him a moment to figure out what she wanted. When he slipped his hand in hers to shake, a jolt of electricity shot up his arm.
“It’s a bet,” he agreed and wondered what the hell he’d gotten himself into.
Chapter Three
Kayla leaned back in the passenger seat of Tony’s Jeep, kicking her feet up on the dash. Her toenails flashed bright magenta, courtesy of a pre-trip pedicure with Willa and Aislin.
Her two best girlfriends had found her plan only slightly wacko.
“I still can’t believe you’re going on a road trip with your ex.” Pretty, blonde Aislin had stared at her, blue eyes utterly dumbfounded. “I thought you were kidding.”
“Same.” Willa had given her a look like she’d flashed back at the bar. The one suggesting Kayla had a screw loose. “And you’re visiting some of his exes?”
“That still doesn’t explain why you’re meeting up with his exes,” Aislin had said gently.
“It kinda does, actually.” Leave it to happily wedded Willa to be the voice of reason. Her expression had softened as she handed Kayla a bottle of polish that perfectly matched Kayla’s favorite sandals. “If there’s a bet on the table about why Tony can’t make relationships work, wouldn’t his exes be the best ones to settle it?”
“It still seems weird,” Aislin had insisted. “You guys used to sleep together, remember?”
Like she could forget.
But Kayla had only smiled her serene, I’m-totally-cool-with-this-whole-BFF-ex-thing smile and handed the nail tech her credit card. “It’s a learning experience,” she’d reminded them. “For both of us. I’m working on myself, too, remember?”
“I don’t know…” Leave it to Aislin to be the skeptic.
Willa had looked more hopeful. “It’s good that he has all this knowledge in his head about the fires.”
“Exactly,” Kayla said. “It’ll be helpful when I’m out there shooting.”
“And also, it’s safer,” Willa added. “I know your mom’s been worried about you driving all over the middle of nowhere taking pictures of burned-out forests.”
“How is your mom, anyway?”
Aislin’s question shot a dart of guilt through Kayla’s heart. “She’s good. Fine. Helping out with my oldest sister, Kelly. She had a baby in June. I’m thinking about visiting.”
Willa and Aislin exchanged a glance.
“What?” Kayla asked. “What’s that about?”
“Nothing.” Aislin took her place in line. “Just that you’ve been saying that a long time.”
“Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” Willa had put in. “God knows I understand having boundaries with family.”
Kayla had nodded, guilt rippling off of her in waves. Maybe that’s something she’d explore as she worked through her new book.
“Want some Pringles?”
Tony’s voice from the driver’s seat jarred her back to the comfort of the Jeep. Back to the long stretch of rural highway snaking from Oregon to Idaho.
“Thanks.” As she reached out to take the canister, his fingers brushed hers. A faint fizzle of pleasure shot up her arm and did a funny little dance around her heart. That was…different.
And noteworthy, since she’d stopped having physical reactions to him after they’d agreed to just be friends. She hadn’t lusted after him, hadn’t fallen back into bed with him even once.
But something had shifted that night he stayed in her guest room. Maybe the embrace had done it, knocking them off their orbit somehow. She’d been holding out hope it would shift right back, since the last thing she needed right now was to start salivating over her best friend.
She pried the top off the chip canister and dumped a few into her palm. “How far to Twin Falls?”
“About another four hours. I’m debating whether to push through and get in late tonight or stop near Boise. We could find someplace with a pool, maybe grab dinner, pretend it’s a normal vacation.”
“That does sound nice.” Her memory flashed to a camping trip last summer, back when they were dating. He’d gone swimming in a mountain lake, emerging slowly with water droplets slicking his perfect abs. “Or we could skip the pool,” she added quickly. “I’m easy. Let me know if you want me to take a turn driving.”
“I’m good for now.” He slung an arm over the back of the seat. “I could use a break from music, though. Got any stand-up comedy on your phone?”
She shook her head. “I meant to download some audiobooks from the library, but I forgot.”
“No worries.” He rummaged in the drink holder for his sunglasses, never taking his eyes off the road.
Kayla hesitated. “If you want, I could read from that book my sister sent me.”
He glanced at her like she’d suggested they get out and lick the tires. “Tell me again why your sister thought she should send you a self-help book?”
She shrugged and fiddled with the seat belt. “I don’t know. I guess there’s stuff I could stand to work on—”
“You’re perfect just how you are,” he grumbled. “Seems like kind of a dick move to suggest you need to change anything.”
The flattery sent a wave of pleasure rippling through her, and she took a while responding. “She means well. I haven’t always been the best sister, and I know there’s stuff I could stand to fix. To be happier, you know?”
He shook his head. “Only if it’s shit you want to work on. There’s not a damn thing wrong with you.”
Warmth pooled in the center of her chest as she bit back the smile threatening to tug the edges of her mouth. “Still, it seems like a good book. I mean, I’ve only skipped around and read a few paragraphs, but I could start at the beginning.”
“I’m game. I dig it when you read out loud.” He flashed her a grin. “Could you at least read it in a funny voice? Mickey Mouse or SpongeBob or maybe Donald Trump?”
“What are you, ten?” Kayla rolled her eyes. “Forget it.”
“Aw, shit. I’m sorry.” He reached over and squeezed her knee, sending goose bumps up her arms. “I’m an asshole.”
“I never said you were an asshole.” She’d leave it to his exes to make that determination. Honestly, she didn’t mind the ribbing. His sense of humor was one of the things she dug most about him.
“Please read.” He dragged his gaze off the road, and though she couldn’t see his eyes, his smile was sufficiently sheepish. “Maybe I’ll learn a thing or two.”
“All right.” She dug it out of the space where she’d shoved it between her seat and the door.
“What’s it called again?”
“Go Get It! The Life You Want, The Love You Need, by Dr. Patience O’Toole.”
Tony scratched his chin. “You think she considered calling it The O’Toole Kit?”
“Sounds like a missed marketing opportunity.”
He steered the Jeep around a mystery lump of feathery roadkill. “Lay it on me. Commence head shrinking.”
Kayla cleared her throat. “Introduction: So you’re a screwup.”
“Ouch.”
“That’s the name of the chapter.” She held up the book and watched his brown eyes flick quickly to the page before refocusing on the road. “She’s being ironic. It’s actually all about how there’s no such thing as screwing up.”
“You’ve already read it?”
“Only a little bit of it.”
“Cool.” He eased into the opposite lane, smoothly passing a slow-moving tractor. “Let’s hear what losers we are.”
She dragged her gaze off Tony and found her place at the start of the chapter. “‘Let’s get one thing straight right off the bat—everyone screws up. Your doctor screws up. Your hairstylist screws up. Your accountant screws up.’”
“I can’t decide if this is reassuring or terrifying.”
“Let’s go with reassuring.” She drew a finger down the page, finding her spot again. “‘But maybe we need to redefine screwups. Sure, things might not always go the way we expect. We’ve all experienced failures, ranging from bad grades to burned soufflés to colossal, shameful mistakes that leave us bolting awake at night, reliving every awful moment.’”
Tony gave a low, rumbly growl from the driver’s seat, and Kayla glanced over to see him shrug apologetically. “Sorry. Getting a little too into it.”
“That’s good. You’re in touch with your emotions.”
“Or maybe I ate too many Cheetos.”
“No such thing.”
“Good point. Continue, please.”
She laughed and got back to reading. “‘What if we all took another look at those things we considered screwups? What if instead of blaming and shaming ourselves, we regarded them as the very things that give us dimension and depth? What if we found a way to see our screwups as big, beautiful, blemished blossoms in the fields of our existence?’”
“Unless your screwup involves pulling the wrong cord on your chute after jumping out of a plane,” Tony pointed out. “Then you’re pretty much a splat in the middle of that field.”
“Noted.” Kayla glanced over at him. “Is this too woo-woo for you?”
“Nah, I can deal. Want me to quit interrupting?”
“I kinda enjoy the commentary.” This really was way more fun than reading alone. She cleared her throat and kept going. “‘It’s time to reclaim your mistakes. It’s time to own them, embrace them, and ask them what they can teach you. It’s time to get curious about your own missteps to see what you can learn. Have you ever paused to think about how your parents came to conceive you?’”
She grimaced. “For the record, I don’t recommend visualizing that one.”
“Thanks.” He made a face, but there was something off in his eyes. Something she hadn’t seen there before. “Brain bleach activated,” he added, flashing her a grin that seemed real enough. “Dr. O’Toole might need to work on her powers of suggestion.”
“Note to self—ignore doctor’s orders when they involve picturing parents in the act of copulation.” She focused back on the book. “‘Whether you were a planned miracle or an oops baby, your presence here today is the result of thousands of years of biology, millions of strands of DNA, and a billion tiny twists of fate. Not a single error along the way led to your being here today. Your parents knew what they were doing, even if they didn’t know what they were doing.’”
“Uh…okay?”
She laughed and put her thumb on the page. “All right, so it’s a little out there. My sister swears it’s got some good advice.”
“If you say so.” He shifted gears, forearm flexing in a way that made Kayla shiver. Or maybe that was the air conditioner. No, it was definitely Tony. God, the man was built—muscular arms; wide, sturdy shoulders; and a chest that stretched the limits of his Nacho Daddy T-shirt. That was a thing with him, the habit of collecting T-shirts from diners around the globe. He’d gotten that one in Vegas a year ago, and it had shrunk a bit in the wash. The result was a sexy expanse of cotton pasted to his perfect abs like—