Trying It All

by Christi Barth

  “Watch out—Riley’s rocking the neither/nor combo. He’s working his serious vocab today,” Josh mocked.

  “Hang on.” Griff made a time-out gesture. “You were dumb enough to have a one-night stand with my almost-fiancée’s best friend?”

  “Point of order.” Knox raised one hand. Gee, how did he get so lucky to have best friends who whipped out parliamentary procedure while harassing him about his sex life? “Couldn’t be just a one-night stand. They held hands during breakfast on Sunday. The maple syrup drenching Jerry’s waffles practically fused their lips together.”

  Summer tasted more than sweet enough…everywhere…without the addition of syrup. It had given Riley thoughts about grabbing a bottle to not use anywhere near food. Thoughts he promptly kiboshed. Because one fun night didn’t negate all the ways she was wrong and dangerous and an all-around bad idea for him.

  “Which still neither makes us a thing nor together,” he stipulated. “But don’t worry. It wasn’t a one-night stand. We’re friends now. Friendly. Friend-adjacent.”

  “Fuck-friends?” Logan asked with raised eyebrows.

  Asshole. “That’s not what I mean. And don’t say it like that.” Riley leaned over to punch him not-so-gently in the biceps. “Summer deserves more respect.”

  “I know that. I’m just checking to see if you know it, too.”

  “Of course I do. She’s great, okay? Lots of”—he cleared his throat; twice—“fun,” he finished lamely.

  “Then why are you fighting so hard against her? Against the idea of doing more than just hooking up with her? Especially after the beach trip with her went so well?”

  “She’s all wrong for me.” And they all needed to stop trying to get him on the engagement train. Riley was focused on his career. Period. Starting a serious relationship would just split his focus. Wouldn’t be strategic.

  Knox ticked points off on his fingers. “The woman is beautiful. Sexy. Great sense of humor. She’s not intimidated by the whole pack of us, which is a rarity. Smart enough to run her own successful business. How the hell is she wrong for you?”

  Griff knelt to retie his shoe. “Knox is right. Probably because he has more experience with women than all of us combined. Summer doesn’t have any obvious hang-ups or quirks. We’re not going to frog-march you down the aisle at rifle point. But it is weird that you’ve retreated to the Fortress of Way the Hell No.”

  It all boiled down to two simple words. Riley spread his hands, palms up. “She’s reckless.”

  Logan barked out a laugh. “So?”

  “Look, do we have to do this now?”

  “Yeah, I think we do.”

  Fine. “Huddle up.” They scooted into a loose circle. Jerry would have his hide for the inevitable ass grass stains on their shorts. “We don’t talk about it much anymore. But the accident messed us all up. We’ve got lasting scars. And I don’t just mean the ones that’ll keep us from being GQ cover models.”

  “You won’t date Summer because of something that happened after the crash?”

  Josh eyed him warily. “It was because I spooned you in the cave, right? To keep warm? I ruined you for anyone else.”

  “All that did was make me two hundred percent positive that I’m not gay.”

  “So what is it?” Griffin asked with a patient calm.

  Riley didn’t like to think about it, let alone talk about it. But there was nothing he couldn’t tell the ACSs. And telling them would probably get them off his back. “Remember my panic attacks? Afterward? The pill that kept me from freaking out?”

  With a downturn of his mouth and a nod, Logan said, “Of course. But you haven’t had one in years.”

  “Because I learned how to cope, how to accommodate my life to make certain nothing triggered them. I stay in control. Always.” Riley realized he was pounding his fist against his palm with each phrase. So maybe not so much “always” in control. Which proved his point that it was a razor-thin edge between handling it and not.

  Knox circled his knees with his arms. “You think Summer threatens that control? With her spontaneity? Her joie de vivre?”

  After blowing a raspberry, Josh said, “Saying it in French doesn’t make it any cooler. It just makes you a pretentious asshat.”

  Griffin hinged forward from the waist to get closer to Riley. To stare him in the eye like something secret would pop out. “Have you started having panic attacks again?”

  Fair question. Seeing as how Riley lived with all of them, they sure as hell deserved to know his status. “No. Not yet.”

  Griff sat back on his heels. “Then why are we talking about this?”

  Because he might.

  A panic attack was the ultimate loss of control for Riley. It didn’t matter how many times he told himself he was safe. It didn’t matter if he deep-breathed himself into an oxygen overdose—he couldn’t stop his pulse from racing as if he was falling off a thousand-foot cliff. His heart from beating like he woke up to a serial killer with a knife looming over him. Not to mention the utter certainty that death was imminent.

  Waiting until he had a panic attack again to do something about it? Not. An. Option.

  His friends probably wanted more specifics than a flat-out no the fuck way. “I feel off balance. My equilibrium is shot. No. Weakened. Shit. That’s not it either. Like I’m on a boat and I’m rocking back and forth, except I’m on dry land and not actually moving.”

  Griff’s eyebrows kicked up. “That’s called land sickness. It’s a bitch to kick. Anti-vertigo drugs don’t work on it.”

  Great. So glad his pilot roomie’s years of Coast Guard training with boats were finally coming into play.

  “Look, I get that you’re worried. You don’t want to backslide.” Knox snaked the ball from Josh and began to kick it lazily around the circle. “But seriously, dude: You’ve been slowly turning into an uptight pussy.”

  This was what he got for pouring out his innermost fear to his best fucking friends? “Don’t feel like you have to hold back or anything.” Riley started to stand up.

  Knox hammered a fist on his shoulder to keep him on the ground. “Don’t pout. You’re still one of my five favorite people in the entire world. And I didn’t say you were there yet. Just developing…tendencies. You need shaking up. You need to be yanked out of your routine. You need someone to pull out the stick that’s starting to get permanently lodged in your ass.”

  “What he said,” Logan seconded with a toe tap that sent the ball spinning lazily to Josh.

  Who grabbed not only the ball, but the conversation. “What’s the worst-case scenario? You do have a panic attack. You get a fresh prescription for more pills. Or then you back away from Summer. Until you get to that point? How about what’s the best-case scenario? Having lots of crazy hot sex, laughs, and fun.”

  They made it sound so simple. They made him sound so paranoid. Boring. Riley looked along the length of the reflection pool to the white columns of the Lincoln Memorial. Honest Abe was dour. Bet his friends never called him on the carpet for it. Still, Riley couldn’t deny that he was heading down a slippery slope no matter which side of the hill he looked to head down.

  “It’s tough,” Riley said flatly. “I’ve built a life around the plan to prevent danger rather than scramble to react to it.”

  “Which is fine for your career. But as for your life?” Logan plowed his fingers through his sweat-damp dark hair. “You need to freaking live a little. You’re turning into a ninety-year-old about sixty years too soon.”

  Griffin plucked a stem of grass and flattened it between his thumbs. “You say you want to be in control. It sounds to me like you’re letting fear control you. Fear of what might happen if you let go and gave this thing with Summer a chance. Ry, that’s the total opposite of being in control.”

  “Message received.” And it was.

  He’d let what they said kick around in his head. Because the opinions and advice of his friends mattered more to him than anyone else’s. I
t didn’t mean he’d be running back to Summer anytime soon, though. No matter how much Riley already missed her throaty laugh and the feel of her skin.

  “This halftime is turning into more of a full stoppage of play. If we’re just going to shoot the shit, why don’t we go do it at the POV bar? With rosemary garlic fries?” Josh asked in a hopeful tone.

  Logan planted his fists in the grass behind him and leaned back. “Because we’ve still got another half to play. If we let your stomach call the shots, we’d have our fat asses parked in a restaurant booth twenty-four/seven. Hold it together for another hour, Hardwick. You’ll live.”

  As dangerous as it was to keep Josh away from food for even an extra second, Riley had one more thing. “Before we get back to play, I’ve been tossing around some ideas for this week’s podcast. There’s one I want to do, but you guys need to be all in for it. I think the timing is right to do a soft kickoff for the seatbelt campaign.”

  Knox beamed. Probably because he’d been the one who pushed them to turn the Naked Men blog into a podcast in the first place; it was his baby. “That’s a great idea.”

  In contrast, Logan frowned. He’d been AWOL when they started it and didn’t have nearly the time or energy invested as the rest of them. “Are you sure we’re there? I thought getting things up and running would take longer.”

  “We’re using the money we get from filming the podcast to fund this thing. Why not use the actual video podcast to spread the word? We’ve got a huge, diverse audience. There’s no better platform.”

  Knox mimed doffing a cap. As only he would. “Brilliant, Ry. Well done.”

  “You said a soft kickoff. That means no hardcore sell. What’s the angle?” Josh asked.

  “Like I said five minutes ago, I live to prevent danger. That’s our bottom line with this. So I want to talk about dangers—preventable ones—and how they can change lives in a split second. How one dangerous moment can impact someone for years down the line.”

  “Sounds good. Sounds touchy-feely, too. Which all of us suck at. This huddle alone is proof enough of that. How about bringing in a guest?”

  “Fine. Whatever it takes to get our message across. But it’s short notice. The next podcast’s in four days. How are we going to find someone that fast?”

  Griffin stood. Swiped the grass and dirt off his shorts with one hand. “I know someone who’d rearrange their schedule if we asked nicely.”

  As the rest of them surged to their feet, Logan asked, “Who?”

  “Summer Sheridan. Who, incidentally, would be perfect.”

  Groaning, Riley said, “Talk about beating a dead horse, G-Man. You’re killing me.”

  “This isn’t a ploy to shove her at you. Think about it. Summer gives motivational speeches about how she overcame being shot—the pain, the fear, the trauma—and used those things as a springboard to embrace life. This sort of thing is right up her alley.”

  Damn it. Griffin was right—which was enough shit to swallow for one day. But him being right and Summer getting foisted on him pretty much ruined Riley’s whole week. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of getting a guest,” he muttered under his breath.

  If he had, there would’ve been time to line up someone else. Someone equally appropriate. Someone who didn’t stir him up and confuse the shit out of him. Someone, anyone else but Summer.

  “I do.” Griffin elbowed him in the ribs. “It’s because you’re doing too much, heading up the seatbelt campaign. Logan’s absolutely right. We shouldn’t be this far along yet. You’ve been burning the midnight oil.”

  Shit. Riley had been hoping nobody would notice. The ACSs were always on him about putting in too many hours at work. It was like living with four caring dads—except that his dad had always been the opposite. Had always pushed him to stay up later, skip more activities, spend more time on his schoolwork and less on socializing. These guys were all type As, too. He was just an A-plus.

  “Elbow grease.” Riley let his arm hang down from the elbow and did a reasonably impressive Robot. “Persistence. That’s the only way to get things done.”

  “Yeah, but it doesn’t have to be your elbow grease,” Knox said. “You need to hire someone. A director—or whatever title equates to person who does all the shit we don’t have time to worry about. That’s all we intended when we agreed you’d head this up.”

  Frowning, Logan asked, “Why do you have to do everything single-handedly?”

  That one couldn’t be simpler. Or more obvious. “To be sure it’s done right. We’re embarking on something huge here, with creating both a charity and a lobbying effort. Our names are attached. People’s lives will be affected. It doesn’t matter how many extra hours it takes out of my day. I can’t risk letting someone else screw it up.”

  “For fuck’s sake!” Josh threw the ball at him. Hard enough—and straight enough, for once—that Ry had to put an arm up to deflect it. “You realize that’s not you talking. That’s your hard-ass parents’ influence.”

  Logan piled on right behind him. “How about you stop listening to that subconscious whip-cracking chip your parents installed and live life a little?”

  “Yeah. Get your nose off the grindstone for once.” Griff waggled his eyebrows. “Maybe instead, bury it between the truly excellent pair of breasts you got up close and personal with this weekend. But if any of you tell Chloe I noticed her friend’s boobs, there will be some serious head-bashing.”

  What the hell? “Are you trying to pair me off? Again? Because I’ve been pretty fucking clear that’s not in the cards. I’m not complicating my life because you want a brunch buddy.”

  Griff shrugged. “I’m just trying to get you to not have an ulcer before you have your next orgasm.”

  Huh. Ry’s anger fizzled flatter than soda left out overnight. “Gotta say, that’s a good goal.” No relationship messiness in an orgasm.

  If only things were that simple.

  “So you’ll hire someone to help?” Logan scratched the back of his neck. Damn mosquitoes didn’t get the memo that Labor Day had passed and they were supposed to scram. “I can get you some names of potentials from the executive assistant at the Marsh Foundation.”

  Riley could tell he wasn’t getting out of this circle until he agreed. And now he had an unsubtle urge to eat a mountain of fries ASAP, thanks to Josh. “Yeah. A list to vet would be a big help. Thanks.”

  “Do you want me to have Chloe ask Summer about helping out on Sunday?”

  That’d be the coward’s way out. He’d just add it to his already sky-high to-do list. “No. This week’s my turn to take point. I’ll do it.”

  Chapter 11

  Summer stuffed the receipt in the bag and handed the cha-ching-dance-worthy purchase over to her customer. “That outfit will knock the socks off all five of your new sisters-in-law. Classy, but just jealousy-inducing enough.”

  “Which is exactly what I was going for. Thank you so much, Summer. You always talk me out of things that aren’t right and steer me toward what makes me look amazing!” Her semiregular big spender, Felicia, positively gushed as she headed for the door.

  Felicia’s quest for the perfect outfit couldn’t have come at a better time. Summer didn’t want to even look at another top or accessory from her Web launch collection. She’d worked day and night since returning from the beach to make up for taking the weekend off.

  Forever Summer was weighing her down. The success of the store mattered. But so did living her life. The guilt over playing at the beach and not even thinking about the store churned half of Summer’s stomach. Anger at herself for feeling guilty at all churned the other half. One of the biggest reasons for opening up her own business was to have fun. To have the option to just close the store and play hooky. To twirl at will whenever the mood struck. To be able to take off and give her motivational speeches.

  At the start of every school year, Summer booked speeches at colleges, sororities, clubs. Listening to her story frightened some people wh
en she’d start to speak, but by the time she finished, they were empowered. Braver. Stronger because they believed they could be, just like she had.

  So far there hadn’t been time to book a single speech this September. Instead, she’d stared at the possible choices for the Web launch so many times that she’d become convinced they were all hideous. Clothing, her store, all of it was stupid and boring and exhausting and awful.

  Then Felicia appeared. With judgy family-by-marriage problems that could only be solved by the perfect outfit. The quest to make her happy, to make her feel fabulous and worthy and awesome, had turned around Summer’s mood better than even a lemon drop martini could have. Although one of those in an hour or two wouldn’t hurt…

  Arms crossed, a woman in a black tank, mini, and combat boots crossed to join Summer. “That woman had a huge ass.”

  “Wow, Annabeth.” Summer herself was well-known for a lack of conversational filter. But not around customers. That line in the sand was sacrosanct. Her boutique had to be a safe place where women could feel good about themselves. Clearly her friend needed to be reminded. “Thanks for waiting until she left to be a bitch.”

  With a head shake that set her giant silver hoops swinging, Annabeth said, “I’m giving you a compliment, not being a bitch.”

  Only partially mollified, Summer tidied the tissue paper beneath the counter. “Go on.”

  “Technically speaking, Felicia had a huge ass. Therefore, a somewhat challenging shape to fit into these couture clothes. But you didn’t let her near anything that would’ve made her feel so much as bloated. I watched you hide that peplum jacket from her behind a mannequin. What you did for her was nothing less than heroic.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. Seeing as how I’m now friends with genuine heroes. Thank you, though.”

  “Who do you know—Christ, you don’t mean the ACSs, do you?” Annabeth’s siren red lips fell open. “You can’t ever, ever let them hear you call them heroes. Their egos would inflate like a hot air balloon big enough to launch all of D.C. into the stratosphere.”