Trying It All

by Christi Barth

  “Then you’d better put a ring on her finger before she wises up. Can’t see another woman falling that hard for your shtick.” Riley went through the whole handshake/fist bump/backslap routine with both of them. Didn’t matter that he’d just seen them at breakfast. He never took seeing his blood brothers for granted, and he never would.

  Hell.

  Riley squinted up at the elaborate chandeliers lining the historic hotel’s ceiling. Figured those crystals were reflecting his own idiocy back at him about a million times over.

  Because that was the very same point Summer made this weekend, about not missing a chance to see her parents. He’d acknowledged the things she said. Understood that they were important—to her. But he’d still dismissed a good portion of it as an indulged woman not wanting to grow up. Embracing life was a fine excuse for slamming back margaritas at noon on vacation. It didn’t work when you had to go back to being an adult with a job and responsibilities.

  Maybe, no, definitely, Summer took the whole thing farther than he would. By a mile. But the basic principle? Riley now had to admit as being sound. One that he wholeheartedly not just agreed with, but lived. Who would’ve thought what he’d always dismissed as her flighty spontaneity was rooted in the same place as his prioritizing beers with the guys over literally anything else?

  At least he didn’t have to admit it’d taken him an extra four days to come around and see the light. What Summer didn’t know…well, it’d keep them from backsliding into a fight. No need to tell her that he’d been slow to catch on. Riley had spent the day with her parents. Even picked up the tab for dinner with them at Le Diplomate. Because they were nice people. And they stapled a perma-smile to Summer’s beautiful face.

  “Even if we wanted to elope to Vegas tomorrow—which we don’t—I couldn’t give Brooke a ring.” Logan nipped sideways into the elevator. “Hell, none of us can take that step until Chloe takes pity on Griff and proposes.”

  “Knox did already,” Josh pointed out.

  “That was back when we thought Chloe would fold in a matter of weeks. Now I just feel bad for the poor sap.” Logan scowled at his reflection in the mirrored wall of the elevator as it began to rise.

  Riley agreed. “She’s really putting him through the wringer.” Not to toy with him or anything; Chloe was way too sweet and too head over heels with Griff to play those games. “That’s what he gets for bringing up the idea of marriage after six weeks of dating. Bad strategy. He jumped the gun. Now he’s paying for it.”

  “You think he should’ve kept his mouth shut about how he felt?”

  “Of course,” Josh jumped to answer. “There’s a reason why men don’t share their feelings. We suck at it.”

  The middle-aged woman behind them snorted. And the yappy furball sticking out the top of her purse barked in agreement. “Nice to hear you be open about your gender’s failings,” she snipped as she got out of the car.

  Ouch. On the other hand, given her age, her pocket dog, and her obvious face-lift, Riley pegged her as a divorcée dumped for a younger model. Probably both bitter and on the prowl to remake herself as a cougar. He and his friends were lucky she’d gotten out with leaving hickeys as her calling card.

  Logan crossed his arms. Stared Ry and Josh down as if he were about to produce stone tablets to back up whatever came out of his mouth next. “Your tune will change, Hardwick. You too, Ness. When you find the right woman. It’ll scare your balls straight up into your stomach, but you’ll want to tell her exactly how you feel.”

  “Man, you’re pussy-whipped.” Josh flicked an imaginary whip, almost clocking Riley in the process.

  “Happily so.”

  They shouldered their way out into the eleventh-floor hallway. It was weird to hear Logan say that. What the hell made him sure enough to open up to Brooke? The steps Riley had to take, the hoops he had to jump through before presenting a finding on an NTSB investigation could take months. Standards had to be met. Every possible scenario thought through, tested, and retested. A whole team had to agree on a single conclusion.

  So what drove his friends to declaring—hell, even knowing it in their gut before blabbing it out loud—their love? Riley had no clue.

  What he did have was a far more immediate problem. They hurried across the enclosed part of the restaurant to the wide patio overlooking—literally—the White House. And straight ahead was the Washington Monument.

  It didn’t matter that Riley played soccer in its shadow every week. Or that he walked past the North Lawn—aka the front yard of the White House—on his way here almost as often when he got off at the McPherson Square Metro stop. He still took a moment to absorb the two famous edifices.

  Living in the nation’s capital had always, and would always, give him a thrill. Riley had to give a nod to the history of those gleaming white buildings. Because he was damned lucky to be here. Couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Here, where it felt like everyone had a purpose. A drive. Not always one he agreed with, but still something to be respected.

  Was that his hang-up with Summer? That her inner drive was just to…what, be happy? Nah. That characterization not only didn’t fit, it cheapened her spirit. She used her boutique to make people feel good about themselves. Gave motivational speeches to remind people how to feel good about themselves.

  Riley spent his days trying to make people safe. Summer spent them making people feel happy. Not that big a divide. Yet he still kept banging up against this inner wall where she was concerned.

  Oh, yeah. Because her approach to life threatened his control and practically guaranteed that something messy, painful, and disastrous would happen to him. Still hadn’t told her that. Sure as hell wouldn’t tonight. One problem at a time.

  Knox waved from their usual table, right on the balcony. “We ordered a round of Dogfish Head IPAs to kick things off.”

  “Probably faster to just line up a dozen Jägermeister shots right in front of me,” said Riley as he greeted Griff and Knox, then slumped into the chair on the end.

  “Uh-oh. We haven’t had a night bad enough to warrant Jäger since…” Griffin stroked his chin. “When was the last time?”

  “Two years ago.” As usual, Knox’s encyclopedic brain came to the rescue. They’d all learned way back in high school never, ever to bet against him. Or to play anything but team trivia with Knox. “The huge aftershock at the earthquake site Logan was working.”

  “Right.” Griffin winced. “The next time you get buried by a collapsing building, try not to do it on CNN.”

  “That made you reach for the Jäger?” Logan didn’t just look surprised. He gave them the same dose of disbelief with those raised eyebrows as if they’d tried to catch a cab at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue on Inauguration Day.

  And earned him a have you been spurting out your brain cells during sex death stare from Josh. “Well, we were pretty damned sure we’d just watched you die, so, yeah.”

  “No reason to make yourselves more miserable with Jäger.”

  Hooting, Knox clapped Logan on the shoulder. “He’s got a point. We should’ve ordered the Pappy Van Winkle. Logan’s worth ponying up a Franklin for a shot.”

  “My problem is not.” No reason to waste the cash on something he wouldn’t appreciate. Riley spread his hands wide on the table, palms up. “I got offered a promotion today.” Which burned like hell. He’d been pushing himself to the limit trying to get a promotion. Just not this one.

  His friends didn’t react. They waited. Why? Because they were his brothers, who knew just how difficult/impossible/awful his parents were about promotions. Hell, about his career—or, according to them, his lack of one—as a whole. If he was calling for the Jäger and talking promotion, the ACSs fucking knew there had to be parental blowback involved. Chunks of it.

  Time to drop the big bomb. “It’d move me up the ladder—out of the Highway division and over to Aviation.” It was easy to see them literally doing the math in their heads. Awareness flickered across e
very face. Awareness of why his parents were so gung ho. And of why Riley was absofuckinglutely not.

  Griffin ticked points off on his fingers. “Sexy. Lots more TV time. Probably even trips to the OEOB and the White House.”

  “It’d give you name recognition to newscasters.” Logan took a pull off his frosty bottle. “Definitely make you known to all the power players here in town.”

  Josh nodded, and continued the list. “I’m assuming it comes with a fancy title that’ll make your mom and dad actually happy for once to admit that you’re their son.”

  “All of that,” Riley said. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his ankles in front of him. Laid out like that, he’d be an idiot to turn down the promotion. They’d sure as shit hammered the truth home to him.

  Knox drew a hand sharply across his throat. “You’d chafe in that job worse than a wet jockstrap during a soccer game.”

  Thank God. “Yes.”

  “You joined the NTSB specifically to make a difference in traffic accidents. We didn’t almost die in a plane crash. I mean, that would’ve sucked. But our crash is why you do what you do.” Knox shot his French cuffs out from the sleeves of a green suit. “Why give that up?”

  “Because it’d be smart. It leaps me over a couple of rungs on the career ladder. More respect, more money, forward movement. In case you haven’t noticed, I live my life by the book. This is what happens when you turn the page.”

  “Go on. Finish it off,” Griff urged.

  They were really going to make him say it? Riley rolled his head to the right to watch the lights come on at the White House. See? It should be as easy as flicking a switch to make this decision. “It’s what my boss expects. It’s what my parents expect of me.”

  Annabeth appeared at his elbow. Thumped a rocks glass with a single ice cube as large as a house poking out of a half-inch of amber liquid. “Basil Hayden’s. Sip it, and thank your lucky stars I have better taste than to bring you that frat-boy rotgut.”

  Ahhhh. One of the many reasons she wasn’t just their favorite waitress, but their friend. Annabeth knew things. Instinctively. And she always knew when to be a stone-cold bitch or pour on the sugar. “Screw the stars. Thank you for taking care of me.”

  “Remind me of something, Riley. How old are you?”

  “Twenty-seven.” The change in subject was as welcome as a woman in bed to take care of his morning wood—but it was out of the blue. Weird. “Why? Planning to jump out of a cake on my birthday?”

  “Fat chance. You’re not my type. And I wouldn’t two-time Summer.”

  “We’re not…I don’t…” Riley gave up scrambling for a way to describe their undefined relationship. Undefined kept it safe. He wasn’t officially risking the loss of his control, abandoning his strict moral code, if they kept everything undefined. “Summer, of all people, wouldn’t give a shit if you jumped out of my birthday cake.”

  “That’s right. She’d laugh and think it was fun. I’d know better, though.” Annabeth drummed her fingers along the leather back of her order pad. “Maybe I know better than both of you at this point. Anyway. You travel. From the tips you leave, you earn a decent wage. And you spend every damn day working hard to protect people and/or make the unavoidable deaths count for something.”

  “Are you writing my eulogy, Annabeth?”

  She chuffed out a laugh. Then ruffled his hair. “I’m just saying. You’re a pretty great guy. Head’s screwed on straight, on top of a kick-ass bod. Why do you care what your stuck-up, social-climbing parents have to say about your career?”

  Riley sipped the bourbon as she sauntered away. Kind of wished she hadn’t brought him the smooth stuff so there’d be a kick in his throat and gut to distract from the pounding in his head.

  “Do you think she’d jump out of my birthday cake?” Josh asked.

  Griff cocked his head to the side. “Do you have the hots for Annabeth? Because you know we won’t let you pump and dump with our friends. They’ve always been off-limits.”

  “Annabeth? Me and Annabeth? No. No way.” Josh didn’t just backpedal his words. His chair screeched along the floor as he kicked back several inches. “Not gonna happen.”

  “No kidding,” Knox said dryly.

  “That’s just totally on my food bucket list. A six-foot-tall Black Forest cake with a well-stacked brunette bursting through that top layer of ganache and whipped cream.”

  “This fantasy of yours is a brunette, huh?” Griffin looked pointedly over at Annabeth where she was flirting with a table of congressmen with flag lapel pins, then back to Josh. “I think you do have the hots for Annabeth.”

  Josh jittered one leg beneath the table. Scratched his arm. Tugged at the collar of the Carnegie Deli tee they got him when he won a dare by finishing a triple-decker tongue, corned beef, and salami sandwich. “It’s just about the aesthetics. Having her match the frosting. You know with me the food always comes first. We should get some food.”

  Logan looked at his watch. “Took a whole seven minutes for you to suggest ordering. Having an off day, Hardwick?”

  Suddenly Riley was tired of all of this. Of the banter. Of the back-and-forth. It was too much to keep track of on top of his bad day. He didn’t even want to get drunk anymore. He just wanted to feel better. To be…soothed. Like he felt with Summer.

  Summer.

  He grabbed at her name like a lifeline. He could go to Summer’s house. Well, first he’d have to text and get her address, but Riley was confident she’d send it to him. Because they were friends.

  With really awesome benefits.

  Was it smart—or fair—to dump his bad mood on her doorstep? Probably not. Not smart at all for him to use her as a distraction. Why get used to something you couldn’t possibly keep? Choosing her over his friends…well, that felt wrong. Overall.

  Except that in this moment, going to Summer also felt exactly right. The solution to everything. Riley pushed his drink over to Knox—no reason to waste good bourbon—and shoved to his feet.

  Might as well try it.

  Once.

  Chapter 17

  Summer looked down at her burgundy, cream, and black Fluevogs. The platform pumps were not only adorable, but comfortable. Relatively. She had a long-standing rule that if a woman made the choice to wear high heels, she should zip her lip and not complain about the discomfort.

  But this was the eleventh consecutive hour she’d spent in them, moving clothes and accessories from her shop to the shoot location early in the morning, working a full day, and now ordering and steaming them in the space. Summer looked down. Circled her ankle.

  “Ditch ’em,” Annabeth said.

  “I can’t. It’d ruin my outfit.” They brought a 1940s style flair that finished off the wide-legged burgundy pants with the wide bow as a belt, paired with a cap-sleeved cream shirt. The combination had tickled her this morning. Given her more inner juice than a double-shot espresso.

  “Even without the shoes, you are two hundred percent more photo-worthy than I am.” Annabeth tugged at her gray jersey shorts. “And I promise. No Snapchat, no Instagram—no record of you doing the dastardly fashion deed whatsoever.”

  “Ah, but I’d know.”

  “For someone who prides herself on living in the moment? You’re sure dead set on being miserable in this particular moment.” Annabeth wiggled her toes in her sensible—but god-awful ugly—Teva sandals.

  “And I can tell that you’re dead set on helping me. Thank you. You’ve put in so many hours toward launching this website. You’ve been utterly invaluable.”

  “It’s been fun. Good for me, too. You’ve opened my eyes to realize there are things out there I could be good at besides waitressing.”

  Wasn’t that interesting?

  Possibly, too, a solution to Summer’s constant, nagging worry about how she’d bitten off more than she could chew with this project. Or maybe, just more than she wanted to chew.

  She dumped the bracelets in her hand into the si
lverware drawer/makeshift jewelry box. “You know, you have a flair for this. For styling. You’re a whiz on solving website glitches, too. If you might be interested in transitioning from merely helping out a desperate friend to officially joining the Forever Summer team, we could discuss it.”

  Annabeth gave a hollow laugh. “What—and leave behind the glamorous world of getting my ass pinched five times a night and smelling of spilled whiskey?”

  Her glib dismissal didn’t ring true. At all. Summer reached across the wide marble counter to grab her hand. “I’m serious. I want you to spend some time while I’m gone this weekend thinking about if you’re serious, too. You started waitressing because you had to, not because it was your passion. Because your family was in a bad situation and it was the best way to make money with your clothes on. Which was admirable. But you can move on now.”

  “I don’t know why you seem so sure about that.”

  Seeing Annabeth’s lower lip quiver, hearing the shakiness in her usually solidly snarky voice—it sent Summer hurrying around the island to throw her arm across her friend’s shoulders. Nobody as strong as her should feel small when contemplating their future.

  “You’ve got so much more drive and enthusiasm and talent than you could possible use schlepping cocktails at the POV. I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. Maybe you don’t think you’re brave enough to take the leap. I know you are. If not to Forever Summer, then wherever you want.”

  “Do you really mean that? Because my whole résumé consists of trying not to spill overfilled martini glasses.”

  “Stop. Stop it right now. I won’t let you put yourself down in front of me. You’re a master at customer service, at handling difficult situations. You multitask like it’s an Olympic event. Your brain is incredibly nimble. And you have untapped potential that you haven’t even begun to mine. I believe in you, Annabeth.”

  “Huh. Maybe I should too, then. Thanks.”

  A knock sounded on the door. “Do you see? This, right here, right now, is exactly why I left my shoes on.” Vindication streaked through Summer, almost erasing her exhaustion. “Anybody could be on the other side of that door.”