by Julia Kent
He’ll wake her up if I don’t get him out of here.
I’m in the hall in seconds. Zeke’s inspecting me like I’m a medieval bride and he’s looking at the wedding-night sheets for proof of sex.
“Nice tent. I take it you struck out.”
I suggest he have sex with himself while I get my socks and shoes on.
“I don’t have to, mate. I can always find a filly happy to ride me.”
“You’re comparing yourself to a horse?”
“I’m hung like one.” He shrugs and laughs. “You look like shit. You get any sleep?”
“Some. Not much,” I admit, as he takes me down the stairs and out a door to a trail that runs just above the beach.
“Your bedhead could win awards. You spent all night in bed with a woman and didn’t sleep or get laid?”
“You planning to flap your lips or run?” I challenge as I stretch.
“Seems like the only lips in your life that are flapping are mine.”
And with that, I sprint, because it’s either start running or start punching.
Chapter 10
CARRIE
When I wake up, the room is quiet. The kind of quiet that lets you know you are completely alone. I squint at my phone and see it’s 8:15 in the morning.
Ryan’s gone.
Where is he? His side of the bed has been slept in, but I don’t remember him next to me. Last I recall, he was standing at the window, back turned, mind elsewhere as I undressed just a few feet away.
“He slept next to me all night and never even touched me,” I whisper slowly, trying to make sense of what’s happening.
And what’s happening is: nothing.
Of course. That’s the deal. It’s pretend. Right?
It’s hard to focus my eyes, but I type out a text: hey good morning all good?
Please let him appear with a life-support-size coffee. Please. I close my eyes and visualize him standing by the bed in sweaty running clothes, holding out a giant steaming cup and smiling down at me. Like at O, only better.
Nothing happens. I visualize harder.
Still nothing.
Jamey used to bring me coffee in bed in the morning. I would smell it before I even opened my eyes. You know those articles that always come up online? “Ten Ways to Know Your Partner Truly Loves You”? I always read every single one, and we always got a perfect score.
He brings you coffee in bed? Check (although I was in bed and he wasn’t)
He always kisses you goodnight? Check (although it was just a kiss)
He gives you affectionate little touches? Check (although only in public)
Perfect score, 10 = Total Denial. Congratulations.
Next time I fall in love, if there is a next time, I am going to be completely aware of what’s going on, right from the start. I swear I will never be fooled again. I will learn from experience. I will know the real thing when I see it, when I feel it.
What I feel right now, though, is a desperate need for caffeine. I pull on jeans and a t-shirt, and hang up my nightgown. Before I shut the closet door, I run my hand down the rose-colored silk, loving the sensual liquid softness. Ryan’s definitely a better roommate than Angela would have been. I have almost the entire closet to myself, except his suit, a jacket, and two dress shirts. And I have the whole bathroom counter, other than his shaving kit. Jamey always took up more than half the closet real estate, but the bathroom wasn’t so bad.
“Of course,” I mutter to myself, “that’s because we used the same skincare and hair products.”
I step into the lobby and follow the delicious smell of dark roast (undertones of cinnamon and sugar) around the corner. It looks like a new coffee bar is going in. There’s quite a long line of sleepy-looking people. Some are chatting, but most are staring silently down at their phones.
Carpenters are hanging shelves and signs behind the counter, and the baristas are dodging around ladders. A pretty woman with long, shiny brown hair is working calmly but quickly, grinding beans and steaming milk, not a movement wasted. She has a surprisingly good manicure for someone in food service. Her partner, who is taking customer orders, is a tall, handsome man in a very tight t-shirt that reveals muscles he did not acquire by filling cardboard containers and making change.
About a dozen people ahead of me in line, I spot a familiar and elegant head.
“Chloe?” She looks up and smiles when she recognizes me, then motions me to join her.
“Hey, good morning! I was just checking in with Jemma. She and Henry are taking care of Holly this weekend so Nick and I could come to the wedding. It feels so strange not to know what she’s doing.”
“What is all this?” I wave at the crowd and the construction chaos.
“Grind It Fresh! is opening in all the Anterdec properties. Looks like our lucky weekend.”
“Pretty sure this is not my lucky weekend, but I’m happy about the coffee.” I watch the counter to see how quickly the line is moving.
“What’s going on? Aren’t you here with Ryan? Where is he?”
I should not tell the truth here. This is not part of the approved script, but it’s so hard to pretend every minute, and Chloe is always so comforting to talk to. She looks perfect on the surface, but she’s very real underneath.
“No idea,” I confess. “He was gone when I woke up this morning.”
“Hm. He probably went for a run. Did you check to see if his running shoes were gone?”
“Oh no, I wouldn’t look in his bag!” I am horrified at the idea.
“Really? I’m in Nick’s bag all the time. Just last night my feet were cold, and I needed to borrow a pair of his socks. I’ll bet he never goes in mine, though.” She chuckles. “He wouldn’t know if he’d find a garter belt or a binky.”
“I don’t think Ryan and I know each other well enough for that,” I say doubtfully.
Just then a camera crew from the local TV station starts setting up directly in front of the coffee bar, forcing the line to snake around the equipment. The reporter touches up her makeup as if fifty strangers weren’t watching her. Lacking a hurricane, a beached whale, or the filming of a Casey Affleck movie, this coffee shop opening is breaking news. Chloe and I shuffle forward as we talk.
“How long have you been together now?” she asks. Normal question, right?
“Um… well…” I stutter, “we’ve been together since…”
Chloe looks at me oddly, and I almost crumble. I almost say: I don’t know! I mean, we’re not together! I mean, we’re here together, but we’re just friends! But nobody is supposed to know that, it’s a total secret! Because, you know, Jamey dumped me and he’s here with his boyfriend!
Instead, I feel a touch on my arm and turn. The TV reporter is standing next to me with her microphone angled toward my mouth. I see the camera just behind her.
“Tell us what brings you here to Chatham Beach Inn,” she says in a professionally pleasant media voice. “Is it the new Grind It Fresh! bar?”
I look at her, and I look at the camera, and dear God, did I just almost tell the entire world that I’m a complete loser?
I open my mouth but not a word comes out.
Then there’s an arm around my shoulders and Ryan is leaning forward to the microphone. He is shirtless, covered in a fine layer of sweat that darkens all the hair across his chest and torso. The same t-shirt he wore to bed last night is around his shoulders, soaked through.
His happy trail thickens and the hair seems to curl in formation, as if Ryan has some kind of general in charge of his army of sexy hair. His eight pack goes up, out, and in as his chest expands, his smile so broad and happy it’s infectious.
Every woman nearby grins at him. I haven’t seen this many teeth since a design conference I attended two years ago was in the same hotel as the Miss Teen Alabama pageant.
“My girlfriend and I are in town for the wedding of our good friends,” he says in his deep warm voice as he plants a hot kiss on my cheek. The c
ombination of his sheer athleticism and the affectionate gesture makes heat pool between my legs, my throat closing, my own abs contracting with pure, unadulterated desire. Corded muscle in the form of his arm crosses my ribcage and waist as he pulls me in. The scent of hard exertion, sand, salt and sheer animal magnetism makes me want to lick his shoulder.
Oh, God, Carrie! I scream in my head. Do not lick him! Not on camera!
A small crowd has formed around us. Instinct makes me put my arm around his waist, too, finding slick, marble-like muscle. I accidentally brush against his ass.
It is hot, tight, and some part of my mind just melts as I turn into a throbbing hormone. A 5’9” live-streaming podcast of want.
He’s wearing lightweight soccer shorts, and when I look down, I see the inside of his thigh. Short socks and running shoes complete the look. As I look up, I realize every other woman is checking him out, too.
Of course they are.
I tighten my hold on him and stand on tiptoes. He plants a light kiss on my cheek, then turns to the camera and says, “But finding a Grind It Fresh! right here is a fantastic surprise. We’ll probably come back to the Inn again just knowing we can have our favorite coffee. Home away from home.”
He flashes a blindingly handsome smile, gives my shoulders a squeeze, and then kisses me on the lips, all in full view of the camera.
News Woman visibly melts a bit.
“I think I need to change my panties,” some anonymous woman in the crowd whispers.
“I think I need to change my husband,” says another.
Titters fill the air, but they’re like static, a kind of white noise machine that I vaguely sense as Ryan’s hot, sweaty skin connects with as much of my body as he possibly can touch, his one hand at my neck, the other on my ass.
On camera.
He’s smiling as he kisses me, my tongue engaged in a light-hearted battle with his, the messy, primal maleness of his body after a long run making me turn into one big wordless, boneless woman who can only make little moans in the back of her throat. On live television.
With a stage presence that is so persuasive I almost think he really is attracted to me, he ends the kiss and gives me a convincing grope, making my hips shiver, abs tightening.
“And we here on the Cape certainly hope you do,” the reporter says a little too warmly, ignoring me now, focused entirely on Ryan, who has me in a lover’s hold. “Please come back very soon.” She moves off, but Ryan’s arm stays firmly around me.
All the O guys have incredible bodies. I’ve spent years in the enviable position of being able to look all I want, all day long. It’s part of their job, and I admire them from a distance every day. But now my arm is pressed tightly against his abs, and I’m starting to sweat, too.
Look? Sure.
Touch? Never.
But never say never now...
“Well, hi, Ryan,” Chloe says in an amused voice. “Excellent timing.”
“What can we get you?” the barista asks. We have finally arrived at the head of the line. Not that I noticed. All I can see is Ryan’s chest, going up and down like a hot pec buffet of rollercoaster.
I know that makes no sense, but I can’t put two words together right now. Ryan’s arm is still around me. He can stop now. The cameras aren’t rolling.
“Declan?” Chloe’s voice rises with incredulity, staring at the tight-shirted barista with her jaw open. Dark, wavy hair. Thick eyebrows with green eyes the color of emeralds in a cup of tea. A square jaw and a serious look that makes you stop breathing. Declan McCormick is famous in Boston for being a hot billionaire, but in the flesh, he’s even more breathtaking than I’d ever imagined.
Now I understand the local news camera crew.
“Chloe!” he says with a dazzling smile, wiping his hands on a towel and reaching for her hand. “I’d kiss you, too, but the counter’s too wide.”
“I didn’t recognize you without a jacket and tie,” Chloe marvels. “I assumed you were born wearing a suit.” She regains her composure and gives him the kind of smooth smile I can only deliver after three drinks.
“Apparently you don’t take sculpting classes at the Westside Center for the Arts,” the other barista says drily.
“Shannon!”
Things are moving a little too fast for me here. Shannon and Declan McCormick? The former vice president of Anterdec and his wife? The new owners of Grind It Fresh! are here?
“What are you doing making coffee?” Chloe asks. “You own the chain.”
“Shannon’s years working as a mystery shopper taught her that there’s nothing like first-hand experience when it comes to customer satisfaction,” Declan says with a rueful smile. “So here we are at 8:45 on a beautiful Saturday morning, grinding it fresh first-hand.”
He holds up his right hand for emphasis, then places it squarely on Shannon’s ass. She swats it away, but their eyes meet for a hot second.
Jealousy blinds me. I blame it on caffeine deprivation. I wish someone would grab me like that.
Wait a minute. Ryan just did grab me like that.
But I want the real thing.
“You’d be working anyway,” Shannon chides him. “Might as well be here on the Cape as at home.”
“Well, since I’m supposed to be working, what would you like, Chloe?” Declan asks.
“A medium latte for me, a macchiato for Nick, a life-support latte for Carrie, and Ryan...?”
“Large black coffee, please.” He puts down his Grind It Fresh! card. “My treat, though.”
We move along to the pick-up counter to wait. “Thanks for coming, you guys,” Shannon says as she delivers four steaming cups. “Call me, Chloe!” She waves and turns to the next order.
“What are you two planning till the wedding?” Chloe inquires. Ryan sips his coffee and uses his t-shirt to wipe sweat off his abs.
“Wedding?” I gasp. “We’re not really thinking in those terms — we’re just dating!”
They both look at me, nonplussed.
“I think she means Jenny’s wedding. You know, tomorrow at four?” Ryan offers, mouth doing that sexy lip-biting thing where he’s trying not to laugh.
I can feel my face turn scarlet. Red is an actual facial expression for me.
“Right, of course! Ha ha. Of course. Well, I have some time till I have to show up for the rehearsal and the bachelorette party. And then there’s hair and makeup tomorrow after brunch.” The wedding is at 4 p.m., so plenty of time for Jenny and her mother to have their hair catch fire over and over — metaphorically, of course.
“It’s a great morning — want to take this coffee down to the beach?” Ryan asks.
“You two go ahead,” Chloe says, adding milk to one of her cups. “I’m going to take this up to Nick. I’ll bet he’s still asleep.”
Ryan and I head for the main door and the path to the ocean. No one’s on the beach yet. It really is a beautiful morning, warm and bright, and without the humidity of summer the air is crisp. There’s a gentle breeze. We settle on the sand, facing the ocean. It’s a moment of peace before the craziness of the wedding formalities kicks in.
Just sitting together in the sun feels so comfortable. Jamey would have searched for twenty minutes for the exact perfect spot, dug a hole for his Provençal umbrella, set up the wood and canvas sling chairs, poured mimosas (with mint leaves and orange slices) in plastic champagne flutes, and started work on the sandcastle. A replica of Neuschwanstein. With turrets.
Ryan is so… low maintenance.
“How do you think it’s going so far?” he asks. “Are your friends buying our act?”
“I think so. Angela and Diane were certainly convinced last night. That uh, show you put on for the news woman will certainly cement it.” My eyes drift to his bare belly. I lick my lips. “Thank you again, Ryan. I know this is a lot to ask of anyone, maybe too much.”
He’s quiet for a minute, squinting out at the waves. A few people are starting to appear on the dunes, unfolding cha
irs or spreading towels. Some are walking along the edge of the surf, shorebirds scattering ahead of them.
“It’s not too much,” he says finally. “It’s easy. I could do this every day.” He touches the back of my hand lightly, tentatively, with one fingertip, and I shiver in spite of the warmth. “It’s the opposite of too much. It’s not enough. I was thinking about this all night…”
A seagull dive-bombs a group behind us, the sudden flurry of activity making us both turn and look. And then —
“Carrie! Is that you?” Someone in a floppy white hat and big sunglasses is calling and waving. I look up from Ryan’s intent face and there’s Jess, Jenny and Jamey’s college-age little sister, barreling toward us. Yes, their parents did the cute same-initial thing. Their family dog? Junebug. You should have seen their Christmas cards.
“Hi, Jess,” I say faintly.
Go away, Jess.
There is really not one thing she could say that I would be interested in hearing at this moment.
Is that rude of me? Because I don’t know where Ryan was going with what he was saying, but something in me wants to find out.
Nope. Jess is on a mission.
“Carrie, come on, we’re supposed to all have brunch together!” Jess reaches down and picks up my empty coffee container. “We barely have time to get dressed!”
She appears to notice Ryan for the first time. “Oh, hi, I’m Jessica, I’m Jenny’s sister, nice to meet you!” She holds out a sandy hand.
Ryan shakes his head once and stands up.
“Jessie, this is Ryan Donovan, my… “
“I’m Carrie’s date. Her boyfriend, actually.”
“Really?” Jess looks from Ryan to me and back again, obviously astonished. “Wow.”
It’s unclear whether this means “wow, that was fast” or “wow, he is so out of your league.”
I sigh. “Let’s go to the brunch, then.”
“I think I’ll hang here for a while,” Ryan says. “I’ll see you back at the room later.”
In perfect boyfriend mode, he puts one hand on the back of my neck and pulls me in for a kiss. As I balance myself, one of my hands lands on his hipbone, the other on his abs. I’m getting used to the taste of his mouth, the male scent of his skin. New but somehow familiar. I lean into it a little bit, breathe him in.