by Mae, Cassie
“Good.”
“I’m heading out. See you later tonight.”
“Yup. And remember what I said. Don’t spend six hours shopping.”
“Yeah, yeah. Later.”
Reagan is the hardest person in the world to shop for. Because she’s either going to love, love, love what you get her or hate it so much she’ll wonder if you even know anything about her.
This coming from the girl who bought me G-strings last year. She’s a walking contradiction, but I think that’s part of the reason guys are so attracted to her. Standing next to Reagan, I may as well apply for a substitute for white paint, I’m that thrilling.
Hmm … maybe that’s how I get Talon to notice me. Be super outgoing.
“Maybe I’ll buy her those hooker boots. But I doubt even those would embarrass her.”
Talon laughs, cringing a little at the bright red thigh-high boots with stiletto heels. “She’ll probably strap them on and go to the nearest corner, just to embarrass me.”
“No boots, then.” I set the streetwalker boot down and sigh. “I wish gift cards or cash was acceptable as a best-friend present.”
“Ditto on that one.” He pokes at a strappy wedge with a few spikes on it, shaking his head. “Tell you what. You can get me cash or a gift card, and I’ll think you actually care more about me.”
“Seriously?”
“Hell, yeah. Cash is way better than something I may never use again.”
“Agreed.”
“So, settled? You don’t go out of your way for me, okay?”
Isn’t he the best dream guy ever? No worrying over whether my gift says too much or not enough or whatever. That makes one present finished, and we’ve been here for an hour already. We step out of the shoe store and stand with our arms over the balcony edge. One look at all the stores below and I say, “Settled.”
Except now I’m wondering how much to put on that gift card, and where to get it from.
The question must be painted all over my face because Talon gives me his heartwarming smile and says, “Twenty bucks tops. Go to Sports Authority or something.” He tugs on his worn Redskins sports shirt. “I could use another jersey.”
A whoosh of air goes out my lips, exaggerating my relief in my oh-so-fabulous attempt at being funny. “Thank you. Easiest present ever.”
“Now back to Reagan and Wesley.” He glances around the mall, a small look of terror in his eyes. “If we can get through this crowd before Christmas.”
I motion to the jewelry store across the balcony, on the top floor of the mall. “Feel like getting your girl some diamonds?”
He chuckles. “Not diamonds, but yeah. I better look in there for something. One-year anniversary and Christmas all in one gift. I won’t have to buy two presents, but the one I do get better be big.”
“And you’re lucky. Jewelry is my area of expertise.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve been watching Reagan get stuff like that for years. Come on.” I reach for his hand but stop in midair. It shouldn’t be such a big deal to touch him. It’s seriously an innocent tug I was going for, but it still feels weird. And wrong.
So I go for a lame wave instead.
And as much as I just freaked out about touching someone I know, it’s sort of funny that I touch about a hundred strangers on our way to the store. During Christmas, you knock into so many people the apologies kind of get lost, so I stop saying sorry by the time we’re halfway there.
“Next time let’s do all our shopping online,” Talon says, slamming into my back when we finally reach the necklace display case. I think I mutter something to agree with him, but my mind is going, Oh my gosh! Talon says there will be a next time. And his hard chest is touching me.
He slides to my side so he can eye the jewelry while I shake off the semi-orgasms I just had. And the following guilt for having them.
“Okay, expert. What does she want that doesn’t cost a million dollars?”
“Hmm …” I tap the glass with my nail and get a stop-that look from the guy behind the counter. “She won’t want a necklace. She doesn’t wear those often, and she’ll probably want to wear whatever you give her all the time.” Well, I would if Talon gave me jewelry.
“I’m not doing a ring. She’ll get the wrong idea.”
That makes me sad and happy all at once. I think the mix of emotions equals guilt. I can’t seem to get rid of that.
“Bracelet it is!” I throw my hand in the air like we’re on some sort of quest. I feel like an idiot for two seconds until he laughs, and then I feel like a comedian.
The guy points us in the right direction. This display case isn’t as big, but it’s got a nice selection.
“Uh, what about that one?” Talon asks, pointing at a sapphire-covered bangle. It’s gorgeous, and so my style, but not Reagan’s.
I wrinkle my nose and shake my head, twirling my tongue in between my teeth. “Think more elaborate than that.”
“What? That one is fancy.”
“Yes, to us normal girls. But Reagan fancy is much different.”
“Point taken.”
He runs his sexy hand over the glass, leaning toward it with the most adorable thinking face I’ve ever seen. Do all guys look like this when they shop for jewelry? One quick glance around the packed room says yes. Fidgety guys, and guys who are pasty white as the salespeople pull out different selections—it’s so cute I have to bite back my smile. Talon is definitely the best-looking one.
“Okay, this one?” he asks, pointing to a triple-banded, heart-shaped ruby bracelet with a hopeful look on his face. It’s totally Reagan.
“Fast learner.” I smile and start to wave a salesperson over. “She’ll love it.”
“Wait.” He grabs my hand and pulls it down before I get anybody’s attention. “I’m not sure … I don’t know if I want to get her something like that.”
“Why not?”
He shrugs. “Just doesn’t feel right. Too impersonal.”
Sweet. He’s wrong. But it’s sweet. “Okay. What about earrings?”
He does his shrug thing again.
“We should at least look.”
He nods and starts to weave his way to the other side of the room. I’m about to follow, but one of the bracelets makes me do a double take. It’s simple, a single band with pink sapphires and diamonds. There’s one charm that dangles off, in the shape of a starburst. I’ve seen this bracelet before. Many times, actually.
Dad had me pick it up for her after the engraving was done. I can’t remember what it said exactly. Something about him always being with her, even if she’s in the stars. It was the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen, and one of those times I look at my parents and hope with all my heart I find something like that. She said she’d give it to me when she flew to the stars, but luckily for all of us, the treatments worked, and the bracelet has been dangling from her wrist every day since Dad put it on.
“Did I lose ya?” Talon asks by my ear.
I shake my head. “Sorry. Got distracted.”
Instead of leading me to the earrings like I expect him to, he leans over me and looks down at the counter, eyes skimming over all the bracelets again. “What are you looking at?”
I point to the pink starburst. “Looks like my mom’s cancer bracelet.” Whoops. Popped that out there again. I refuse to let him get uncomfortable on this shopping spree, so I try to wiggle away, but he puts his other arm against the counter, trapping me between it and him.
“I like it.”
My teeth dig into my bottom lip to stop a wide grin from spreading. “Me too.”
We sit for a minute and stare, until someone shuffles us aside since we’re not exactly buying anything at the moment. Talon grabs my hand and leads me to the earrings, his eyes pleading for help. I keep my hand in his, despite the blaring warnings: Kayla, this is your best friend’s boyfriend! But with all the tingles shooting through my arms and legs, I’m claiming that this shopping day isn’t a t
otal bust, like Wesley thought it would be.
Step 12:
Keep Your Accomplice Focused
(And refuse to take only one-word answers!)
Wesley pulls up in his van and does the same exact thing I did when I first got here.
“Snow! Oh, how I’ve missed you!”
I laugh as he flops in the pile that used to be Mr. Drippy. He dropped Reagan off at Talon’s, and instead of unpacking at his house, he called and asked if he could hang out with me and my fam. I guess he saw boyfriend number twentysomething’s car parked out front, and he didn’t want his reunion with his mom to be all tense and stuff. I offered to go with him, but he joked it off and headed here. I would’ve pushed it if I thought it was best for him, but I get it. Sometimes you just need someplace to go till you’re ready to deal.
Scooping up a handful, I pound the snow into a ball and stand over his head so I’m sure not to miss.
“Any last words?”
He cocks his head to the side and points a finger at me. “You’re going to regret that.”
I doubt it. I peg the snowball on his forehead and take off, laughing like they do in those evil-genius movies. We probably wouldn’t be acting like ten-year-olds if this hadn’t been the first snow we’d seen all winter. But hey, it’s fun and I just got back from an epic day with Talon. I’m so jacked up on endorphins I have no idea how to release all my energy except to pick on Wesley.
I duck behind the garbage cans, thanking the heavens for once in my life that I have a petite body.
“Kaaaaylaaa,” Wesley sings across the yard. I bite down on my fist so I don’t let my laughter loose. “Don’t make me call you by your nickname.” He’s still singing, and I’m getting my butt soaked in the snow. I really don’t want him uttering my nickname anywhere, let alone belting it out in an opera-worthy voice. I grab another handful of snow and wait till I see his shoes.
“Ahh!” I scream, leaping from my spot and shoving the snow down the back of his shirt while he shoves snow down mine. He’s stronger than me, so my pathetic attempt is overtaken by the blizzard happening under my clothes.
“Beg for mercy!” he yells as he wiggles around to get the snow out of his shirt, still keeping his hand down the back of mine, pressing the ice-cold handful he’s got into my spine.
“Mercy! Mercy!” I laugh, and he takes his hand from my shirt. We shake ourselves free of whatever snow is left in our clothes, doing this synchronized snow dance.
I wipe my gloves off on my pants, smiling this big-ass grin I haven’t been able to erase since the jewelry store. “I take it your day was as good as mine?” I ask.
“ ’Twas fabuloso,” he says, waving his hand like he’s just finished the performance of his life. I laugh and shove him for being such a dork. He relaxes, setting his smile on me and making that dimple pop on his chin. “It feels good to be home.”
“But you aren’t home.” I wink.
“You know what I mean.”
I do. Because I felt like I was home the second we passed the Welcome to Spokane sign. I hip-bump him and walk up my porch, Wesley following close behind. He takes a loud whiff when I open the door.
“Mmm … yeah.”
“What’s that about?”
His dimple gets a little deeper as he smiles. “I’ve missed the smell of your house.”
I roll my eyes and laugh, tugging him straight toward the kitchen—the source of the delicious scent.
“Hey, Dad. One more for dinner okay?”
My father, who is about a foot shorter than Wesley and maybe two or three inches taller than me, turns with the spatula in his hand, a shiny gleam on his bald head, and gives us both a smile. He has this sort of mob boss attitude when it comes to three things: food, family, and football.
Right now he’s nodding in approval at Wesley, who has been a fan of his cooking ever since tasting his nacho dip last Christmas.
“Set another plate. Or two … since it’s Wes joining us.” He winks and goes back to the stove.
I honestly consider putting two plates down for him, but Wesley bats my hand away when I reach for the second dish. “Better stick to one,” he semi-whispers (I don’t think he’s capable of full-on whispering because his voice is so loud). “If I’m going to be here through Christmas, I’m going to have to watch it or the gym’ll kick my ass when I get back.”
“Wimp,” I challenge.
“You want me to lose this amazing stomach?” He smacks his abs and does a caveman grunt. I elbow him right in that “amazing” stomach.
“Not a big loss in my opinion.”
“Kayla, when are you going to start being nice to me?”
“When you start deserving it.”
“Damn.” He snaps his fingers and straightens his stance. Whoa, I didn’t even notice how close his face was. “It’s a good thing I kind of like it when you’re mean.”
“Oh great. Now I can’t be mean without you liking it. How will you ever know how much you annoy me?”
He pretends to pull his heart out, and I do it with him, just to make fun. He laughs and I laugh, then we laugh harder because we’re laughing at something so stupid.
“Are you ever going to get Wes’s plate to the table? Because dinner’s ready.” Dad looks at us like he caught us having sex. Wesley’s ears get a little pink as Dad glares him down, all mob boss style. Weird. Usually I’m the embarrassed one around here.
“I knew I recognized that voice.” Mom scoots around the corner, and Wesley wraps her up in a hug. My heart kind of dances against my rib cage as I watch him be so delicate with her. It’s been two years since she finished her treatments, and though her hair took a while to grow back, it’s right above her ears now. She looks so good, with all the color in her cheeks and the laugh lines in the corners of her eyes. Every time I see her it puts a smile on my face.
Wesley lets her go, and she walks straight to Dad and squeezes his middle, resting her chin on his back. “You’re not giving him a hard time, are you? Wes is my favorite of Kayla’s friends.” She winks at us, and Dad’s mob boss attitude totally melts as he turns around to kiss her. I suppose the normal kid reaction to seeing parents kissing is “ew, gross,” but not for me. Their relationship is totally something I want someday.
Wesley also seems to think it’s just as adorable, not even getting all squeamish around my totally-in-love-and-not-afraid-to-show-it parents. I grab his plate, nudging him out of the way. Just for fun, I set it next to Dad’s at the table. Then stifle that evil-genius laughter.
“Ugh,” Wesley moans as he falls onto my bed. His fingers go to his belt and he tugs it open, like it’s preventing that flat-ass stomach from breathing. And okay, he does have abs. I catch that much when his shirt slides up. Even though they aren’t as chiseled as Talon’s, Reagan will be a lucky girl.
No way am I mentioning that to her, though. Not after the whole jacket thing.
“What’re you staring at, Mickey?” He pushes himself up on his elbows, the metal on his belt buckle making this clinking sound that sort of causes the hairs on the back of my neck to prickle. And not in a bad way, either. My hormones must be in max-out mode if Wesley is making them act up.
“Shouldn’t have filled your one plate up twice,” I say, motioning to his open belt. Why is that driving me crazy? He should do it up pronto. “Are you in any condition to do this?”
He nods and waves his hand, flopping back onto the mattress. “Plot away. I’m listening.”
I sit at my desk and pull out my progress reports. Tapping my pen on the journal, I say, “Oh, and Wesley … call me Mickey again and you’ll be whipped with that belt.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
“Ass.”
“Is that where you’ll start?”
“I hate you.”
He goes for that pretend-ripping-out-his-heart bit, and I toss a crumpled piece of paper at him before he does.
“Okay,” I say, getting down to business. No more screwin
g around. Time to be organized and efficient. I open my journal to the last progress report. “So, we have three days before Reagan’s big Christmas-slash-anniversary present. And right now I think we’re sitting in a good spot. We need to kick it up a notch.”
I’m so focused on my report, I don’t even notice Wesley’s off the bed and peering over my shoulder till he says with an amused grin, “What the hell is this?”
I hold the notebook to my chest so that he doesn’t read any more than he already peeked at. “My journal. So …” I wave my hand at him to go back to his spot on the bed.
“Are you keeping a report of how this is going?” He cocks an eyebrow, and the side of his mouth goes up too. “Isn’t that risky with the roommate you have?”
“Extremely. But I have to write it down to get it out or I’ll go nuts. Just my thing. Don’t judge.”
“I’m not. I write stuff down too. But I keep it locked up tight.”
“You live alone. Why would you have to worry about anyone seeing it?”
“Because you guys are at my place more than your own.”
Yeah. I’ll give him that one. “Okay, then, you know all about the privacy of journals. No over-the-shoulder reading.”
He puts his hands up and takes three steps back to the bed, then flops down again. “All right, Nancy Drew, tell me what we’ve got.”
“Well, so far we’ve had a lot of time alone with each of them. I can only speak about my side of things, but Talon has really loosened up around me.”
“That’s good. Have you?”
“Huh?”
“Have you loosened up around him?”
I let out a puff of sarcastic laughter. “Yeah. Right. When have I ever been anything but a sighing idiot who’s all tense and jumpy?”
“I don’t see you that way.”
“I mean around him.”
He sits up and cracks his neck. “Well, it’s good he’s more comfortable around you. Means he’s being himself.”
Yay! That’s what I thought too. I bite down on my tongue to keep from squealing. My eyes rake over the paragraphs where I talk about the phone conversation I had with Reagan and how it backfired. “What about you? How was being alone with Reagan?”