by Kendall Ryan
“Oh, she headed out of town tonight?” Case asked, but Ranger cut in before I had the chance to answer.
“Of course not. You know Wayne was at the game.”
“Which means if she’s not at the inn and she’s not out of town . . .” Case eyed me as he pieced it all together. “Aw, shit.”
“Shut up,” I muttered, but Ranger hooted again.
“Sure you want to spend your night with us when you got better prospects waiting for you at home?”
“This is why nobody tells you anything,” I said, and then took a swig of my beer.
“People tell us plenty.” Case shrugged. “Just depends if we care to listen.”
“Did you see this one?” Ranger asked Case.
He bit his knuckle and nodded. “She’s pretty. Real nice figure. Would’ve pegged her for Duke’s type if I hadn’t heard about the whole salon debacle.”
“Something happened at the salon?” I raised my eyebrows, trying to act nonchalant but curious anyway, and also oddly irritated by Case’s notice of Charlotte’s figure. He wasn’t blind, after all, and she did have a banging body, but still.
“Yep, heard it from Audrey. Mrs. French always gets her nails done on Mondays, but apparently Charlotte walked in and took her spot. Got her hair done too in some fancy blowout, whatever the hell that means.”
“I don’t know how any of that has anything to do with me,” I shot back.
“A girl whose first goal in town is to get her nails and hair done? Big-city type with some designer handbag? Doesn’t ring a bell?” Ranger raised his eyebrows and my stomach twisted.
“Look, if you’re talking about Sarah—”
Case grimaced. “God, I hope nobody is. I’m trying to have a beer and enjoy my night. No need to relive that nightmare.”
“She wasn’t that bad,” I argued, although I inwardly cringed at the memory.
It was true, Sarah had stuck out around Shady Grove about as much as . . . well, about as much as Charlotte did. But there were differences between the two. Sarah would never have gone to the game with me tonight, and she sure as shit would have minded if I’d wanted to hang out with the guys instead of spending time with her. And she never would have eaten a concession-stand pretzel.
Still, that was the girl I’d thought I wanted to marry. I’d had the ring and everything. In fact, I still had it, tucked away in a drawer along with the note she’d left behind.
But Charlotte wasn’t Sarah. This was a totally different situation and would have a totally different outcome.
I raised a hand to put an end to the debate. “I’m with Case on this one. Why don’t we just have some beers and cool it with all the girl talk? That was a hell of a game tonight, after all.”
Lucky for me, the guys sensed I’d had enough, and turned the subject to tonight’s game. They dissected each of the plays and went over the stats of the star athletes for each team. The Stallions, we all agreed, would do better next week.
Although I tried to immerse myself in the stats and reasoning for every play, I still found myself thinking of Charlotte, and about how I would feel when, two days from now, she climbed into her car and got back to her life. I wanted her to remember me, even if we couldn’t be together. To take a piece of me with her when she went.
If I were being honest, I wanted her to leave a piece of herself behind too. Something for me to remember and hold on to when I thought about what could have been between us.
You know . . . if we weren’t totally wrong for each other.
Chapter Fourteen
Charlotte
Luke didn’t wake me on Saturday morning, and neither did the bright, glittery sunshine that poured through the windows of his bedroom. Instead, the phone that I had fallen asleep beside buzzed so close to my face that I shot bolt upright, my heart racing as I frantically glanced around.
I clutched my chest, then let out a deep breath and grabbed for the damned thing, checking to make sure I hadn’t disturbed Luke. But no, he slept on like a log, snoring gently with his mouth halfway open.
I reached toward him, tempted to brush back a tuft of his mussed hair, but then my phone buzzed again and he shifted, swatting it away from him as he snuggled deeper into the sheets.
Reaching quickly, I grabbed the phone just before it tipped over the edge of the bed, then glanced down at the flashing screen. I had so many missed calls and follow-up voice mails that a knot formed in my stomach at the sheer number alone.
Breathing deeply through my nose, I eased from the bed and tiptoed out of the room, careful to close the door quietly behind me before edging my way into the kitchen and opening the dreaded screen.
Okay, all I had to do was look at the last five calls. That was it. If I wanted to listen to them, I would. If not? They could wait for another day.
With another deep breath, I sucked in my cheeks and scanned the list of names.
Mom.
Dad.
Valentina.
A number I didn’t recognize.
Prescott.
I did a double-take at the last name, hating the little heart emoji that still lingered beside his name in my contact list, and deleted the message without listening. Okay, that was one decision down. All I had to do now was decide on the rest.
Better to start soft, right? Crawl before you run?
I tapped Valentina’s name and held the phone to my ear.
“Charlotte, hey. Just calling to see what the deal is with the car and the town and everything. I hope you’re on the road. Can’t wait to see you!” She made a happy little screeching noise, and then the message clicked off.
Okay, that wasn’t so bad. I glanced at the list again and chose my next poison—the number I didn’t recognize. Even a bill collector or heavy breather would likely be better than a message from my mother.
“Ms. Freemont, this is Dr. Maloney. I’m sorry to be calling you out of the blue like this, but your parents told me that there might be some cause for concern. Could you please call me back and let me know if you’re all right, and where you are? Your parents are very worried, and I would like to get you the help you need and deserve.” He left his number and then hung up.
I stared at the phone, blinking at it like it had slapped me.
Was that a . . . psychiatrist? Did they think, just because I didn’t want to marry Prescott or stick around in their plastic little world, that I was having some kind of mental breakdown?
But then, I had fled the scene without a word and headed for California. That would worry any parent, I was sure. Even if my mom’s Botoxed face was no longer capable of expressing emotion, surely there was a heart left rattling somewhere in that impossibly narrow chest cavity of hers.
Conflicted, I clicked on the next message and listened.
“Charlotte, darling, it’s me.” My mom’s voice floated over the line, airy and light, as if she were calling to see if I was available for tea this afternoon. “I know you must be in a state right now. You probably think you’ve ruined everything, and I won’t lie. It is a little tough around the club,” she said with a cluck of her tongue that set my teeth on edge. “But you have to remember other girls have still made worse mistakes. Remember when Nina Weiss’s daughter ran away and eloped with that boy she met on the subway, of all places? Anyway, what I’m saying is come home. Prescott and Daddy will forgive you. Just come home and forget this momentary lapse.”
The message ended and I looked down at the phone again. She hadn’t asked if I was okay—hadn’t even asked where I was. Though, of course, I knew why.
It didn’t matter. Or it wouldn’t until I was exactly where they told me to be.
“Well, better make the rounds of it,” I mumbled and held up the phone to listen to my dad’s message.
There was a long moment of silence, then the sound of men laughing and the clicking of glasses followed by low chatter. Someone said something that was too muffled to make out, and Dad
replied in a booming voice, “So then Duff says, you think that’s bad, you should see the other guy!” More laughter followed, and I clicked the message off without waiting to hear the other forty-three seconds.
My father had butt-dialed me. As far as he knew, I was missing and heartbroken, and he was out somewhere drinking and laughing with his buddies, telling tired old stories?
I set my jaw, trying to ignore the sting, and scrolled down to find another message from my mother. I clicked on it more out of righteous anger than interest, and when her voice floated over the line again, I gritted my teeth, waiting for her to ask me this time where I was, or if I was okay.
“Charlotte, honey, it’s me again. I wanted you to know I’ve paid everyone from the reception and that’s all handled. I’ve also arranged for you to see a few doctors, so they should be calling you in short order. I hope to see you soon.”
She hoped to see me soon? That was it?
No I love you?
No nothing?
My mother’s only concern was for her checkbook—and her image. And that was exactly why I’d escaped—and exactly why I hadn’t told Luke about my past. I didn’t want him believing I was some silly society girl who only cared about the label stitched into her clothes or the number of zeroes in her bank account. I wasn’t like them. I wasn’t. And even though I knew that I shouldn’t have lied to Luke when he asked me about Prescott, I just wanted so badly to believe that all of that was behind me, and never speak of it again.
I slammed my phone on the kitchen table and huffed out a sigh, blinking back angry, frustrated tears.
I was just about to slam it again, just for the satisfaction of it, when a deep male voice behind me made me jump.
“Early to bed, early to rise, I guess,” Luke murmured, looping his arms around me and pulling me back against his chest.
I could feel the long, rigid outline of his cock against my ass. It was amazing how just the feel of his heated skin could mellow the fury in my chest while unfurling a whole other kind of heat inside me.
“What was all that about?” He nodded toward my phone, and I shook my head.
“Nothing. Checking for word about the car.” The lies were coming quicker and easier, and I hated myself for that, but there was no sense in dragging him into my drama when I was leaving in two days.
“I’m guessing it’s not ready by that reaction. I hate to say it, but I wouldn’t hold your breath on hearing about that anytime soon.”
“I know, I know. It’s Saturday, so Wayne’s drunk.” I rolled my eyes. “It doesn’t take long to learn the ins and outs of a place like this.”
He stiffened and paused, still in the process of nuzzling my hair. “Something wrong with that?”
I wanted to bite my tongue off. “Not at all,” I said, shaking my head. “What does Saturday normally look like for you?”
“When there’s a beautiful woman in my house, I tend not to leave the bed. Especially since she was asleep when I got home last night.” He laced his fingers with mine and spun me around to face him. “What do you say, beautiful? Want to go get dirty together?”
“I’d say that would be perfect,” I murmured as he leaned in to kiss me, but I put my finger on his lips, calling on every bit of my willpower to hold him in place. “If we didn’t have so much work to do. You said you wanted my help, and I want to help you. Now tell me, where do you work best?”
With a long-suffering sigh and the promise of a reward when we were done, Luke arranged all the papers and forms I needed on his dining room table, and I settled in to work. For the next couple of hours, we pored over the papers and drew out designs.
When the morning became the afternoon, Luke disappeared into the kitchen to make us sandwiches, leaving me alone to take a break. I found myself glancing around his house, still sort of pinching myself that I was there.
It really was a sweet little place—bright and cheery with all the homey touches I would never have expected in a bachelor pad. It was a house built for a family, and as I stared around the table, I pictured tiny little Lukes sitting in those empty chairs, all joining hands and saying grace before their Sunday meal.
It was like a fantasy family life, certainly not anything I’d grown up with, and for the first time I felt a little envious of Luke. His parents were gone but he still had Duke and Molly, and the legacy of that early family life would always be with them. They could all still sit around this table, and if he went missing . . .
Well, there was no doubt that one of his loved ones would at least ask where he was.
My heart gave a squeeze and I gnawed on my lower lip, trying to push the thoughts of my family from my mind. Luckily, Luke reappeared a few seconds later and sat a turkey sandwich in front of me, the crusts cut off and the sandwich itself cut into four perfect triangles.
I laughed, my melancholy evaporating under the warmth of his boyish grin. “Wow, gourmet.”
“Only the best for you, city girl.”
There was no malice in his words, though, and I picked up the sandwich and bit in. It had been years since someone had made me a sandwich like this, but there was no denying the simple goodness.
He took a seat across from me and dug in as we talked. He told stories about his friends and the business, and about Duke and Molly. Suddenly, the image of all of us sitting around the table became even clearer in my mind, and I got so wrapped up in the flow of conversation that I found myself speaking before I stopped to think.
“What do you think the odds are of your wife having twins like you and Duke?” I asked, taking a hasty bite of my sandwich to distract from my reddening face.
Oh Lord, I’d really done it now. He was going to think I was some sort of loony stalker, naming our twins after what amounted to nothing more than a little fling.
He shot me a quizzical glance. “I don’t know. Why do you ask?”
“No reason at all,” I said brightly, shaking my head. “I just feel bad for her and her vag and all. Probably rough on the old girl, squeezing out doubles, you know?”
Luke laughed and then groaned. “Oh my God, that was funny until I had to think of it in terms of my own mom, so thanks for that.”
It was better than the alternative, so I swept my arm out and executed a little half bow. “You’re quite welcome. And there’s plenty more where that came from. I’ll be here all weekend.”
Taking advantage of the reprieve from pure humiliation, I quickly shifted gears, steering the conversation back toward the safety of work again.
But then, as we worked and talked, Luke’s chair seemed to inch closer and closer to mine. As afternoon turned into evening, the sun that had shone through the wide windows was replaced with twinkling stars, and I lost focus of everything.
Everything . . . except exactly how close he was sitting. How it would take nothing at all for him to close the space between us, slide our papers to the floor, and splay me out on the dining room table right then and there.
My cheeks heated as I imagined him spreading my legs open, his tongue laving me the way he had in the field that first night. Warmth spread through my body at the thought alone, and I squeezed my thighs together, not wanting to give in to the swell of need and longing. Not yet, anyway.
“Don’t you think?” Luke asked.
I forced myself back to the present and nodded my head vigorously. “Oh, um, yeah. Yes. Definitely.”
He leaned across me to write something on the file in front of me. His earthy, manly smell wafted up as he moved and I breathed in deeply, remembering the way that scent had tasted on his skin. With his sun-kissed hair in front of me, it was all I could do not to reach out and run my fingers through his locks, but again I refrained.
We’re talking business. Tonight is about business.
My stomach rumbled, and I glanced at him from the corner of my eye.
“Hungry?” he asked, and I nodded. “What are you in the mood for?”
Wh
en he smiled at me, I wanted to blurt out the answer, the real answer—him. Maple syrup. Whipped cream. Whatever he would let me do, just so long as I could feel his body on mine again.
He was just so damn close.
“I don’t know,” I murmured, and he shrugged.
“Think it over.”
I nodded again and he scooted his chair even closer, his knee brushing against mine as he moved. Another shot of pure electricity jolted through me at his touch.
What was it with him? It wasn’t like I’d never been with men before, but now every time I thought about his fingers on my body, I found myself panting and needy like never before.
I had to get it together—and fast. Not just because I was sure he could see the way my eyes dilated and fixed on his lips every time he spoke, but because . . . well, tomorrow was Sunday. We only had one more day together, and if I got used to feeling like this every time I was around him, what would I do when I was gone? When I finally had to leave?
“So, I was thinking about this for the logo,” he said as he sketched something on the paper in front of me.
Focus, I told myself. Focus. You promised you would help him.
But I couldn’t. All I could think about was the way the table would thunk against the hardwood while he held my hips and turned me over, ready to take me from behind.
Panic filled me at the realization that this might be the last time we were together. I wanted to make it special and—
“So, what do you think?” he asked.
I looked down at the paper to see a little stick-figure man and woman in a compromising position. I let out a short laugh, my cheeks flushing.
“Am I that obvious?”
His mouth quirked to the side. “Something like that. But luckily, great minds think alike.”
His hand stroked my thigh, working its way to the inside of my leg, just above where I could already feel my panties getting wet.
“I actually have a better idea.”
I plucked the pencil from his other hand and scribbled on the paper, just beneath his drawing. When I pulled my hand back, his gaze fell on the image of a stick-figure woman on her knees in front of a very happy-looking stick-figure man.