An Uphill Battle

by LK Farlow

  “It’ll be fine, Drake. Hell, maybe this’ll light a fire under her ass and get her back into your arms.”

  I sure hope so, because damn, I’m not sure how much longer I can faux-date Kasey. Sure, she’s cute as hell and sweet, but hugging on her and being affectionate with her is about like cozying up to one of the guys. Hard pass.

  I lead Kasey through the back gate to Simon’s huge deck. During our long Alabama summers, he has a badass mist system to keep it cool, and during our brief winters, he has a few strategically placed space heaters to keep it nice and toasty.

  “Wow, this is amazing!” Kasey squeals, taking in the Christmas lights dangling from the beams of the pergola covering the shaded part of the deck.

  “You don’t even know,” Myla Rose says, walking over to us with Brody on her hip. “This place was a dump, growing up. His daddy just about let it rot to shambles, and Simon worked his ass off every chance he got to make it what it is.”

  “It’s . . . wow. Just wow.”

  “Glad you like it,” Simon states plainly as he walks up to us. “And you are . . .?”

  “Kasey Bonds.” She extends her hand toward him. “Drake’s date.”

  “Christ Almighty,” he mutters under his breath before shaking her hand. “Nice to meet you, Kasey,” he says before turning narrowed eyes to me. “I hope you know what you’re doing, brother.”

  Kasey swings her eyes between Myla Rose and me. “Well, that was awkward.”

  Myla Rose reaches out and pats her twice on the shoulder. “Oh, honey, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

  Together, the three of us make our way to where the rest of our little group is congregated around Simon’s big barrel fire pit. It’s like something you’d see a homeless dude using in a big city alleyway, but it sure is warm.

  “Lookie what the cat drug in!” Myla Rose calls out as we approach, causing everyone to turn and look at us.

  Four sets of eyes blink back at us—Cash’s crinkled at the corners in amusement and Simon’s narrowed under his heavy brows. Magnolia’s are more focused on her lap than on us, but occasionally, they flit up to Kasey and me. Azalea’s eyes, though—they burn. They’re filled with hurt and longing and fire, a deadly combination if there ever were one.

  “Hi, y’all,” Kasey says with a weird-as-fuck curtsy.

  “Hey there, girl, long time no see,” Cash calls out, trying to show that he knows her and that he’s cool with her. Probably hoping it’ll help the rest of the group warm up to her as well.

  It has the complete opposite reaction though. Azalea cuts her eyes to him, directing the full force of her anger his way. “You know her?”

  “Yup. Met her when Drake brought her to the house for dinner a while ago.”

  Azalea balks. “I’m sorry, what?”

  Myla Rose glares at her well-meaning husband before rushing over to her best friend. “AzzyJo, take a breath.”

  “I. Will. Not.”

  “You will. C’mon, let’s go inside real quick.” Using the hand that isn’t holding Brody to her, she grabs Azalea and helps her stand, ushering her through the back door.

  With my hand pressed to the small of Kasey’s back, I steer her toward an open two-seater chair, snuggling her into my side. “Well, looks like tonight’ll be a good time.”

  “Not to tell you how to run your life, but you could’ve went about this shit better.”

  “Listen . . . Simon, is it?” Kasey says, shifting to face him. “What you think is happening, isn’t. Drake is more like a brother to me than anything else. So sit back, hush up, and let us go about our business. We don’t need any kinks in our plans.”

  I can see the second her words click in his brain. He shakes his head, muffling his laughter with his fist. “You sly dog. Better be smart, though. Push too hard and you’ll lose that girl for good.”

  “Trust me, I’ve got this,” Kasey rebuts, settling back into me.

  “Don’t y–you think that you should just be hon–honest?” Magnolia asks quietly to no one in particular, but it’s obvious the question’s directed at me.

  “I think,” I reply, pausing to carefully choose my words, “that we’ve spent so much time bullshitting and pussyfootin’ that we pushed ourselves past the point of honesty. But, I’m hoping like hell that this last little deception will get us there.”

  Magnolia heaves out a weighted sigh. “A foundation built on lies is quick to crumble.”

  I’m about to argue my point further when the back door flings open, and the girls, with Brody now in Azalea’s arms, make their way over to us. Azalea lowers herself into the chair furthest from where we’re sitting. Guess it’s gonna be like that.

  25

  Azalea

  Red.

  The minute I see he’s here, with her, I see red.

  And to add insult to injury, my best friend, who’s closer to me than a damn sibling, had her over for fucking dinner. I feel apocalyptic. Like my blood is molten lava running through me, eating me away from the inside out, ready to explode.

  My eyes are narrowed to slits, watching, tracking their every movement. Taking note of how his hand possessively keeps contact with some part of her, as if she’ll disappear if they aren’t touching. God, how I wish that were true.

  My breath stutters when he lowers them both into the same chair, his hand tracing mindless circles on her knee as she nestles into him like she’s trying to burrow her way inside.

  My hurt and anger and regret are all bubbling to the surface so forcefully that I’m shaking. My lips are quivering, my hands are trembling, and my entire body is vibrating with rage. How dare he bring her here to basically parade her in my face?

  Sensing that I’m about two seconds away from a meltdown, Myla Rose forces me inside. “C’mon, sister-girl, let’s chat.”

  “I don’t have too terribly much to say to you, Myla.”

  Myla Rose lays Brody down onto Simon’s couch and starts unbuttoning his outfit to change his diaper. “Don’t be like that.”

  “Don’t be like that? Are you kidding me right now? How am I supposed to be after I find out that you, my best friend in the whole wide world, had the man I love and his new . . . whatever-she-is . . . over for dinner? Huh? How?”

  She doesn’t answer me immediately. Nope. She takes her time, powdering Brody’s little behind, slowly snapping his outfit back together, and snuggling him to her chest before responding to me. “Azalea, I’m not gonna tell you how to react, because that’s on you. What I am gonna tell you is that not everything is as it seems, and I surely hope you know me well enough to know that I’d never, ever do anything to hurt you.”

  “Then tell me what’s not as it seems, and why that trollop was at your house?”

  “Because Drake brought her. And no, I will not tell you what isn’t as it seems. You just need to trust me, and you need to figure out a way to deal with your jealousy, or pretty soon, your eyes won’t be the only thing green about you.”

  “A hint? Please?” I beg, my voice cracking.

  “Ugh. Fine. All I’m gonna say is . . . maybe your jealousy is the goal.”

  “Cryptic much?” I scoff, reaching out to take Brody from her.

  “Take a minute and think about it, sister-girl. It’s not that cryptic at all. Now, we’re gonna go join the others, and you’re gonna hold your head high and be the graceful Southern belle your mama raised you to be.”

  Nodding, I follow behind Myla Rose, pondering her words. Does she mean that Drake wants me to be jealous? Well, it’s working, because holy hell, I really am jealous. It’s been eating away at me. Thoughts of him with her have been almost the only thing on my mind. But why would he want to make me jealous? To hurt me? Or . . . to make me want him? Well, it’s working like no other, not that I ever stopped wanting him.

  “Myles, wait!” I holler just as she begins twisting the knob to open the back door, causing her to withdraw her hand. “Drake’s totally just messing with me, isn’t he?”

&nbs
p; Instead of answering me, Myla Rose just winks, but damn if that wink doesn’t change everything. Because I was about ready to back off the plan Seraphine and I came up with, but now, it’s so fucking on.

  He can play his games, and I’ll play mine, and as long as I win, we both win.

  Simple as that.

  “So, Kasey,” I say, her name leaving a bitter taste on my tongue. “Are you new to the area? I’ve never seen you around before.”

  “Yep, sure am. Moved here about a month ago, and lucky me, this handsome devil practically fell into my lap.” She nods her head toward my man, and I just about puke.

  “Mmm. Lucky you, indeed,” I sneer back at her. I meant to sound sincere, swear I did, but my brain and my mouth never have been good at communicating.

  The rest of the day passes like fucking molasses, and I can’t even enjoy spending time with my people because they’re all drinking the Kasey Kool-Aid. Thankfully, sweet little Brody knows what’s what, and he spends his time snuggled up with me until I finally can’t bear another second in their presence, and I cut out early, using my busy work week as an excuse. And praise be, no one calls me on the fact that Magnolia is staying even though she works with me tomorrow.

  The thought that Drake wanted me to be jealous is the sole motivator that gets me through my insanely busy week at the salon. Monday through Saturday, I’m booked nonstop from 9:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m. Southern women don’t play about their hair when it comes to holidays, and Lord knows, they gotta look right for Jesus at the Christmas Day church service.

  But now, I’m done. Southern Roots is closed until January 2, and the only thing on my mind now—aside from my aching feet—is turning the tables on Drake. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and I know it’s a tradition in his family for him to stay with his parents.

  So, that leaves tonight for the plan Seraphine and I whipped up, even if Mags and Myla Rose think it’s a bad idea. I think it’s foolproof. It has to be. Especially since I know he isn’t really with Kasey.

  After I get home from work, I take my time getting ready. Soaking in the bathtub, I lather and rinse my hair twice before applying a deep conditioning treatment. While it sits, I wash, scrub, and exfoliate before shaving my legs—and other areas.

  Once the conditioner is rinsed from my hair, I wrap myself in a fluffy white towel and set to work lotioning every inch of my skin with my peach brûlée lotion—the one I know drives Drake crazy.

  Two carefully crafted smoky eyes and one set of red lips later, my hair is next on the list. Dousing it with some texture foam, I flip my head and blow it out before taming my blonde strands into sleek waves with my curl bar.

  Taking in my appearance in the bathroom mirror, I can’t help but smile. I look like pure sex, and damn if Drake Collins isn’t going to fall at my feet.

  I glance at my phone to check the time and notice I have two new texts, one from Myla Rose and one from Seraphine. Tapping in my passcode, I swipe up my message screen and read their texts.

  Myla Rose: Az, please rethink this.

  Not liking hers, I back out of it and pull up Seraphine’s.

  Seraphine: You got this, girl!

  I smile at her message before locking my phone and heading to my bedroom to get dressed. After all, my outfit may just be the most important part of the plan. Carefully, I slide on the red lace, side-tie panties before slipping into the matching front-snap bra. I cover my lingerie with a black trench coat and lower myself to the bed to put on my sky-high ruby-red heels. The ones Drake said my legs look a mile long in.

  Feeling confident and bold, I secure my phone inside my clutch, grab my keys, and as I head down the stairs, I’m once again hit with a strong sense of déjà vu, but this time when I say, “Ready or not, Drake Collins, I’m coming for you!” I mean it in a way I didn’t before. This isn’t some adolescent crush anymore.

  This is me, taking back my future.

  26

  Drake

  “Jesus, it’s been a long day,” I mutter to myself as I wait for the leftovers Mama D sent me home to heat. It feels like everything that could’ve gone wrong on the farm today did.

  Broken down tractor . . . check.

  Two bags of fertilizer ripped open and spilled . . . check.

  The fence we just built last month started showing signs of moisture rot in a post . . . check.

  To say I’m over this day would be an understatement. Thank God tomorrow’s Christmas Eve—a day I know will be well spent with my parents. We have a longstanding tradition of cheesy Christmas flicks, a huge dinner, and then I stay the night. Might sound weird, what with me knocking on the door of twenty-five years old, but it’s something that makes my stepmom happy, and I’ll do what I can to keep a smile on her face as long as I’m alive.

  Someone knocks on my door just as the microwave dings. “Who in the hell?” Hitting the stop button on the micro, I make my way to the front door, shocked as shit to find Azalea on the other side.

  “Wh–what’re you doin’ here?” I ask.

  “I was hopin’ we could talk.” Her voice is a seductive whisper, full of promises of sex and sin. And when she snakes her arms around my neck, that confirms it.

  Stuck in her web, I stare down at her, mesmerized by her cherry-red lips, missing the way they taste. As if she can read my mind, she bites down on her full, ripe lower lip before running the tip of her tongue along it, my eyes following.

  Without warning, she pulls back from me and places her hand on my chest, gently pushing me back from the door. “Aren’t you gonna invite me in?”

  Struck dumb, I simply pivot to make room for her and nod. As she crosses the threshold, she begins untying the sash to her long coat, slowly unwrapping it from herself. I watch with rapt attention as it falls to the floor, leaving her in nothing more than a see-through red lace bra and matching panties.

  I almost come undone right there—fully clothed, no less—when I realize her panties tie on the side. Lord, have mercy.

  Boldly, she moves in on me, yet again wrapping her arms around my neck and pressing her lithe body to mine, soft to all of my hard. My very, very hard. “Drake,” she murmurs against my jaw, dragging her lips up it all the way to my ear where she whispers, “I know you feel the same way I do. We’re so good together, D.” My sluggish, lust-crazed brain struggles to catch up to everything happening. My body, especially the lower half, is screaming Go, go, go! but something isn’t right.

  “I know you want this, Drake.” She nips at my earlobe before slowly trailing her tongue along the shell of my ear. “I know you want me.”

  It’s like a light bulb sparks in my brain. There it is. That’s what’s wrong. She still doesn’t fucking get it. Gently, I take hold of her wrists and remove her arms from around my neck and take a step back.

  “What’re you doing?” she asks, confusion marring her tone.

  Silently, I bend to retrieve her coat. “Arms out,” I bark, my hard tone compelling her to comply immediately. I all but shove her arms into the sleeves before re-cinching the tie. “Get out of here, Azalea. Just go.”

  “What?” she asks incredulously.

  “You don’t get it, Azalea. My wanting you has never been the problem. It’s that I want more than your body, and you refuse to give it. I want your heart. Your soul. I want to know when something silly makes you smile. I want to be the one to cheer you up when you’re sad. I want to be the one you fall asleep beside and wake up next to. I want your everything, Azalea, because God knows, you already have mine, so until you’re willing to reciprocate . . . Get. The. Fuck. Outta. Here.”

  “But . . . I love you,” she croaks out.

  “Yeah? Do you? Then learn to show it. Actions speak louder, Little Bit.”

  Without another word, she turns and walks away, her shoulders drooping and her head hanging low. It guts me to see her so dejected, but deep down, I know I’m doing right. Not only by me, but by both of us.

  Once my racing mind settles, I re-reheat my dinner and set
it up on a TV tray in the living room. I make my way through it, bite by bite but not tasting any of it, until my plate is clear. “Why, Azalea, why?” I mutter aloud to the empty room, my mind and body warring against one another.

  It felt so damn good to have her body tucked into mine. To feel her lips, to taste her, to touch her skin. And my God, her sweet peach scent lingers all over me, driving me damn-near crazy. But I’m done playing her games, and until she’s ready to give all of herself to me, mind and body, this is the way it has to be.

  “Kasey. She’ll know what to do.” I stomp my way into the kitchen, grab my cell, and pound out her number. Thank God, she picks up on the first ring.

  “Happy almost Christmas, D!” she chirps into the phone.

  “Azalea came by,” I tell her.

  “Oh. Wow. Are y’all all better now?”

  “Not hardly.” I pound my fist against the countertop, causing the plates drying on a rag to clatter. “Not even a little.”

  “Need me to come by?”

  “If you don’t mind. Yeah.”

  “Okay, D. I’m on my way.” She disconnects the call, and I trudge back to my bedroom to change. I can’t stand the tease of her scent clinging to me for one more second.

  AZALEA

  Drake’s door slams shut, and I kick my heels off and run barefoot over the freezing wet grass to my car, refusing to let a single tear fall until I’m safely inside. But then, the dam breaks. I allow my tears to flow freely, not caring even an iota that I’ll look like the morning after, minus the night before.

  With my head resting against my steering wheel, I let it all out. And once my tears have dried, I call my best friend. The waterworks start up again when she doesn’t answer. But thankfully, she calls right back. “Myles,” I croak into the phone.