Fit for Love (A Stand By Me Novel Book 3)

by Brinda Berry

  This is like he used to be, always giving me surprises. “OK.” I do it. Maybe the bribe will make him feel better and he won’t cry anymore.

  Something cold and hard clicks around my upper arm. I open my eyes instinctively. Confusion clouds my vision. I jerk my arm and metal bites into my arm.

  A handcuff on me. I don’t understand. I follow the path of chain from my arm to Daddy’s wrist.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Forget Bacon

  Aiden

  “Hey sleepyhead,” she says. “You hungry?”

  A good woman knows there are two things a man wants first thing in the morning. Both appear to be within my reach.

  I roll over and my mouth waters at the smell of bacon, but my eyes feast on the sight of half-dressed Makenna. She leans in the bedroom doorway, a small smirk on her lips, her tousled hair and short T-shirt distracting me.

  Her legs and those pink panties. Jesus.

  Forget bacon. I’ve lived without it for years anyway.

  I rub the spot beside me. “Come back to bed,” I say in a low, rumbly morning voice, sounding more like the Godfather than I intend.

  She saunters to the edge and sits. “No can do.” She lifts one eyebrow. “You’re very tempting though.”

  I grab one of her hands and press the palm directly over my heart. “Feel that.”

  Her mouth twitches. “What am I supposed to feel?”

  “Oh.” I shake my head and hold her hand a little tighter. “You’re kidding. Maybe you should listen. Put your ear here. This is serious.”

  She eyes me with a lifted eyebrow, then leans in and places her head against my left pec. Her richly colored hair, like a blanket of autumn leaves, cascades in a silk cover over my skin. “OK. What exactly—”

  “Shush,” I whisper. “Don’t you hear it?” I stroke her back, the heat of her skin radiating through the soft cotton. Her hands embrace my sides as she listens.

  “No.” She lifts her face with her chin barely grazing my sternum. Her fingers slide down and her hands linger for a second before falling to rest on the bed. I miss the contact immediately.

  “It’s the sound of my breaking heart.”

  I retrieve one hand, guiding it slowly toward my morning erection when the distinct sound of an opening door stops me, hovering over my navel. My grip tightens in reflex. “What’s that?”

  “That’s Mama and Ryder.”

  “Oh shit.” I drop her hand and slide out from under her, so I can bolt out of bed at Olympic speed.

  She sits up and looks at me with a grin, putting her finger against her lips in a quieting motion.

  Why didn’t she tell me? Where are my pants? My pants, my brain, my erection…all evaporate. I scan the floor beside the bed for them. Nothing. My heart revs faster.

  “Mak?” Her mother’s voice comes from the family room.

  I leap to the foot of the bed. The jeans lie in a ball and I tiptoe over to them. Struggling to get each pant leg on, I glance up at the sound of the bedroom door closing. I zip up my fly in slow motion as if they might hear it from the next room.

  I want to meet Makenna’s mother fully clothed and preferably looking as respectable as one can when coming out of her daughter’s bedroom. Although my vehicle is parked outside and there’s no question that I’ve been here overnight, I want to make a good impression. I don’t want Mrs. Ross to see me as that guy, the one who had his way with her daughter after only a couple of dates.

  And Ryder. Can I pretend we’ve been telling bedtime stories like we did with him?

  I break into a sweat along my hairline. Shirt. It hangs over a chair in the corner, so it’s not a crumpled mess. Inserting one arm into a sleeve, I freeze at footsteps coming down the hallway. I punch my other arm into the remaining sleeve.

  The door opens. My fingers poise above the first button at my chest and I look up.

  “They’re gone,” Makenna chirps happily as if I haven’t been lamenting my soon-to-be tarnished reputation with her mother.

  I button the rest of my buttons without answering. It’s my own fault for not waking and leaving early. “Did you know they were coming? That’s not the way I want it to look to your mom.”

  My voice cracks with more of that Godfather early morning rasp I had earlier. The adrenaline won’t stop, my heart still running the race to the finish line. To get me dressed.

  “Calm down.” She walks toward me with her brow furrowed. “It’s ok. Mama didn’t expect to keep Ryder overnight. She came to get some clothes and stuff. She doesn’t care if I have a guest.”

  Guest? I’m just a guest? I’d like to be called more than that. I want a label from her after all. A label like boyfriend. Maybe even soulmate.

  Soulmate? What the hell is wrong with me? She’s the one who’s sane. But for some reason, I can’t make myself stop thinking it now. Yeah. Something clicked, buzzed, and celebrated deep inside me the moment I kissed her. And it was more than my dick.

  Fuck my need for a label. If I had a true label, she’d rip it off my flesh and leave me bleeding.

  That’s what I am. One big bleeding heart.

  I glance around for my shoes and socks. She places her hands on my chest. “What’s got into you? You’re acting really weird.”

  Gripping the back of my neck and pressing my fingers into the skin, I stop and look into her eyes. Only her hands touch me, but her gaze pulls me out the funk I’ve created in minutes.

  I breathe in and shake my head. “Sorry,” I say and my voice still doesn’t sound right. “I don’t want to meet your mom like this. I was naked with a hard-on ten minutes ago. And Ryder…I don’t know.”

  “What don’t you know?”

  I slide my hands around her waist and pull her flush to my chest, ignoring her tantalizing smell and the feel of her breasts. “This matters to me. I need for your mother to like me. To know I’m serious about you.”

  “Mama’s gonna love you. I tried to get you up for breakfast, before she gets up. I’ve told her all about you. She was excited.”

  My heart bumps down to a jog, slowing once to do a little kick in the air.

  She grips my shoulders and squeezes. “Wow. You are major uptight. You are so sexy in the mornings. Well, that and grumpy.”

  I huff a quiet laugh. “Next time, we plan ahead.”

  “OK, Mr. Planner. Got it.” She wiggles out of my hold. “Breakfast is cold by now, which is sad, because you would’ve loved it. Come on.”

  “I’ll love whatever’s in there,” I say to her back as I follow her from the bedroom.

  “Yeah. Next time, you cook.” She wiggles her ass as she walks in a happy way. Even the girl’s backside flirts with me when she doesn’t know it.

  “I like the sound of next time.”

  We sit at the bar on high stools. I move my seat closer, with my knee resting firmly against hers. There are two plates of cheesy scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast, all served on plastic cartoon placemats.

  “How am I so lucky that you can cook?” I ask her and fork a bite of eggs into my mouth.

  “It’s nothing fancy.” She nibbles on her toast and rubs bare toes across the top of my foot.

  My gaze drops down to the instrument she’s innocently using to entice me. Purple sparkly toenails frame the ends of her delicate foot. For all her bravado and tough exterior, she’s the most feminine woman I’ve ever met. Everything about her pulls to something deep inside me and makes me want to protect her.

  “I haven’t dated anyone who can cook. My last girlfriend could burn water. Not that I expect a woman to do the cooking. I know my way around a kitchen. But I admit to being spoiled when it comes to good food. Nonna makes the best Sicilian dishes you’ve ever tasted. Wait until you sample her cooking. As soon as she’s well, I’ll take you to eat at her house.” I’m unable to look away from her toes that skim along the bones of my foot and up to trace my ankle. Above her anklebone is a small heart tattoo with initials I can’t read from a distance.


  I put my fork down and reach to grab her calf and pull it up to rest on top of my knee. “Here’s a little jewel I missed. You have ink. What do the letters stand for?”

  “Ryder Morrison Ross.” She pulls her leg from my hold. Her warmth disappears—from her body and her voice.

  “Morrison. Nice.”

  She shrugs and stabs at her eggs. “My dad’s name.”

  “Ah.” I lean on one elbow against the top of the bar. My body angles toward her. “You gave Ryder his name. He had to be a special man.”

  “I did it as a reminder to myself—which is an awful reason to burden a kid with a name.”

  “Reminder?”

  She chews a bite of eggs. “Oh yuck. These are cold and pretty bad.” Grabbing both our plates, she heads to the microwave and places the first plate inside.

  “Makenna,” I say softly to her back as she punches in the time with the attention of stopping a nuclear weapon countdown.

  “Hmm?” She doesn’t turn, but her sorrowful tone speaks volumes.

  “Is the topic of your dad a no-discussion zone? If it is, I can respect that. I just want to know everything about you. I’m sorry if it makes you sad.”

  Now, she does whip around. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m such a freak sometimes. Some people talk about their past so easily. I wish I could be like that. But I can’t. That’s how it should be, because I was a kid when he died. It’s history.”

  I give a small nod. “It’s OK, nothing to be embarrassed about. There are things that we carry about with us, no matter how long ago.”

  Accustomed to the girls in my past, the ones who overshared, I should be ecstatic that Makenna doesn’t feel the need to let me know a play-by-play of her past, present, and future.

  There’s something about the way Makenna reacts to certain topics, as if she can’t get away from the discussion fast enough. Not quite hiding, more like running.

  “What are you up to today?” she asks and turns back to the microwave to finish reheating the eggs.

  Today? Oh, yes. This brings up to another topic she probably doesn’t want to talk about this morning.

  “Jared came by the club yesterday.”

  She frowns, deep lines knitting her brow. “Club? Dastardly Bastard’s?”

  “The health club. Evolutions.”

  “Why?”

  The microwave beeps. She ignores it.

  “Well,” I answer. “He said he wanted to hire me to be his trainer.” I leave it for her interpret. Does she have to deal with this sort of manipulation all the time?

  “Jared? He doesn’t exercise. Or at least he didn’t.” She pauses, like she’s measuring her next words. “Are you going to?”

  I stare at her for a long minute. “You’re kidding, right?”

  She walks forward while holding both plates and slides mine across the bar to me. “It’s your job. I don’t want you to get fired or anything over me.”

  I picture that twatwaffle in Derek’s office yesterday. Anger stirs deep in my gut, so I take a breath. Release the breath. OK. Good. Everything’s under control.

  I give her a steely look. I thought she knew me better by now, which is crazy, because she wouldn’t ask that if she did. “I’m not going to hang around with my girlfriend’s ex, regardless of being paid for it.”

  “Don’t feel like I expect you to refuse for me.” She sticks to standing on the kitchen side of the bar, but grabs her fork.

  “I know you don’t. Wait. That’s not true. Hell. You should expect it. I’m crazy about you. And I have a right to be jealous. Would you work with my ex on a song?”

  She shrugs and keeps her eyes on her plate. Then she takes a tiny bite of eggs, just enough to keep her mouth occupied. “Maybe.” She hesitates. “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know?”

  Her gaze flicks to mine. “You’re getting mad.”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth. It’s not like I’m insanely jealous over exes, but I don’t care if I get fired. I’m not working with that fruit loop.”

  Her eyes widen. “You might get fired? Oh, no. Not over me. I will not be responsible for you losing a job. You’re counting on me too much.”

  Makenna picks up her plate and takes it to the sink. She scrapes food off it and the jerky movement makes a scrip, scrip, scrip sound with the fork tines.

  “Hey, stop for a minute.” I abandon my breakfast and chair. I walk to the sink, rest my hands on her waist, and bury my face in her hair. “Don’t shut me out.”

  “You shouldn’t count on me. I’m not cut out for relationships. Ask Jared. He’ll tell you. I couldn’t even commit to him. Not in the long run.”

  I reach around her and remove the dishes from her hands. “I’ll take care of these,” I say and place them in the sink. “Right now, we talk.”

  She looks over her shoulder at me and her mouth purses into a sad smile. “It’s true. I suck at this type of thing. I’m not fit for love. Don’t you get it?”

  “What are you talking about? What are you afraid of?”

  She turns back to face the window over the sink. “I’ve let people down. I don’t want you to be one of them. You’re my…friend.”

  I think most guys would be insulted over her saying this last sentence, but I’m not. It says all the things she won’t. Sometimes, being called a friend is more valuable than being her lover.

  She cares about more than my body.

  I shake my head. “No matter what you think, you can’t let me down. I make my own decisions and any consequences are my own. I find it sweet and silly that you are worried about me. Baby, I can take care of myself. I’m going to talk to Jared.”

  Turning into my embrace, she stares at me. “We haven’t known each other long enough for me to expect you to take on Jared.”

  I kiss her cheek, her bottom lip, her forehead. “I’m not taking him on. I’m telling him to stay the fuck out of my business. You’re my business. And what you said, about us not being together long? Sometimes, it’s all gut instinct and you just know it’s right with a person.”

  She stares at my chest. “It felt right last night. Sure. But…you don’t have to make me any promises. I’m not like that.”

  I graze my knuckles underneath her chin and tilt her face up. “That night when you went with me to the hospital. And then the way you made Nonna happy…for me. That’s when I knew you were different.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I would do that for anyone.”

  “See. That’s what I mean. You play all tough. Like you don’t want anyone to know about that heart of gold inside. You volunteer at a shelter. You’re a good mother. You’re talented, and there’s the miserable fact that you’re really”—I say and kiss her neck—“really hot.”

  She makes a slight moaning sound and mutters, “Miserable?”

  “Um hm. I’m miserable if my hands aren’t on you.”

  She gives me a friendly shove. “Quit tempting me. I have to get showered and dressed. Ryder’s waiting for me to get him.”

  “All right.” I step back and look at the kitchen. “I’ll load your dishwasher since you made breakfast. You can get in the shower. Alone.”

  She gives me a cheeky grin. “Maybe you should join me.”

  “Go on,” I say, then swat her behind and turn toward the sink. Under my breath, I mutter, “Yes. Miserable.”

  The private drive leading to Jared Jameston’s house is lined with poplars and longer than an airport runway. I wait at the iron gate stamped with musical notes. A keypad and intercom system stand sentinel, guarding against all Jared’s trespassers.

  I roll down my window and a blustery wind sweeps in to chill me. Pressing the call button, I wait for him to answer while I silently curse the weather. I could be hanging around with Makenna for a couple of hours. Meeting her mother. Playing with Ryder.

  A female voice sounds over the speaker. “Yes?”

  “This is Aiden Alesini. Could you please let Jared kn
ow I’m here?”

  “Yes. Can you state your business?” she asks in a neutral tone.

  And what is my business? That’s a great question and one I don’t intend to discuss with a stranger. “He should be expecting me,” I answer.

  “I’ll tell him you’re at the gates. One moment, please.”

  I roll up the window and crank up the heater. If the asshole had any manners, he would’ve left word to let me inside. The gates suddenly whir to life, and my nerves perform jumping jacks, anxious to complete this task. I drive through the gates and wind through a couple of acres before pulling up to the house.

  I ring the bell and a woman dressed all in black answers the door. She’s an attractive brunette, one of those women who could be thirty or fifty. Probably not a girlfriend, but I’m not sure.

  “Hi. I’m Aiden. Jared is expecting me.”

  She nods. “Mr. Jameston is busy at the moment. I’ll show you into the library to wait for him.”

  Mr. Jameston. Well, not a girlfriend. I follow her into a large room directly off the foyer.

  “Make yourself comfortable. He’ll be with you shortly,” she says and exits.

  The gigantic room has a fireplace at one end with an elk head over the mantel. An entertainment center lines a wall and features the largest flat screen I’ve ever seen.

  A trophy on the bookshelf catches my eye and I walk over to examine the engraving. Celebrity golf tournament. A plaque beside it states the gratitude for a donation to a children’s foundation. I take a couple of steps past more plaques, all praising him for his humanitarian efforts.

  Several photos in silver frames line the middle of the shelf. Every image is of Ryder. I scan the entirety, sighing in relief that I don’t see one of Makenna. I pick the nearest black and white photo, a candid shot of Ryder, that looks to be a recent one. He sits beside a sun-burnt Jared on a wooden bench, wearing swim trunks and smiles. Ryder’s bare legs are shorter, thicker, more baby-like.

  Both Ryder and Jared wear muscle shirts that cling to their skin, wet with perspiration. Ryder holds a melting ice cream cone with dribbles of chocolate smeared around his mouth.