Last: A Copperslane Romance Novel

by Garnet Christie

  In the grocery store, I had an accident thanks to Aunt Flo. That bitch obnoxiously leaked through my blue shorts.

  It was Lizzie—a total stranger at the time—who gave me a gigantic hug from behind, acting like she was my best friend. She whispered in my ear about my problem, dragged me off to the bathroom, and gifted me her hoodie. We’ve been friends ever since.

  “Yeah,” Cora pipes up, derailing my recall. “Get out of that house. Seriously, the sun misses you.”

  Then there’s Cora. She’s my kick in the pants.

  I met the sassy graphic designer at one of Lizzie’s parties. Cora and Lizzie have been friends since middle school, and she and I hit it off on night one. They adopted me into their circle. Cora and I are yin and yang. She may not always agree with me, but she never puts me down or silences my negativity, and she knows how to make me laugh.

  But her enthusiasm is a misfire today. I groan and frown. “Did you wait to tell me about this idea until you two were together?” They know the idea they’ve presented isn’t my thing, but refusing them both is a hard thing to do.

  “Possibly.” Cora’s sly voice implies a yes, as do her bright purple contacts.

  I shake my head.

  This week they’ve brought some news that doesn’t have me leaping out of my seat.

  A trip proposal—with tons of people, at some kind of posh log cabin in northern Washington. Everyone is splitting the bill.

  Cora’s gaze slides over to Lizzie’s. “How are you getting out of here again? What about your aunt?”

  We don’t speak about Lizzie’s aunt often, but we do understand that the lady is almost disabled. Lizzie is the only family left to help her and she bears it all like a saint.

  Lizzie smiles. “My friend Jake said he’d check in on her.”

  “Jake.” Cora rolls her eyes.

  “He’d still go out with you, if you’re interested.” Lizzie waggles her brows. “He asks about you all the time.”

  “Shut it.” Cora lifts her hand. “Talk about this trip and not that pipsqueak.”

  After a giggle, Lizzie scoops back some hair off her shoulders and changes the subject. “A getaway of the stars.” There’s a sound of wonderment in her voice. “Chris Evans rented the cabin we’re staying in a while back.”

  “More like a getaway for the commoners,” I mumble out, avoiding eye contact. After taking a sip of Earl Gray, I arch my brow. “I highly doubt Chris Evans split the bill with fifteen people.”

  “Wrong. Fourteen,” Cora corrects. “They’ll be fourteen if you come.”

  My face deadpans. “Oh, that sounds so much better.”

  Cora snorts and a wry smile cracks across her face. “I knew you’d agree.”

  My shoulders shake with a laugh as I tilt my head back. Cora always knows how to lighten my mood.

  “Laughing is always a good sign with you,” Lizzie says. “I think that means you should come.”

  “No, no.” Raising my hand, I wave it in the air. “I didn’t say that—”

  “No, you didn’t,” Cora cuts in. “But you do need to come.” She rakes her long fingers through the top of her hair. “When was the last time you got away and stopped worrying about things you can’t control?”

  “I—” I pause, thinking hard. There’s nothing. I can’t conjure up an instance, so I remain silent. Cora’s not lying. It’s been a long time.

  “Yeah, Bee.” Cora rests her elbows on the table and leans forward. “I know what that look is about. You need to break away. Forget about writing. Forget about everything.”

  I chew on my lip. It sounds tempting and horrible all at the same time. Cora and Lizzie both know I need time to get away. I’m a hardcore introvert and being around people all the time is draining.

  Bouncing my gaze between them, my brows pinch together. “It’s for five days?”

  When they nod, my heart sinks.

  Fourteen people and five days. That means loudness, forced dinners with a blob of people, and even late nights where I’ll be talking when I’d rather be in bed. And from what they’ve told me, there are two people in a room, and while I love Cora and Lizzie, I don’t share rooms.

  I grimace, my stomach tumbling. That all sounds like agony. “Yeah, I don’t think—”

  “I made sure you’ll get your own room.” Lizzie drops the comment like it’s nothing, but it’s more like a mic drop to my soul. She knows that.

  “What?” My jaw falls open. “How?”

  One side of her mouth flips up. “There’s a twin bed on the very top floor.” She taps a delicate finger against her neck. “Granted you’ll be sleeping with the faces of Elsa and Olaf everywhere, but you’ll have your own space. You can go up whenever you like.” Her dark blue eyes twinkle. “Plus, there’s an amazing view with a pitched cathedral window.”

  Glorious. Just glorious. Lizzie’s telling me everything I need to hear. And the view? It’s like Bianca crack that will hopefully provide inspiration for writing. All my refusals begin to dissolve. “Uhh.” My shoulders fall into the seat back. “I hate you both.”

  “Ha.” Cora tips her head back. “You love us and that means you’re coming.”

  “Yes.” I sigh. “Damn.” A grin creeps across my face, and my fingers are already tingling to type. “You two really know how to seduce me.”

  “Hell to the yes!” Cora pumps her fist in the air, then turns to Lizzie for a high five. Lizzie swings and misses, which makes us all giggle.

  “Gosh, Liz,” Cora winces. “We didn’t grow up with brothers, and it shows. Anyway,” She faces me again. “You’re right. We know exactly how to lure our sweet little recluse out of hiding.” She winks. “We leave Thursday around noon. We’ll pick you up. There’s no way we’re taking your jalopy.”

  I ignore the diss to my car and nod. “Sounds good.”

  “With that settled . . .” Cora lifts her coffee cup and holds it in one hand. Her tongue pokes out to the side and she waggles her brows. “Has anyone heard about or met the new hot guy that moved into town?”

  “Someone moved here?” My eyes widen while I take a sip of tea. Our town isn’t that big, but I’m still not as in tune as Cora and Lizzie.

  “That’s correct,” Lizzie says. “He was at my party last night.”

  Crap. A mouthful of warm tea snags in my throat, and my heart pounds in my ears. Not wanting to spew my drink everywhere, I force a swallow and then cough.

  Both girls look at me with surprised glances.

  “Sorry. Wrong tube.” I say it sounding like an old hag about to croak.

  Lizzie has to be referring to the guy I saw in the basement, and that makes my cheeks burn for multiple reasons. Not only from what I saw but also because I got off to him again this morning. That’s pathetic if you ask me. A rush of heated shame travels down to my toes. I really need to get laid. My dry spell has been long-going this time and it’s taking a toll.

  Completely unaware of what’s assaulting my brain, Lizzie continues to talk. “His name is Brett Walker and he came last night because someone invited him. He didn’t stay too long, seems quiet. However,”—she drags her tongue over her lower lip while nodding—“he is handsome. Possibly the most handsome man in this town.”

  “Well screw my luck.” Cora drums her knuckles on the table and pouts. “I got caught up doing a project last night for a client. Toby messed up my computer and deleted everything. I had to start over.”

  Lizzie ducks her head and giggles. “You missed out on the talk of the town because of your cat?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Cora flips her wrist. “Don’t start. Me and Toby aren’t on speaking terms right now. Don’t make me feel guilty.”

  Lizzie busts out laughing, but for some reason, I can’t.

  Brett.

  That name is much like the man—an erotic threat. My stomach bubbles with anxiety. A normal woman would be desperate to see him again, but after our meeting, I’m anything but. Placing my teacup on its saucer, my lips pull down. “Wh
y did he move here anyway?” Hopefully, his presence in my social circle will be low to nil.

  Cora shrugs. “I heard he buys rich commercial spots and sells them to the highest bidder when a big name wants the deed.”

  My brow arches. “Sounds lucrative.”

  “Sounds smart,” Lizzie counters. “I wonder what property he’s viewing here. I’ll ask him next time I see him.”

  If she only knew he gets blow jobs in random people’s basements. Her basement to be exact. I doubt she’d be talking to him more then. But then again, maybe she would. Recalling his voice makes my body tingle, and I caught him in the very act. Still. I hope to never see him again, and the thought of even locking eyes with him in a crowded room has embarrassment shooting through my veins, especially after I ran out on him. I’m a hundred percent certain he wanted to talk to me.

  “That’s a funny look, Bee.” Cora tilts her head. “Whatcha thinking about?”

  I whip out a fib that’s resting on the top of my head. Brett Walker’s name will not pass my lips. “My next book idea.”

  “Oh. Nice.” The lie works. She moves to the next topic. “Let’s make sure we all mark down something we want to do on our trip. Sometime during our stay, the three of us can break off and do something fun. There are a lot of couples going, we won’t want to be stuck with them the whole time.” Her nose scrunches up. “Blech.”

  Lizzie whips out her cell phone. “I’ll start looking right now. Let’s make sure we indulge in some specialty foods. I’ve been dieting for a month.”

  “Good idea,” Cora says, pulling her chair closer to Lizzie.

  That does sound like fun. Sunlight breaks through the Washington cloud cover and shines down on me. Taking another sip of tea, I smile. It has to be a good omen. This trip will be perfect for me, especially if Brett Walker just moved here. The distance will be good.

  Copperslane is so tiny, I know I’m bound to run into him again soon. This trip will give me the time to mentally prepare for him the next time we cross paths. Yeah. This trip will be perfect.

  “Wow.” My suitcase topples over with a thud while I look around the cabin room days later. I’m the worst packer ever and regardless of the luggage I pick, it always caves to the uneven way I shove things inside.

  I have to laugh when I realize Lizzie wasn’t kidding about the Frozen theme in this room. Elsa’s face is covering the entire bedspread, the pillow is Olaf—even the walls are ice blue . . . but the view? Strolling over to the window, I smile. “Killer.”

  Powdered sugar-dusted treetops—they span for miles and I feel like a queen residing in a snow globe. I get to see all the wonder of this kingdom from above. Taking in the postcard sight, I rest my fingers on the ledge. My shoulders loosen, my breathing slows. If you can’t relax to this view, then you’re dead inside.

  Sadly, I can’t enjoy the sight for long. We arrived at the cabin a few moments ago, and the firstcomers agreed to make dinner. We’re doing tacos since that brings joy to everyone . . . I think. I’m on tomato-slicing duty.

  After grabbing a cozy sweater out of my suitcase to combat the nip residing in the air, I saunter for the stairs. I’m ducking past the atrium ceiling and exiting the narrow entry when the voices from downstairs catch my ear.

  It already sounds like more people have arrived. Excitement rolls down my spine and finds its way to my fingertips. I wiggle them in happy anticipation. I don’t have a headache today and I’m oddly energized and actually looking forward to being with other people.

  I haven’t been out much since my boyfriend, Lance, broke up with me three months ago. Thanks to him, I’ve become more reclusive since we fell apart. Getting your heart stomped on after you cared about someone isn’t pleasant. This will be a nice change up.

  Since all the couples I know are super nice and not over the top, I’m looking forward to seeing them as I round the corner of the main living room. This is going to be great. For the first time in forever, my hopes are soaring high, and I have no clue why. All I know is that I like it. I love the optimism.

  All those merry feelings erupt into flames when I enter the living room and take note of the figure by the front door.

  Fuck my life.

  I freeze on the spot, my heart pulsing so hard I feel it in my damn feet.

  Brett Walker is here, black suitcase wheeling beside him. No doubt about it, he’s a guest, and of course, he looks hotter than the devil. His tall and wide frame spans the space he stands on. He’s not wearing a jacket and that makes him look like a badass, because all that’s covering his torso is a black button-up dress shirt. The fabric strains to accommodate the expansion that occurs with his breath—he’s rock solid. I’m sure he could send a marble slab home in tears.

  I grow hot under my sweater while drinking him in. Mortification vines around my chest, but at the same time my core weighs heavy with need—the sight of such a man reminds me I haven’t had anyone in a long time, and I need that.

  On the same token however . . .

  Why the hell is he here? Why? He’s new, how has he worked himself in with so many people this fast?

  I gulp. So much for preparing myself. My gaze drops to the wood floor. I don’t want him to see me. I make a nervous shuffle on my tiptoes. I’m really not ready for this, so I’ll deflect to the kitchen. Maybe I can gather myself just enough while I cut up tomatoes.

  My feet are sidestepping as I weave through the small gathering. There are people here I know, but I’ll say my hello’s later. I’m near the opening of the kitchen when my shoes weld themselves to the floor.

  Brett’s black eyes take note of me and he stares. He’s not even blinking. Maybe not even breathing.

  Shit. I can’t hear the room around me—all that exists is a dull echoing in my eardrums. Swallowing around the lump in my throat, I force a sheepish smile.

  A huge mistake.

  I want to die.

  All he does is glare, and the repulsion that resides in it makes my limbs go weak from sickness.

  It’s official. From the look I’m getting, I think Brett Walker hates my guts, and I’m stuck here with him. The. Whole. Damn. Trip.

  Chapter 3

  It’s been one night since we arrived at the cabin. Last night’s taco night was pretty uneventful—at least for me. After cutting up tomatoes, I hid in my room. My false claim was that I’d had a long week, but in reality I was desperate to get away from the dark eyes of Brett Walker. We crossed paths a few times before I vanished. It seemed like he wanted to say something, but each time, someone was close by and each time, my core bristled with fear and hunger.

  It’s here now as I catch him emerging from the hallway, a neat whiskey cradled in his hand. The air around him cracks with a quiet authority and the hoopla of our crowd subdues when he enters.

  The living room is his. He commands it as he swaggers across the room. It doesn’t matter that all he’s wearing is a white T-shirt and dark wash jeans. Brett Walker makes this cabin and the rest of us look like his bitches.

  My throat goes arid staring at his back. Muscular shoulders blades and lats challenge the fabric of the shirt, and that’s hot . . . but what’s even hotter is how that snugness tapers off at the waist. At the torso, the fabric drapes with looseness, and damn. It’s just too perfect.

  The longer I observe, the more I want to drink him in.

  Then he turns around.

  From across the room I catch the frost in his black gaze. I see his darkness and question if I’m crazy for wanting him. When he looks up and finds me, a shiver trails down my spine. Yeah, I’m insane.

  There’s no softness when we lock eyes. On the contrary, whenever his attention diverts to me, his sharp jawline grits and his perfect eyebrows frame the disgust that swirls in his gaze. What makes it worse is the way he focuses on me. When we’re in the same room, I can’t shake him.

  Which is exactly what I’m trying to do tonight—make him look at something other than me. I can’t say it’s been working.
It’s like his eyes are a compass and I’m true north. His gaze is just there. My heart stammers at the attention, but it’s also starting to grate on my nerves. I’m not an attention seeker. Never have been, and I’m well past the anxiety that first wove through my stomach. Now I just want him to look somewhere else.

  I sigh while skirting around the house, sticking to the wall. If he has something to say, I wish he’d just say it. I’m sure it will be about the blow job, but that conversation can’t be any more awkward than his searing attention. His stares have been constant, and I’m surprised no one’s noticed.

  “Texas Hold’Em, anyone?” The boisterous voice of Dan Lowery gets our attention. The stocky man is camping out in the middle of the living room, waving two packs of cards. He tried to get us to bite last night, but nobody did. He’s trying even harder tonight. His wide mouth dangles open as he turns in a circle, making his pitch.

  “I’ll play.” Brett’s husky voice breaks the silence. He strides over to the coffee table, takes a swig of golden liquid and lowers his frame to the floor.

  A domino effect ensues. Everyone abandons what they were doing, opting to meander over to the coffee table. Everyone but me.

  “Bianca.” Cora pokes her head around to study me. “Are you playing?”

  Clutching my Kindle to my chest, I shake my head. “I don’t know how.”

  My spine stiffens when Brett scoffs. Glancing over, I see his lips tweaked up. I see it even though a glass rim parts his mouth while he takes another sip. Unease zaps at my chest when he places the tumbler down and slides his gaze over to mine.

  The scowl I’ve become used to is absent, but there’s an overcrowd of intensity in the way he looks at me. It’s calm but heated—passionate yet dead—knowing but distant. I’m not sure what he’s seeing.

  Incompetence for not being able to play? Judgment for not at least sitting with everyone? I have no idea, but I do know I want to shrink away from this look. The angry stares wore me thin. This one has my heart recoiling into my ribcage, and me shrinking away into a seat.