by Kendall Ryan
Smith inhaled through his nostrils, his posture tensing. “Fine. My place, tonight. We’ll have dinner and figure out where to go from here.”
“I’m busy tonight,” I lied.
“Tomorrow then.”
I shook my head. “I’m busy all week.”
I wasn’t, but I would find something to do. Between Maggie and the gym, I’d invent reasons to stay far, far away from Smith’s apartment.
“Perfect. Friday night, then.”
I rolled my eyes. “Why are you doing this? You want to be my white knight, rescue me from the memory of that horrible night?”
“I never said it was horrible.”
Hope bloomed in my chest, but before I could respond, the server delivered a platter with rolls of spicy tuna, eel, and cucumber rolls.
“We’ll figure everything out this Friday,” Smith added. “Now, dig in. I know how crabby you get when you’re hungry.”
He shot me a smile, and for the first time since all this started, I felt at ease.
• • •
“Tell me this is a terrible idea,” I begged Maggie before taking a sip of chardonnay.
I’d weighed the pros and cons all week, and now it was Thursday night, meaning that I was out of time. Tomorrow I’d be expected to spend the evening with Smith. Unless my best friend could help me figure a way out of this.
“Meh.” She lifted one shoulder, munching on a pretzel as we sat at the breakfast bar at my apartment.
While it was true I’d wanted to be intimate with Smith for my real first time, now I wasn’t so sure.
“What exactly did he say again?” Maggie asked.
I waved a hand at her. “Let’s talk about something else. Literally anything else,” I begged.
“Fine.” She grabbed another handful of pretzels, picking the chunks of crystallized salt off each one with her fingernail. “Sam and I are going to try that new nightclub tomorrow. I might need to raid your closet later.”
I had to share Maggie with Sam, the male counterpart to me. He and I often joked that we had joint custody of her. They’d grown up as best friends, and despite him having a penis, they’d never drifted apart or let things get awkward between them, even when they both started dating other people.
“You’re welcome to anything in my closet. You know that.” My clothes were tame compared to hers.
“The place is pretty risqué, so I was actually thinking maybe just a bustier and a miniskirt. Or would that be too skanky?”
I pursed my lips. I wouldn’t have the balls to pull it off, but hey, if Maggie was brave enough to venture out in little more than her underwear, more power to her.
“Actually, our new Lovely Lace collection has a really pretty bustier,” I said. “That might be perfect.”
I wasn’t brave enough to wear something like that, or maybe it was just that I didn’t have a man to wear it for. And the naive hope that Smith would be the man to change all that had all but died inside me.
Chapter Ten
Smith
Mirepoix.
I stared down at the cookbook with a scowl and reached for the laptop on the counter a few feet away. It only took a second to look up the term once I got the spelling right.
Carrots, celery, and onion.
Right.
This was exactly why I didn’t cook, aside from burgers and steaks on the grill most of the time. These chefs had to use fancy words for simple things, and I was pretty sure that was by design just to make guys like me feel stupid.
I’d made the mistake of asking my sister Pam what I could make for a woman I was having over for dinner.
“Well, that depends,” Pam had said. “Do you want to impress her?”
I’d stupidly answered yes. Then I did some backpedaling, framing all of this in a hypothetical fashion, since there was no way in fuck I was going to admit to my sister that I was courting Evie fucking Reed.
Pam had laughed and said, “Well, hypothetically speaking, I would make this,” and then she shoved the French cookbook at me, the page for the recipe dog-eared.
I made my way over to the fridge and pulled out the ingredients for my mirepoix and brought it back to the cutting board. All the while, a voice in my head kept telling me I was being a chump for feeling like a teenager getting ready for the freaking prom.
This wasn’t even a date. Not really, anyway. This was me trying to be an adult about the searing-hot attraction between Evie and me. And so, yeah, we were going to stuff some food into our faces while we talked about it.
Not even a date.
But you did buy that bottle of wine. And you did vacuum the living room for the first time in like five months.
“Ah, shut up,” I muttered to the voice inside my head.
It wasn’t a date, and that was that. And under no circumstances was this night going to end with any part of me inside any part of Evie. That much I’d vowed to myself already. She and Cullen were super close. Cullen and I were almost as close as that. No way in hell was I going to become the wedge that tore us all apart. The Reed family business would suffer, and we’d all wind up losing something way more valuable than just sex . . .
No matter how hot it was.
My cock swelled at the thought and I ruthlessly shut it down, calling up an image of my ninth-grade gym teacher, Mr. Tubolowski. I’d walked in on him once when he was changing and had caught him buck naked. He was hung like a Clydesdale, his balls nearly scraping the floor, and perpetually smelled of gym shoes and hot garbage. If that mental image didn’t kill this boner, nothing would.
“Mirepoix,” I muttered under my breath, chopping carrots and trying to avoid my fingers. Apparently, they looked just like carrots, because I wound up nicking one and slicing a flap of skin off another, and had to start all over again after disinfecting and taping up.
As I finished up the slicing, dicing, and dismemberment portion of my show, I realized with a start that it had been years since I’d cooked for a woman. Sure, I’d bring along some sour cream dip or hot wings to a Sunday football viewing, but mostly, I was the guy who came in with a bucket of something fried.
In fact, I was pretty sure I hadn’t done it since Karen and I had split over four years ago. I used to cook Sunday morning breakfast for the two of us, but when things went south, that had stopped, right along with just about anything else fun. Once she realized I wasn’t going to marry her, she’d shut down completely.
Who could blame her, though? She’d put in two years of her life, and no matter how much my mind tried to convince me that it all made sense on paper, my heart wouldn’t listen. I just couldn’t bring myself to pull the trigger.
Now, looking back as I anticipated this evening with Evie, I realized it had never felt . . . easy enough with Karen. I cared for her deeply and she was a good person, and the sex was frequent and solid. It was just that I never felt like I was truly myself around her.
Probably my own fault, but there it was.
I set the vegetables into a frying pan with some olive oil to sauté and then took out the roasting chicken, but my mind wasn’t on fowl. It was on Evie. Exactly where it had been since that night in Paris.
Tonight, we’d spend some time together. Simply because I wanted to, not just because I wanted to figure out what was happening between us. I was exactly where I wanted to be, doing exactly what I wanted to be doing right now.
Bandages, mirepoix, blue-ball misery, and all. I wouldn’t change a thing.
The realization gave me pause, but for once, I didn’t fight it. The Reed family had been one of the only real constants in my life. Yeah, my adoptive family was amazing. And my siblings, especially Pam and my brother Dave, had filled a huge hole created by being abandoned and in foster care.
But my siblings were sort of stuck with me. I wasn’t going anywhere. The Reeds, however, had chosen me.
Cullen had wanted to be my friend even when I was the new kid at school who had just appeared one day as part of the Hamilton clan
. Evie had accepted me just as quickly, treating me like an older brother through my teen years and into my early twenties.
Somewhere along the line, those feelings had clearly changed on her part. And now I realized they’d been changing on mine as well.
But at the core of it, as uncomfortable as the past couple of weeks had been, working with them day to day and spending time with Evie felt . . . right.
So, for the time being, I was going to roll with it. Not question my every move, not wonder how it could all crash and burn. I was going to enjoy Evie’s company, and take things from there.
And you’re sure we can’t fuck her? my cock asked with a wiggle behind my zipper.
“I’m sure,” I muttered under my breath.
• • •
An hour later, my house smelled like Emeril Lagasse had stopped by, and I was fucking stoked. The scent of roasting meat and caramelized onions and garlic filled the air, making my mouth water. I couldn’t wait for Evie to try it. Hell, I couldn’t wait for her to walk through the door, to see her face, to talk and laugh and drink with her. I didn’t realize how much I missed having someone else around this place until now.
With a jolt, I wondered if this weird feeling I’d been having might just be sheer loneliness. I’d settled into an easy, no-risk routine of sex for the sake of it, and some casual dates. All the while, I’d avoided addressing this vague sense of dissatisfaction that never really left. Whenever I saw a new movie trailer or had some great news about work, there was no one to tell. And damned if it hadn’t been weighing on me.
Until now. Because right now, I couldn’t wait to spend my evening talking to Evie about all those things.
I shot a quick glance at the clock and realized she’d be here soon. I was just about to start on the salad when my cell phone buzzed.
Cullen: Wanna go out for a couple beers?
I stared at the screen for a long moment, my gut tightening a little.
Shit, Cullen. He’d asked me before I left work what I was doing this weekend, and I’d already said I was keeping it low key. He’d been elbow deep in new ad concepts and told me he planned to stay until he was done, so it never occurred to me that he’d get in touch tonight to hang out.
I paused with my thumb hovering over the keys as I tried to craft a response. I didn’t want to lie. It was already giving me heartburn having to even lie by omission. Bullshitting him straight up would kill me.
I tapped out five different replies before I finally hit Send.
Smith: Can’t, man. Put together some last-minute dinner plans.
Vague. True. It checked all the boxes, and hopefully that would be the end of—
Cullen: Nice! Do I know her? And if not, will I get to meet her? Been a while since you brought a girl home.
Fuck.
A direct question. No . . . two direct questions, neither of which I could answer without dragging this on and on until I just told him the truth.
Not an option.
My mood soured instantly as all the anticipation I’d been feeling about seeing Evie cooled under the guilt of having to lie to my best friend and her brother.
Smith: She’s an old friend who recently reconnected. Beers, maybe Sunday?
I silenced my phone and tossed it on the kitchen table with a clatter, feeling as crummy as the gum stuck on the bottom of a shoe.
Some friend I was. One second, mentally waxing poetic about the bond Cullen and I had and how great of a guy he was, and the next, lying through my teeth about his sister.
I turned my attention back to the salad, but I couldn’t bring myself to care about it anymore. Before, I’d been so proud of the meal and psyched to share it with Evie. Now I had this black cloud hanging over my head, and no way to shake it. As rosy as I’d been painting this picture not five minutes before, the fact was, we were sneaking around. Being deceptive and shady, and all the things I despised in a person.
I snatched up my phone, ignoring the response from Cullen as I tapped out a message to Evie. No matter what I did at this point, I was going to feel like shit, and having Evie over would only be miserable for us both. Better to cancel this now before we went any further with things.
I held the phone in my hand, dread tightening my chest. When the screen lit up again, I read Evie’s reply and let out a groan.
Evie: Who cancels three minutes before a date? I’m literally outside your apartment building, asshole.
Who, indeed?
I stiffened my jaw and thumbed out a quick reply.
Smith: Sorry. Come on up.
So I’d fucked up. Again. I’d get through tonight with Evie, make some excuse about thinking I needed stitches from my mirepoix injuries, and she would be fine.
Then tomorrow, things needed to go back to normal with her, because betraying a friend wasn’t how I wanted to live my life.
But I couldn’t quiet that annoying little voice inside my head that whispered, Easier said than done.
Chapter Eleven
Evie
This was not a date.
I pulled a deep breath into my lungs, refusing to let my lower lip tremble like it wanted to. I shouldn’t be sad. I should be angry. And I was. But I was also confused. And hurt.
Smith was standing in the open doorway, a scowl painted on his features as he towered over me. His fingertips curled around the top of the doorframe above his head, and his T-shirt crept up an inch, flashing me a sliver of taut, muscled skin at his waistband.
“Hey,” he said on a heavy exhale after several moments of silence.
He hadn’t invited me in. Just stood there, watching me like he wasn’t sure what to do with me.
“If my being here is an issue, I have no problem turning my ass around and going home.” I had a pint of salted-caramel ice cream in my freezer, and the series I’d been bingeing on lately had just released a new season. “You asked me to come, remember?”
He dropped his hands to his sides, then shoved them into his pockets. “I don’t want you to leave. Sorry about my text.”
“What’s going on, Smith?”
“Come inside. I’ll explain.”
He stepped back from the doorway and headed inside, assuming I’d follow. And of course, I did.
I hadn’t been inside his apartment in a couple of years. The last time I’d been here had been when I was hanging out with my brother and we’d stopped by briefly. The place looked exactly as I remembered it—spacious for a Chicago apartment, neat and masculine. Buffed wood floors and dark wood furniture. Black-and-white photographs of his family and the city he loved hung on the walls.
Smith stopped in the dining room, placing his hands in his hair.
I should just leave now. Say fuck this and tell him to take his silent treatment and shove it up his ass. But I knew I wouldn’t do that.
I knew I’d said I just wanted to have one orgasm that wasn’t supplied by me, but that wasn’t exactly true. Because Smith had given me one. One amazing, earth-shattering, bed-clawing orgasm—with his mouth—and I still tingled at the memory, but now I wanted more. I wanted the full experience, and I was stubborn that way. Once I had it in my head that I wanted something, I didn’t stop until I got it.
As I’d dressed and readied myself for my not-a-date, I couldn’t help but let hope bloom in my chest. Knowing Smith, he probably wanted to razz me about my failed seduction attempt in person, just to watch my face flame and hear my voice tremble.
Well, fuck that. I wasn’t going to beat myself up or turn into a babbling idiot when he asked me to explain myself tonight.
The fragrant scent of chicken and roasted vegetables came from the kitchen, making my stomach grumble.
He cooked?
“If you don’t start talking soon, I’m out of here,” I blurted.
My pride had already suffered too much where this man was concerned. I might have been kicked out of his bed once already, and if he didn’t want me here, he wouldn’t have to say anything. The moment I felt uncomfor
table or unwelcome, I would say peace, out and hightail it out of here.
Chapter Twelve
Smith
“Please don’t leave.”
The words were out before I could stop them, despite the fact that I knew I should just let her go. No matter how much that might save my sanity, though, I couldn’t stand seeing the hurt in Evie’s eyes. I had invited her over. She’d done nothing to deserve my shitty attitude besides accept my invitation.
Not to mention she had clearly been anticipating this as much as I had before I got Cullen’s texts, because she was dressed to the nines and looking dead sexy. Her black wrap dress accentuated every sleek curve, and my palms were itching to touch her.
She stared back at me, the indecision clear on her face. “You don’t really seem to be in the mood for company . . .”
“I’m a dick sometimes. Surely we’ve known each other long enough that we can both admit it,” I said with a sheepish grin. “But I promise,” I held up three fingers in a solemn vow, “for the rest of the night, I’ll be on my best behavior. So could you please stay? It would mean a lot to me.”
I didn’t realize how true those words were until she nodded slowly and a sense of relief washed over me.
“Okay. If you’re sure.”
“I am.”
I wasn’t. In fact, I was almost one hundred percent positive that this was the wrong move, long term. This whole struggle was only going to get worse. If things went great, I’d only want her more.
I had to bite back a laugh at the very idea that could even be possible. She was like sap on my skin, stuck tight, and there wasn’t shit I could do to shake her except let whatever this was run its course. But if things went badly, the alternative wasn’t any better.
In the face of her disappointment, though, I realized a few things. I cared about Evie, and I was going to make sure we enjoyed this night. Surely, tomorrow would be soon enough to rake myself over the fucking coals again.