by Chelle Sloan
“I don’t know where the hell you are at right now, but by the look on your face, I want to join you.”
Cassie’s voice startles me and I can feel my cheeks turn red as I try to recover from my apparent daydream. But all the reshuffling of papers and organizing of my desk can’t hide the fact that I’ve been staring into space for who knows how long. Thank goodness Anthony isn’t here today. I would have been a worthless math tutor.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, still trying to deflect. “How was your day?”
Cassie takes a seat in one of my bean bag chairs. “It was Monday. They forgot how to math. But that’s not why I’m here and you know it. I want to know why my best friend skipped out on weekend debrief lunch today. And also, why does she look like how I would guess Cinderella looked after the ball?”
I blush again. I did skip on lunch, and yes, it was on purpose. Our teaching crew has eaten lunch together every Monday since we all started, talking about our weekends and our weeks ahead. I’ve never been the topic of conversation. No one wants to talk about my volunteering expeditions when they could be dissecting Sarah’s bad dates or trying to talk Chad out of redoing his whole house in farmhouse chic.
Ever since I drove away from Garrett yesterday after the champagne lunch, I haven’t been able to stop smiling. Or feel the touch of his lips on my forehead. I knew my friends would call me out on it. And I had no idea what to tell them.
I wanted him to kiss me. God, did I want him to kiss me. My body had been on fire all day after seeing him in that tuxedo. Charlie was right, I was ready to fight an old socialite who I saw take a grab at his behind. And let’s not start on how I felt when I saw him with Annika.
Because I wanted to grab his behind. And do so… so much more.
Who am I? This isn’t me. I have barely dated over the years. And none of them I have lusted for. Especially men who are the definition of unavailable—physically and emotionally.
From the moment Garrett placed his lips on my forehead and left a kiss that I’m pretty sure branded me, all I can think about is that I want him to kiss me more. And on more places than just my forehead.
“See that!” Cassie yells. “That look! Right there. What is that look and what are you holding out on me? Because it looks like you are getting orgasms on the regular and I’ve yet to hear about the person giving them to you.”
It was only a matter of time before I knew I would have to tell Cassie about Garrett. In my defense, what was I going to tell her?
So there’s this guy. He’s not a guy. He’s a man. An older man. He’s one of my student’s uncles and he’s a sexy doctor who asked me to help him in his quest to better his life. So every weekend, and a few times during the week, we do volunteer stuff together. How could I say no to that? But we’re just friends. He’s technically still married and I’m… me.
“You’re wrong. There are no orgasms.”
“That doesn’t mean you don’t want there to be. Spill it, sister. No holding back now. I’ve been waiting six years for you to dish about a guy. Wait. Hold on. Let me go get my drink.”
I laugh as Cassie sprints out of my room. She’s right. She has waited six years to hear about my sex life. In the men I’ve barely dated, I’ve only slept with two of them. And neither were ones who rose to the level of tell your best friend about it.
Maybe I should have told her. Maybe we could have laughed together about the guy who cried when he came. But until Cassie, I never had a best friend to confide in about things like sex or relationships.
Which is why this conversation is uncharted territory for me when Cassie plops back down into my bean bag chair with her tumbler of water. At least, she says it’s water. I doubt it most of the time.
“First off. What’s his name?”
“It’s… It’s Garrett.”
It takes her a second before I can see the lightbulb go off above her head.
“Garrett? As in Cullen’s hot-as-fuck uncle who gave every mother in this school a spontaneous orgasm at the fundraising meeting? That Garrett?”
“The very one.”
“Holy shit, girl. You don’t date, like ever, and that’s who you go after? I must say, I’m impressed. Wait! How long have you been holding out on me? Are you dating? Holy shit, is that look your day-after-sex face? I’ve never seen it, so I don’t know. Oh my God. You’re having sex. I need to know everything.”
I laugh, ensure her that no sex is happening and fill her in on everything. Well, most of it. I start with how we connected at Christmas, and how I ran into him at the 5K. How since then he’s been joining me in my volunteer ventures, and how he’s even found a few to get involved in on his own, including the champagne lunch yesterday. Which then, of course, leads to the forehead kiss.
“He kissed you on the forehead?”
“Yeah. Is there something wrong with that?”
“No, I mean, forehead kisses can be the most confusing ones. If it was a quick peck, then it might as well be your grandpa giving you a kiss goodbye. But if he lingered… then it could mean something more.”
I think about it. It definitely didn’t feel like a relative showing affection. And it did feel like it lasted for a while. Then again, for how much I’ve replayed it in my head today, it could have lasted for two seconds that I’ve now blown up into thinking it was for two hours.
“Lingered. Definitely lingered. And before that I swear he was about to really kiss me. I know I don’t have a lot of experience with that stuff, but I… there was an energy between us.”
Cassie lets out a dreamy sigh. “That feeling is the best. The anticipation. I’m so jealous of you.”
I laugh. “You’ve never been jealous of me in the entire history of our friendship. I doubt a forehead kiss with debatable meanings is going to change that.”
“That’s a lie. I’m constantly jealous of your hair. And I’ve always wanted to know what it was like to get a discount at Disney World on account of being a princess.”
I pick up a small stuffed animal on my desk and throw it at her. She knows I hate it when she makes her princess jokes.
I’m not. I’m the furthest thing from it. Disney princesses might have to overcome hardships for their happily ever after, but none of them have to make up for the things I have done. Or decisions I’ve had to make.
Of course, my friends don’t know about that. Not even Cassie. That’s in my past and I’ve worked my butt off to overcome that part of my life. Yet every time they tell me that I’m a blonde Snow White, I can’t help but think that Snow White wouldn’t have had to leave her home just to get away from a past that would haunt her until her final breath.
“In all seriousness,” Cassie says, pulling me from my thoughts. “I don’t think that it was a friendly kiss. I also think that he’s in a sticky situation with his marriage. He’s probably just as confused as you are.”
I let that sink in. She’s right. He has been through so much since Christmas. He nearly died, for goodness’ sake. He’s going through another divorce.
That part should scare me away. Honestly, a lot should scare me away from anything having to do with Garrett Dixon.
I’ve learned so much about him the past few months—the good, bad, and ugly. I know that he cheated on his first wife. I know that he’s not even officially divorced yet and I would swear on a stack of bibles that he was going to kiss me yesterday. I know he is older and much more experienced than I am. All of those reasons should be plenty of warning for me to stay away.
But I meant what I told him—who we are in our present is much more important than who we were in our past. Yes, we all have pasts. Some were better than others. I know that better than anyone. What counts is the person we are trying to be right now.
And right now? I don’t see an older man with about to be two ex-wives. I don’t even see an uncle of one of my students. That was a flimsy excuse then and it’s even more so now.
Right now, I see a man who might
be older, but by his actions, is saying that it’s never too late to try and change your direction in life. That it’s never too late to try and be a better person. And I think that’s the part of him I’m falling for the most. Because if I have figured anything out since yesterday, it’s that I’m falling for Garrett Dixon.
Hard.
“Are you going to get that?” Cassie asks.
“Huh?”
She nods toward my purse on my desk. “I think your phone is vibrating.”
I hurry up and dig for my phone, secretly hoping it’s Garrett.
“Hello?”
No one says anything, and I pull the phone away from my ear when I realize the origin of the call. It’s another unknown number.
“Hello?” I ask again.
“How are you, Josephine?”
How in the hell did she get this number?
“You have the wrong number.”
I hurry and hang up the phone and pray that my face doesn’t give away the gravity of what just happened. Luckily, Cassie was scrolling through Facebook when I took a phone call from the one person I hoped to never hear from for the rest of my life.
“Everything OK?”
I nod. And then I lie.
“Yup. All good.”
I might have been willing to tell Cassie my secret about Garrett today, but I’m not ready to tell her about my past yet.
One I’m scared is now trying to come back and haunt me.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Garrett
I never understood why people found it freeing to get behind the wheel of their car, roll down the windows, and blare a favorite song. As I’m doing it now on my way to pick up Paige, I see the appeal.
Or maybe it’s because I’ve never felt this way in my life.
The practice is thriving with every doctor at Innovative so busy that they are not accepting any new patients. And despite not making the rounds at various charity or social events, the clinic’s funding is looking solid for the first quarter and into summer.
Personally? I’m happy. Lighter. Just being away from Annika has made me feel twenty pounds lighter. Living with Mark and Charlie means I get to spend more time with Cullen and Makenna. It has been firmly established that I’m the top uncle over Charlie’s brother, Dominic, despite my lack of pancake-making skills. He might be a big time senator, but I’m pretty sure I rock a pretend tea party better than he does.
When I was lying in my hospital bed, wondering why I had been given a second chance at life, I didn’t realize how unhappy I was.
Looking back at that version of me, and the one I’m looking at right now, it’s amazing how much things can change in such a short amount of time.
Annika hasn’t given me much grief over the separation. Which is odd. I expected daily texts and calls from her about her “lack of funds.”
This tells me she is already seeing someone else. Good. She can be someone else’s problem.
And then there is Paige. Fuck, that woman is driving me insane. And she doesn’t even know it.
It’s been almost a week since I’ve seen her. A week since I nearly found out what her lips taste like. A week since I chickened out and went for a kiss on the forehead instead.
I’m still trying to decide if that was the best or worst decision I could have made.
We’ve talked a few times, I didn’t want her thinking that I was ignoring her. But since there were no events for us to help with this week, I haven’t seen her.
Which is completely unacceptable to me.
That is why I’m now standing outside her door, a bouquet of flowers in my hand, waiting to pick her up for dinner. I wanted to thank her properly for everything she has done for me. When I said this to Charlie, she joked that it was a date. So then I invited her and Mark. She then told me it was a double date.
It’s not any of those things. It’s just a friend taking another friend to a meal at a four-star restaurant with his brother and sister-in-law.
When she opens the door I remind myself of that, because fuck, every time I see her I can’t get over how beautiful she is.
“Is there an airport nearby, or was that just my heart taking off?”
My bad line earns me a well-deserved eye roll. Like always, it’s the perfect ice breaker. “That’s what you’re going to go with?”
“Is it going to score me a dinner date tonight?”
Not a date, asshole. Not. A. Date.
She takes the flowers from my hand and waves for me to come inside. “Only because I’m very hungry.”
As she puts the flowers in water, I take the time to look around Paige’s home. And that’s what this is. A home. It’s modest. I’d guess a two bedroom. The décor is bright but simple. Pictures of her friends, and I’m guessing students, line the walls. It’s pristinely clean but lived in.
It’s absolutely what I would picture for Paige.
“So, where are we going? I hope I’m dressed OK since you refused to tell me.”
“You look beautiful. It’s perfect. I’m still not telling you.”
She lets out a defeated sigh as she grabs her purse and jacket before we make our way out to my car. “I’m not a fan of surprises. What if I have a food allergy? What if it’s all meat and I’m a vegan? What if it’s in a language I don’t know and I end up ordering frog testicles?”
I almost choke on my laugh as I open her car door. Frog testicles? Where does she get this stuff?
“You aren’t vegan. The restaurant is an Italian steakhouse. And you don’t have any allergies that I know of. And frog testicles are fucking disgusting. Come on, Angel, trust me.”
The side look she gives me goes straight to my dick. She’s trying to be defiant and show a little of that sass that comes out when I push her limits. And fuck if it isn’t making me hard as stone as I’m about to drive to meet my brother and sister-in-law.
“Fine.” She lets out in a huff. “But if I can’t find anything to eat on the menu, it’s your fault.”
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
Paige
Angel.
The nickname has been stuck in my head ever since he said it to me in the car. I wanted to ask him about it because he’s never called me that before. Well, except when he laid down that cheesy line in the hospital.
Nicknames are so intimate. Even if I’m the furthest thing from an angel.
Between the almost kiss, the flowers he brought, and now the nickname, my mind is going out of control. This probably wouldn’t be happening if I had dated like normal people in their teens and twenties, but I didn’t, so here I am confused as all get out before a maybe double date. And not just with any man, a man I am ridiculously attracted to, who just called me Angel and almost kissed me last week.
I am so in over my head.
“You ready?” Garrett says as I realize we’re parked in front of Marciano’s, an Italian steakhouse that I’ve never heard a bad thing about. I’ve also never eaten here because I have a mortgage to pay and groceries to buy.
“This is where we’re going?”
He doesn’t say anything before coming around and opening my car door for me. “It is. I figured Italian and steak is a can’t-go-wrong choice. Plus, I remember you saying you wanted to try it.”
I said that once, in passing, as we were driving to the beach to do trash pickup. “You remember that?”
He places his hand on the small of my back, leading me into the lobby of the restaurant. “I remember everything you have ever said to me.”
I can’t respond because we’re taken back to our table where Mark and Charlie are waiting for us. Even if I could have, I wouldn’t have known what to say.
Lucky for me, I don’t have time to dwell on his words. Not when Mark and Charlie are dining with us. The wine and conversation are flowing, the laughs are never far away and before I know it, I have eaten every bite of the mind-blowing, four-cheese ravioli that I’d most definitely request for my final meal if I were on
death row.
I even had a chance to ask the question that’s been on my mind for months.
“Can I ask why Garrett likes to use horrific pickup lines?”
“He still uses those?” Mark says, slamming his hand down on the table before laughing for a good minute. “Holy shit, brother. I thought you would have abandoned those years ago!”
“Bad pickup lines?” Charlie asks. “Now you must tell. I need to know everything.”
“Yes, Garrett, please enlighten us,” I say, trying my best to give a serious yet teasing look. “Please tell the table why you greeted me tonight asking if there was an airport nearby?”
And for the first time since I’ve known him, Garrett Dixon blushes.
If I wasn’t completely smitten with the man before, I absolutely am now.
“It’s actually this asshole’s fault,” Garrett says, pointing to Mark. “When we were growing up. I heard him say one to Jenny Damon. She was the prettiest girl on our street.”
“Translation: she was the first to get boobs,” Mark adds.
“Well, that too. I heard him use one on her, and then they were going out, or whatever version of that is when you’re in seventh grade. So I figured since it worked for my brother, why couldn’t it work for me? So I found the Playboy article that Mark got his from and tried one on a girl in my grade.”
“And did it work?” Charlie asks, completely invested in this story.
“It actually did. And it worked on every girl I asked out in high school. Little did I know, until my senior prom date told me, that the only reason she and the others were saying yes was that the lines were so terrible they felt bad for me. I countered back that they said yes, so my mission was accomplished.”
“So you realize they are horrible, yet you continue to use them?” I ask.
He looks over at me, a fire in his eyes that is burning me in my seat. “Worked on you, didn’t it?”
I immediately blush, because darn it, he’s right. It did, without a doubt, one hundred percent worked on me.
Garrett gives my leg a squeeze under the table before raising his wineglass.