by Abby Brooks
Many, embarrassing, ineffective, sexually aggressive moves. I dropped my head into my hand, then pounded my forehead for good measure. Evie was surely still asleep, but as soon as she woke, I needed to grovel for forgiveness.
“Damn these selfish Prescott genes!” If I didn’t take after my dad so much, none of this would have even been an issue. I’d have politely returned the key to Sugar Maple Hill when Evie moved in and done things the normal way instead of following every stupid whim that came to my head because it was easier for me.
Morgan whined his agreement and I shuffled into the bathroom, popping some ibuprofen before making my way downstairs in search of coffee. As the dog clicked across the floor, my bare feet slapped the kitchen tile, following the bits of leaves and debris tracing a path from the front door to the fridge. The doorbell rang as I popped a pod into the Keurig and checked the time. Too early for anyone to be visiting. I shuffled to answer, peeking through the window to find Evie on my porch, a coffee steaming in each hand and a bag slung over her shoulder. She had on a coat and a scarf, a beanie pulled down low with her hair braided and slung over one shoulder.
Huh.
She never came to my house and rarely got out of bed before seven.
I opened the door, shivering as the air hit my chest.
“Morning, Casanova.” She stepped inside and handed me a cup of coffee. “Close the door before your nipples fall off.”
“Bless you, child.” I lifted the steaming drink to my mouth, then paused, ready to start groveling. “Look, about last night…”
She held out her hand to ward off my words as Morgan wagged his tail in greeting. She scratched his ears and avoided eye contact with me. “There’s so much to unpack about last night that I don’t even know where to start.”
“I know where to start. With an apology. I had no right to use that key after you moved into Sugar Maple Hill. None. It was wrong, and creepy, and I should have been up front about everything from the get-go.”
Evie finally met my gaze. “It was wrong and it was creepy and you should have told me what was going on. I mean, did you not, for one second, feel guilty about letting me get wasted that night at the bar with Jude’s little drinking game? The whole time, you knew what was going on and could have stopped it just by being honest. I’m so humiliated. Was it a game to you guys? Is this whole thing between us some twisted…” She shook her head, her eyes closing as she turned away.
I placed a hand on her arm. “This isn’t a game for me. I did feel guilty that night at the bar—”
“Then why didn’t you say anything?” Evie whirled, her eyes flashing with distrust. “Why did you let me make a fool of myself?”
“You didn’t make a fool of yourself.”
“I kissed you on my front porch! I went on and on about the color of your eyes, spewing nonsense about connection while stuffing french fries into my mouth, and then freaking kissed you.”
“And I loved every second of it.”
Evie scowled. “Sure. Right. I should have known that, ‘cause you’ve made your feelings for me impeccably clear over the last couple weeks. I definitely got the feeling you liked kissing me and have always known exactly where I stand with you.” She folded her arms over her chest. “In case you can’t tell, my sarcasm is fully engaged at the moment.”
Oh, I could tell, and despite the fact that I started this conversation intending to grovel, frustration flared. “You aren’t exactly easy to read, yourself. First, I think you’re flirting, then I think we’re just friends, but even then, you won’t open up to me. You’re shy, but you’re not. You’re bold, but you’re locked down so tight I can’t figure you out. You won’t tell me why you won’t write and if you can’t trust me with that, then how am I supposed to know what I mean to you? You’re so freaking hot and cold, it drives me crazy!”
Evie glared. “I must be driving you crazy if you thought breaking into my house was a good idea…especially since you don’t even know if we’re friends or not.”
I let a long breath out through my nose, closing my eyes and fighting for composure. “Did you read the poem I wrote?”
Her features softened and she offered a faint smile. “I did and it’s beautiful, and if that’s how you really feel about me…” She flared her hands and closed her eyes. “That’s why I’m here. To find out if I’m the woman in that poem or if I’m the asshole you laugh with your friends about at the end of the day.”
“You’re the woman in the poem, Evie.” My voice was low. Raw.
She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “And you’re not going to break into my house anymore?”
I fished in the pocket of my sweats for the key and handed it to her. “Never again.”
“Then I have something for you.” She shifted so she could reach into her bag and pulled out a three-ring binder stuffed with paper. “You asked me why I don’t write anymore. I dodged, but it’s time I shared this with you.” She put the binder into my hands. “You don’t have to read it all.”
Eager to glean everything I could about Eveline McAllister, I plopped onto the couch and dove in. Inside the pages I found quick wit, razor-sharp pacing, prose that felt like poetry without the pretension…
“How are you not published?” I glanced up, then went right back to the manuscript. “I’ll call my agent right fucking now. You’re sitting on a bestseller. This story…”
What in the world happened that someone this talented fizzled before she took off? This was the kind of stuff I expected from the girl who escorted me to my car at Brown. It was emotional. Real.
Fearless.
“That’s the thing.” Evie pulled a book out of her bag and dropped it into my lap. “It is published.”
I stared at the cover of a title I’d been avoiding like the plague. Despite its success and high praise, the author had been a pompous prick on Twitter, not just bragging about his success, but belittling everyone else in the industry. After I watched that train wreck of a debut, I wrote the guy off. He’d kill his career with that attitude and I’d be smart to steer clear.
I ran a finger along his name—Drew Stephens—then flipped through the pages, stopping at the dedication page.
To em. Thanks for the springboard. You’ve been very useful.
I frowned at the lowercase initials. The book was too successful for a typo in the frontmatter. “I don’t understand.”
“Drew was my boyfriend. We started dating in high school. Went to Brown together. Then, I wrote this. He stole it, published it, and wiped all record of it from my computer so I couldn’t file a copywrite claim. The only proof I have is that binder.”
“Are you serious right now?”
“I wish I wasn’t.”
I stared at the book in my lap. That prick. That no good, low life, thieving prick. No wonder she was afraid to write. Afraid to open up. If she’d been with this slithery snake since high school, she’d committed herself to him and he repaid her by stealing her whole fucking future.
“I’m so sorry this happened to you, but you know what? This guy? This asshole Stephens? He’ll never be able to pull this off again.” I waved the binder in the air then put it on the coffee table. “His career was over before it started, especially if I have anything to say about it. But you? You own the magnificent mind that came up with this story. You have a career ahead of you. I promise.”
Evie shook her head, her gaze on her lap. “I can’t…”
“But you can! You can write another book. It’s as simple as getting your butt in your chair and your hands on the keyboard. And I’ll call my agent—”
“It’s not that simple and you know it.” Evie glanced up, frustration tightening the edges of her voice. “You know how hard it is to write when there’s something in the way…”
I opened my mouth to respond, because I had to say something. Anything. Surely, I’d find the one, right thing that would unlock her fear so she could write again. I’d never read anything so fresh, so in
spired…
“Drew didn’t tell me what he’d done until the book was published. He dropped it in my lap, smirking, then told me to get out of the apartment because he hadn’t been in love with me for years. That he’d stayed because he thought I might be useful someday. I moved in with Amelia until I lost my job and now I’m here. So yes, I’ve been private and hesitant because if I was so wrong about him…”
Her meaning smacked me in the forehead and I sighed. “Then you could be that wrong about me.”
“I could be that wrong about anyone.” Evie licked her lips and met my eyes. “But I don’t think I’m wrong about you. I think you’re a good man, Alex Prescott, and I think you’re good for me, and I think I’d love a chance to find out if I’m right, if it won’t make things too complicated.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Evie
Alex pulled me off the couch and into his arms. His lips found mine and his tongue swept into my mouth, rendering me speechless. I whimpered, gripping his back, and forgetting all the worries that had spiraled through my head for months.
Complicated? This wasn’t complicated.
Kissing Alex was the easiest thing I’d ever done.
“Do you know how hard it’s been not to kiss you every day?” His teeth grazed my bottom lip. “You’re all I ever think about.”
“Maybe that’s why you can’t write.” I smirked, then leaned in for another kiss. Heat built between us. Hands explored. Tongues tasted. His scent surrounded me and my nipples pebbled; my lower belly tightened and throbbed.
Alex stepped back, tearing his succulent lips from mine, took my hands, and led me back to the couch. “I’m gonna get serious for a second. I didn’t read enough of your book to know for sure, but what I did read is spectacular. Evie, if you wrote that, then you’ve got something special.”
The topic was a bucket of cold water to the face. The heat from our kiss died, leaving a familiar emptiness in its wake. “I don’t have it anymore. Drew took it from me.”
“He took that from you.” Alex gestured toward the book. “That’s it. He’ll never publish anything like that ever again. That’s not true for you.”
My hands twisted in my lap, my thumbs rubbing over knuckles. I watched them move, then finally risked a glance at the man beside me. “It feels true for me. I have never felt so betrayed as I did when he told me what he’d done. That dedication? He looked downright excited to point out the lowercase initials. I have no idea how I didn’t see he didn’t want to be with me.” I hung my head. “Every time I think about writing, I remember his smirking face…”
A face that had always looked at me with love…or so I thought. I’d never felt so foolish as I did when the guy I assumed I would marry told me he’d been planning the theft from the second I told him the idea for the story. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to hang in there long enough for you to finish the damn thing. You are so exhausting. The words hit me like poisoned arrows, leeching my soul of all the things that brought me joy.
Alex lifted my chin with a finger. “Then we’ll rewrite that story. When you think about writing, I want you to think about me. Us. This. You’re gonna write the best revenge story and this Drew Stephens guy will rue the day he took advantage of you.”
The day flew by in a whirlwind of words, edits, walks, and Alex. I was living a dream—a life dedicated to books, sharing it with someone who loved stories as much as I did. Darkness settled on Wildrose Landing and after dinner at Overton’s, we called it a day. I dashed my keys on the end table next to my door and kicked off my shoes, grinning as the grippy paws on my socks stuck to the floor.
Who brought a woman grippy socks?
For that matter, who shoved grippy socks into a pair of shoes, on the off-chance Alex would notice? I laughed my way upstairs and into my bedroom. Seconds after my light flicked on, a text came in.
Alex: I see you.
I glanced to the window and found the curtains closed.
Me: Are you being deep here? Like you ‘see’ me?
Alex: I mean, I do. I see you. But I’m being literal. Saw your bedroom light come on.
Me: Wow. Do you just sit around, staring at my bedroom, hoping for a glimpse?
Alex: Yes! Guilty. But, don’t judge. You’d stare at your window every night too…if you’d seen your boob like me. (And if I’m lucky, maybe I’ll finally see them both.)
He’d seen my boob? My hand flew to cover the girls as I mentally replayed the day I’d stumbled downstairs, hungover and certain I was about to see a ghost. I had been so right to sneak a glimpse of his ass in return. With a shake of the head, I tapped out a reply.
Me: I see them every day.
Alex: Sure. Gloat about it. You don’t sound like an asshole at all.
Me: Says the man who broke into my house for months. How would you feel if I did this…
Slowly, dramatically, I slipped a hand through the curtains and created a sliver of space between the fabric.
Alex: You tease!
Me: You know you like it.
Alex: More than you know. Show me more.
Feeling exposed, I pulled back the curtains. Directly across from me, I saw Alex standing in the window, sweats on, phone in hand. He glanced up, saw me, and put his hand to the glass.
My body quickly alerted me to the fact that I’d fantasized about this exact situation several times before. Feeling sexy and confident, I ran a finger along my collarbone, grazing the fabric of my collar, then down, down, down.
Alex: Take off your shirt.
Alex: Have mercy.
I considered complying for all of two seconds before I decided to tease him a little longer.
Me: Mercy it is.
And with that, I slowly closed my curtains. Knowing the light was on, hoping my outline would be visible through the sheer window coverings, I slowly lifted my shirt overhead and dropped it on the floor.
Alex: I hate you a little bit right now
Me: Goodnight Alex
Alex: Goodnight you wicked, wicked woman. I can’t believe this is how you treat a man who broke into your house to hand deliver safety socks
Chapter Twenty-Three
Alex
Evie and I pushed through the doors of Cheers ‘n Beers, arm in arm, already laughing. Jude and Austin waited at a table in the back and Izzy would arrive late. She always did when Jude was involved. He loved to tease her about being fashionably late while I wondered how he hadn’t figured out she’d been crushing on him for years.
Before we made our way to the table, Evie pulled on my arm. “Maybe we shouldn’t get drunk tonight.” Her eyebrows drew together and she cocked her head. “You know…just in case.”
“In case of what? Hilarity and good times? You’re right. We definitely don’t want that.”
As if she thought my friends could read lips, Evie leaned close to whisper through a clenched jaw, “We have a tendency to sexually harass each other when we’re drunk…”
I lifted a brow. “That would definitely be the worst thing ever…?”
“What would be the worst thing ever?” Jude asked from behind us. The jackass had snuck up while we weren’t paying attention.
I threw an arm around Evie’s shoulder and gave her my most charming smile. “Evie doesn’t think we should sexually harass each other tonight.”
She dropped her jaw while Jude scoffed. “All you two do is sexually harass each other.” He linked arms with her and led us to the table. “Isn’t that right, Austinator?”
Austin quirked his head. “Isn’t what right?”
“Alex and Evie walk around in a cloud of chemistry and sexual harassment.” Jude spun his chair around and straddled it, folding his arms on the back and cocking his head.
“You’ve noticed that, too?” Austin rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Super stoked for you guys, but the town is preparing a petition. Your happiness makes the rest of us feel like failures.”
“That’s not what I heard.” Izzy leaned in to greet me with a
kiss on the cheek. “The only people who complain about them are serial loners like you.”
“Hello pot. Meet kettle.” Austin arched one dark brow. “You must be miserable, then.”
Jude burst out laughing while Izzy blushed. “Yeah Iz-ster. What’s up with you never dating anyone? You’re cute. You’re smart. You own the best damn candy shop in town. You have some juicy secret that chases men away? Or is it just your inability to keep to a schedule?” He leaned his chin on his hands and opened his eyes wide like a child waiting for a bedtime story.
I all but slapped him upside the head.
One look at the mortification on Izzy’s face and I did slap him upside the head.
“What was that for?” He rubbed a hand through his hair like I’d mortally wounded him. Knowing how much time he spent trying to look good, I probably had.
“I’m sure you’ve done something to deserve it.” I fought the urge to glance at my sister just in case tonight happened to be the night Jude was paying attention. Instead, I raised an expectant eyebrow his way. When he didn’t respond, I held out my hands and glanced around the bar.
Jude frowned. “What?”
“Last I checked, we’ve been here for over ten minutes and don’t have drinks.”
“I don’t work here.” He sat back, grinning. “I just own the place.”
“Do you work anywhere?” Austin snorted. “We all can agree that answer is no.”
“Don’t hate. Not everyone can be as talented and lucky as me.”
Austin bounced a balled-up napkin off Jude’s temple. “If feeding a bloated ego is a talent, then I agree, you’re the best I’ve ever seen.”