Romancing the Rival

by Kris Fletcher

  Not that it seemed to have hurt Bree, of course. But her circumstances were different. She’d already thought her father was dead for years before he landed in the big house. Jail had probably looked pretty good under those conditions. Or, at least, like the lesser of two evils.

  No, if it had been anyone else heading this up, Spence would have been all over it. If it had been Rob Elias anyplace else—well, Spence’s support would have been a lot more tempered then, but he still could have swallowed it.

  But to do it here just felt wrong. Like a slap in the face to everyone who had known Rob. Definitely like Rob was flaunting his ability to come and go as he wished when that privilege had been denied to Spence’s folks.

  No one should be allowed to walk around without a care in the world after screwing over their supposed oldest friend.

  “So.” Bree, who had practically inhaled her soup, steepled her hands above her bowl and watched him from behind her glasses. “Now that the apology is out of the way—”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I might need to make you grovel a bit more.”

  “Dream on,” she said sweetly. “It strikes me that even though I’ve supposedly known you since childhood, really, my main memories are of getting pissed off at you when you beat me on tests and exams. So what have you been doing with yourself lately?”

  Lately, huh? It seemed she was totally jumping over the university years. Fine by him. If she still believed him guilty of the things he’d said, then it would be easier to maintain his badass persona. Plus she might lump him into the same category as her father, which, depending on how that had all unfurled, might lead to her feeling inclined to talk about Rob with him.

  “Working,” he said. “I’ve been working.”

  She wrinkled her nose, though he wasn’t sure if it was because of his answer or because her glasses kept slipping. “Well, that’s obvious,” she said slowly. “We’ve all been working.”

  He raised an eyebrow. She bristled.

  “You don’t think that I’m working as hard as you? I admit, I don’t do the physical labor that you do, but believe me, it’s not easy to juggle classes and full-time jobs. Not when you’re doing both at the same time, I mean.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She sat back, her face closing. “I— Nothing. Forget it. How’s your mom?” Some softness crept into her eyes. “I have this one memory of her from when we were little. It must have been at your house, because it was in a blue kitchen. Ours was green.”

  Okay. She didn’t want to talk about herself? Fine. He’d let it slide.

  But he wasn’t going to forget it.

  “You mean the old house, right?”

  “I didn’t know there was more than one.”

  “Yeah, we moved when I was about eight. But I’m pretty sure the kitchen in the old place was blue.” Despite himself, he was curious. “What do you remember?”

  “It’s not much. Just . . . we were all there, sitting around a little plastic table. It was yellow. And we were eating hot dogs, and Jenna said she didn’t feel good, and my mom took her away, and a minute later, we heard the toilet. And I remember looking at your mom and asking why people always flushed the toilet when their stomach hurt.”

  “And what did she say?”

  “I think she just laughed and said I must not get sick very much.”

  “And did you?”

  “What?” She seemed to jerk out of her reverie.

  “Get sick a lot. When you were a kid.”

  “Who knows?” She shrugged. “Even if I did, I guarantee you it wouldn’t have been memorable. Not unless I was dying.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I was the oldest. If I got sick, so did everybody else, and believe me, Jenna was a drama queen when she was under the weather.”

  Her grin told him that any resentment toward Jenna was long forgotten.

  “Plus the twins were always kind of frail when they were little, so, you know. They would have needed attention way more than I did.” She pointed at him. “You youngest children have no idea of the horrors we eldest kids have to endure.”

  He couldn’t keep from laughing. “Yeah, you guys have it so rough. ’Cause everyone knows that the oldest ones are always the favorites.”

  “Not necessarily. The smartest, usually. That’s not being vain, that’s a proven fact. We tend to be the most responsible and organized, too. But remember, parents are usually stricter with their firstborns than they are with those who arrive later, especially in large families. Not only that, but the parents aren’t as sure of themselves and their abilities, which means that oldest children are basically the lab rats of the family.” She shrugged again. “So you can add “more neurotic than later-borns” to the list of eldest-child traits.”

  He thought of his bighearted, foul-mouthed sister. “You had me up until ‘neurotic.’ That doesn’t seem to fit with the oldest kids I know. Bossy, demanding, smug, yeah. But neurotic? Uh-uh.”

  Something that looked like surprise flared briefly in her eyes. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Interesting.” She tapped her lips with her fingertip. “Because that one, I totally made up.”

  Well that added a new and unanticipated twist to the conversation. “So were you trying to play me or test me?”

  She sat back in her chair. “I don’t know.”

  From the look on her face, he had a feeling that in this, at least, she was telling the truth. Not only that, but he had a pretty strong hunch that she was more surprised than he was.

  “So, what are you studying here?” He waved a hand toward the halls and dug into his own memory bank. “Some kind of math?”

  “No. Why would you think that?”

  “Because math was the one subject when I really had to bust ass to beat you.” He grinned. “Remember Mr. Gibala and how he used to get so pissed off when people didn’t catch things the first time through?”

  Her grin was remarkably relaxed. “Him, I remember. Him getting bent out of shape? Nope. Probably because he was the only math teacher I really understood.”

  “You’re the only person I know who liked geometry.”

  She waved it away. “It’s all memorization and logic. There were patterns. Not like algebra.”

  “What are you talking about? Algebra is totally logic and patterns.”

  “Yeah, but they weren’t ones that I could figure out.”

  “I wish I’d known that back in eleventh grade. I would have got a lot more sleep, knowing that you weren’t as together as you made me think you were.”

  “Now where would be the fun in that?” she asked, and it was so light, so saucy, that for a second he forgot who and what she was and focused solely on the way the corners of her mouth quirked up. Like she was teasing him.

  “So.” He had to regain control of the conversation, fast. “You never told me what you’re studying.”

  “Psych. No, not clinical,” she said quickly, as if it were something she was used to having to clarify. “Personality.”

  “You mean, like, why some people don’t seem to have one?”

  “No. Like, what makes us each individuals.”

  Now that he wouldn’t have expected. She seemed to be one who would want to charge in and fix things, not stand back and observe them. Though maybe psych was more hands-on than he realized.

  And maybe he shouldn’t be having some totally unexpected thoughts in conjunction with Bree Elias and the term hands-on.

  “What kind of work do you do with that?”

  “Lots of possibilities. I’m aiming to teach.”

  “In schools?”

  “In a college or university environment.”

  “So you’re going to be Dr. Elias?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  Okay. Ivory tower, or
dering students around, being the one in charge? Yeah. That seemed like a better fit for her.

  Not that he was any expert on Bree. Nor did he ever intend to be. But he liked knowing that at least some of his perceptions about her were rooted in reality.

  “And now I have a question for you,” she said. “What do landscapers do in the winter?”

  “Depends if you’re talking about me or my employees.”

  “Both.”

  “My team members have a bunch of options. Some want to be just seasonal employees, spend the winter somewhere down south. Some do some snowplowing for me. A handful of others work on a couple of houses I’m flipping. They pick up extra skills and hours, and I have a side business.”

  “Very enterprising of you.”

  Those should have been complimentary words. So how come when she said them her mouth looked as if she had just eaten something stinky and sour?

  “I guess you have a real affinity for being your own boss,” she said, and he got it. She might have apologized for publicly dressing him down, but she wasn’t about to let him off the hook for his supposed misdeeds. She was still clinging to the stories he had told years ago.

  Okay. Fine. He didn’t need her approval or understanding. He didn’t need them from anyone other than his family, really, and especially not from an Elias. As long as she was willing to play nice while they worked together, then that was all that should matter to him.

  He gathered his things. “I should get going,” he said. “Good talking to you, Bree. I’ll see you soon.”

  Surprise filled her eyes. Surprise and something that looked like a flash of regret, before she shook her head and extended her hand.

  “Onward and upward?” she said.

  He gave her a cursory shake. “Yeah. Sure.”

  But as he walked away, he couldn’t help but kick himself. Because even though he didn’t trust her farther than he could throw her, he couldn’t block the memory of her legs playing peekaboo in that skirt.

  Chapter Three

  Bree loved Saturday mornings. Weekdays found her up at ungodly hours, extra ungodly since she signed her book contract and needed to add writing time to her regular schedule of teaching/research/tutoring/life. Add in a few visits to the campus gym each week and the wild amounts of reading, grading, and meetings, and most days found her alarm set for five. Saturdays were the one day she didn’t have to wake to the damned beep beep beep from her phone. Usually on Saturdays she would sleep until almost seven, wake slowly, then linger in bed with coffee and something totally nonacademic to read. Some mornings she even played word games on her phone.

  She didn’t know what was sadder—the fact that word games were her ultimate luxury or the fact that she got so damned excited when she had time to play them.

  There was no denying that it took something of major importance to have her up, dressed, and out the door by eight on a Saturday. Especially on a Saturday after a night spent kicking herself over the way she’d handled the whole conversation with Spence.

  Had she blown it completely? She didn’t think so. She hoped not. She really did want to work smoothly with him and the rest of the task force. Not to mention that for a few minutes there, when the apology was behind them and they’d been catching up, things had been almost—well—enjoyable. Not relaxing, really. But for one brief, shining moment, when they’d been verbally sparring and lobbing banter back and forth like a tennis ball, she could have sworn she was having fun.

  Who would have believed that?

  Then she’d messed up by alluding to his past. At least, she thought that was what made him leave so abruptly. And now she wasn’t sure if things were okay, or if she had made them worse, and the possibilities she conjured up hadn’t exactly been conducive to a good night’s sleep. What if he told Alice he couldn’t work with her? What if he asked for her to be removed? What if she was still being a little too self-righteous and judgmental?

  Oddly enough, it was that last alternative that had her reaching for the melatonin.

  But she refused to dwell on that today. Today, she and her sisters—including Paige, thanks to the miracle of FaceTime—were headed to Rochester. It was time to shop for wedding wear. Maid-of-honor dresses for her and Annie, a bridal gown for Jenna, and shoes all around.

  In short, a perfect day.

  Kyrie was the only one with a car big enough to hold the sisters comfortably, so she had been elected to drive. Bree was the last one to be picked up. When the door to the Kia flew open, the sound of laughter and the scent of coffee spilled out, rushing around her like a warm hug.

  A day with her sisters. Definitely a moment for the memory bank.

  “Good morning,” she said as she ducked into the car. “I see Jenna already called shotgun.”

  “Hey, there are very few times when it comes in handy to have a bum leg. If you think I’m not going to milk it for all it’s worth while I can, you are out of your tree, big sister.”

  Annie clucked her tongue. “Don’t whine. You’re not stuck sitting in the middle like I was when we were kids. I still have nightmares about the days when Paige and Kyrie would sit on either side of me and spend the whole drive counting to three and then elbowing me from both sides. You don’t know how long it took for me to learn that the numbers didn’t really go, One, two, three, ow.”

  “Yeah, but you got back at us by rubbing your nose all over our arms,” Kyrie said.

  “No wonder you run a day care,” Bree said. “It’s your way of finally being the one in charge.”

  Her sisters groaned in unison.

  “No shrink talk today, Bree.” Jenna twisted around and leveled a finger at Bree. “We are going to be as rude and happy as possible, and you are absolutely not allowed to make us feel like we’re being analyzed.”

  “I keep telling you all that I’m not going into clinical psych, but none of you will believe me.” She couldn’t resist. “There’s probably a deep-seated reason for that.”

  Moans and laughter filled the car. Bree grinned, shimmied her shoulders, and helped herself to one of the coffee cups sitting in a holder by Annie’s feet.

  “So, what’s the plan?” she asked. “Where are we going first?”

  “To the place where Paige and Kyrie found their dresses,” Jenna replied. “I love both their gowns, so I’m hoping they’ll come through for me, too.”

  “If there’s nothing there, we have a couple of other options. But I think we’ll find something perfect for you guys pretty easily,” Kyrie added. “And let me say, Jenna, it was very considerate of you to get engaged before we already had attendant dresses picked out.”

  “Yep, I totally made Cole propose just so I could get married along with my sisters. You know me too well.”

  “This really is kind of wild,” Annie said. “I mean, I’ve heard of double weddings, but a triple? This has to be kind of newsworthy.”

  “Seriously,” Bree said. “When have you ever been to a wedding where the brides outnumber the attendants?”

  “Well, you won’t really be outnumbered,” said Jenna. “We decided to enhance the bridal party a bit. You and Annie are still the maids of honor, but then each bride will add one bridesmaid.”

  “That way the guys can have more flexibility, too,” added Kyrie. “We don’t want three grooms to have to share two best men.”

  “Good point.” Bree sipped her coffee and sighed. Perfect. “I’m glad I’m not in a relationship right now. Things would get too complicated if I decided to jump the broom between now and October.”

  “Oh God.” Annie shuddered. “Can you imagine if all four of you were getting married at once? All of you in your white dresses and lace, and me putting on a brave face while I did the walk of single shame ahead of you all. I would feel like I was stuck in a bad romantic comedy. ‘Last Bridesmaid Standing.’” She heaved a dramatic sigh then straightene
d up. “Of course, maybe I could get Ryan Gosling to star opposite me in the movie adaptation. That would make it all worthwhile.”

  “Jeez, Annie. Drama queen much?” asked Kyrie.

  “With you guys as my sisters, did I have any choice?”

  More laughter erupted through the car. Times like these, Bree almost wished they didn’t have to stop driving but could just keep cruising, straight roads, sunshine, and laughter all round. There was nothing in the world that could take the place of road trips with her sisters.

  “What are Mom and Margie up to today?” she asked Annie, who, as the only one still living at home, had become the source of information for all things maternal.

  “Margie’s at the shop. Mom . . . I don’t know. She’s not working, and when I asked her last night, she didn’t really say.”

  “Do you think she changed her mind about coming along today but didn’t want to say anything?” Jenna asked. “She’s seemed kind of quiet lately.”

  “For the last few weeks, come to think of it.” Bree frowned. “It’s been so busy, with Christmas and New Year’s and starting . . .” She almost mentioned the task force. But that would lead to questions from her sisters about Spence, and she wasn’t ready to discuss that topic with them. Not yet. Mostly because she didn’t want to distract them from the topic of their mother, of course.

  And maybe, a little bit, because she still felt kind of uncertain about how things had ended after her apology.

  “Getting back to regular life,” she finished. “But you know, she hasn’t been herself lately.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Jenna.