by Max Monroe
I’m alone in his house.
What am I supposed to do now?
Awkwardly, I round the island and take a seat at one of the stools, my hands clasped in my lap. It feels weirdly like I shouldn’t even touch anything, but I know that’s a little overboard.
I mean, if he weren’t comfortable with me being in his house alone, he would have asked me to wait in my car, right?
Emboldened slightly, I get up from the stool and walk over to the living room shelves. They’re filled with photographs of Chloe and Jake together and Chloe by herself. There are a few with another man and a couple of young kids, and I have to assume it’s Garrett, Sarah, and Hayden.
And Garrett is hot as fuck, pardon my French, but holy hell. He has a thick, dark beard, dark brown hair, piercing ice-blue eyes, and the kind of muscles all the guys I used to see at the gym would literally sell their souls to the devil to obtain.
Man. I don’t know the she-witch Bethanny, but she better get her shit together because if Garrett goes on the market, women all over the fucking planet are going to Lose. Their. Shit.
Lawd. I look at the huge veins in his forearms and his hands on his daughter’s shoulders…
He has to be the centerfold in Firefighters Illustrated or something.
I move on to the next shelf and find a picture of him and Jake together. I swear to Jesus, I think I come a little in my panties.
It’s like…almost inhumane to subject someone to that much hotness in one picture.
No joke. I’m surprised just having it in here hasn’t started a house fire yet. I wonder if they lock it away when they put up their Christmas tree since it’s such an incendiary object.
At the very least, they should have a fire extinguisher sitting beside it. Just in case.
I stroll past those shelves to the door next to them. It’s open, so I peek my head in just a little to see what’s inside. It looks like an office/den type of thing with a desk and a computer and a sofa, along with some shelves filled with books and binders.
I tiptoe inside to take a closer look, but it’s just construction stuff about welding and cranes and signaling.
Interesting and necessary, I’m sure, but not exactly worth my very limited snoop time.
I’m not sure when I crossed over from feeling awkward and intrusive to thinking it’s okay to wander his house unattended, but I’m just going to embrace it. I don’t imagine I’ll ever get a chance like this again.
I wander back to the door and back out into the living room and down the side hall to another room, but the door is closed. I’m obviously taking some liberties here, but I think with a closed door, I’d better not. Instead, I turn back to the kitchen and find my way into the pantry and flip on the light.
The shelves are stocked with all sorts of snacks and baking supplies, and when I spot a box of brownie mix on the top shelf, I get an idea. What’s better with ice cream sundaes than brownies?
Nothing.
I grab the premixed box and an egg from the fridge and get to work. I have to poke around a little to find a dish to put the batter in, but it’s not too hard.
By the time Jake walks through the door, I’m sliding a pan of brownie batter into a preheated oven.
“Honey, you shouldn’t have,” he says teasingly, tossing the bag of stuff from the grocery store onto the counter. An unexplained thrill runs down my spine, but I ignore it.
“I hope you don’t mind. I…I found the mix in the pantry, and I didn’t have anything else to do.”
He smiles but raises his eyebrows. “I really thought you would have looked around a little bit. That the journalist in you wouldn’t be able to stop herself.”
“I did,” I admit with a lopsided grin. “I got bored after that.”
He chuckles. “Good, good. And did you find anything interesting?”
“Well…I found out that your friend Garrett is astonishingly good-looking.”
“Oh God,” he groans. “Do me a favor, and do not tell him that when you meet him.”
When I meet him? Am I going to meet him?
Unable to give any credo to a possibility that he probably just threw that out there because he got ahead of himself, I don’t mention it. Instead, I round the counter to take a seat at one of the stools.
He watches me lift myself up gingerly, and his smile disappears. “Are you still feeling sore from the crash?”
I start to shake my head, but it kind of hurts, so I stop.
“Holley, you should go to the doctor. Get checked out.”
“No!” I protest. “I’m fine.” He narrows his eyes, and I change my choice word. “I’m good, Jake. I’ll be good. Don’t worry. I just need a little rest and a brownie hot fudge sundae.”
“Can dessert cure anything for you?” he asks.
“Most things,” I admit.
His eyes search mine. “And what about the things it can’t? What are those?”
The memories his questions spur cause insta-discomfort inside my chest.
I swallow thickly and get up from the stool to escape. At first, I don’t even know where I’m headed, but I figure out an excuse pretty quickly. “I’m…uh…just going to run to the restroom. Yes! That! Be right back.”
I make it around the counter, but I don’t make it much farther before Jake stops my progress, pushing my body gently toward the wall.
I back up swiftly until I can’t go anymore, and he boxes me in.
“What is it, Holl? Where does the pain in your eyes come from?”
I lick my lips, thinking about the morning I walked into my kitchen to find my fiancé and his assistant standing much like this, his loving hand on her pregnant belly.
It hurts to think about—it always does—but the feel of Jake’s hand as it settles on my hip takes some of the sting away. In fact, it’s like a warm balm on a slow-to-heal wound.
Achingly slowly, his face moves toward mine. My heart thrums and my breathing quickens, but for as much as I want to squeeze my eyes shut and break through the fog, I cannot. I can’t look anywhere other than the deep recesses of his blue-green eyes, and moving my body at all has ceased to be possible.
It’s only him and me and this moment, and the distinct, vibrant possibility of it ending with his plush lips on mine. I’m fairly certain my body would absorb right into the wall and stay there forever if it thought it’d extend the time of physical contact—if it thought his hand would move a little lower on my hip where his fingertips would meet flesh.
I’m just about there—just about to the point of delusion from which I can never return—when a small female throat clears behind us. Apparently, David Blaine has nothing on my ability to levitate when I’ve been caught horny and red-handed by a seventeen-year-old girl.
Strangely, though, Jake doesn’t even flinch, turning to face Chloe like he wasn’t seconds away from groping me expertly.
Which makes me wonder…maybe he wasn’t? I mean, did I make that whole thing up in my head?
“Home from the movies already?” Jake asks, voice completely even and steady. I swear, I almost think he’s not human. Part werewolf or vampire or something, perhaps. If I talked right now, I’m pretty sure it’d sound like I swallowed a dump-truck load of gravel.
Chloe rolls her eyes, sliding onto the stool on the other side of the counter. “Hailie’s mom called right when the movie was starting—right in the middle of Ryan Reynolds’s shirtless scene. Demanded she come home right then. It was traumatic, to say the least.”
“Oh no. How awful. You know, anytime I’m in the middle of a Ryan Reynolds shirtless scene, I turn off anything that could interrupt it,” Jake teases her like only a dad can.
She laughs and rolls her eyes again. “It’d be like you getting interrupted in the middle of a shirtless scene with Mila Kunis. Or some actress who looked like Holley.”
Jake laughs and nods, stating, “Gotcha,” but my eyebrows pull together. Um, what?
“Anyway,” Chloe says, shrugging again. “He
r mom’s got two different personalities, and tonight, the strict one came out for no reason.”
Jake rounds the counter and kisses Chloe’s head before tilting it back to look her in the eye. “What do I always say?”
She nods. “I knowww. We don’t know her reasons, but her reasons are none of our business. She’s the parent.”
“Ah,” Jake teases with a laugh. “You really have been listening.”
Chloe smiles. “I didn’t make a big thing of it. Hailie did. But we left right then anyway.”
“Good,” Jake affirms. “As always, I’m proud of you.”
Chloe blushes a little as she glances at me—as if what she’s done tonight should make her feel embarrassed in front of me, rather than the other way around—and then a smile tugs at just one corner of her lips. “Thanks, Dad.”
I don’t know that I’ll ever know a better feeling than affirmation from your dad. It’s certainly been my saving grace through the years. If I hadn’t had my own paternal pillar of support through some of my shit, I don’t know what I would have done. It makes me feel all warm inside to know that Chloe has that too.
But this…whatever this is that Jake gives me—support and understanding and kindness—might just feel better.
He looks at me over Chloe’s head and promises to get the answers he seeks some other time.
It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
Which only makes this whole situation all the more confusing. I mean, if he asks me again to let down my walls and share my personal burdens with him, what will I do?
Will I turn awkward and try to avoid it again?
Girl, the trust and willingness that currently sit inside your heart say you’ll probably sing like a fucking canary.
Jake
Garrett smiles as he walks down from the parking lot, the sun still asleep below the horizon. He’s the only guy I’ve ever known who can smile like that no matter the time. It’s like his body’s clock is adjustable.
“My God, you look smug for this time of the morning,” I rib as he approaches. His hearty chortles ring out across the empty space and echo off the relatively calm waves.
“It’s just a great day to be alive, Jake. Don’t you think so?”
I laugh. “Are you high?”
“High on life, my man. Just blessed to be here with you this morning. I know your morning ritual is all sacred and shit. I’m surprised you even agreed to fit me into this part of your schedule.”
“I made you come an hour before sunrise. I’ll still be able to swim on time.”
Garrett laughs. “You’re a machine.”
Normally, he wouldn’t be far off, but this morning, I’m dead tired. After a restless night of tossing and turning over dreams I can’t quite remember, my energy feels depleted.
Most people would opt out of the morning routine—take a break, sleep in, and try to recharge. But I know my body well. It likes structure, and it likes physical activity. Both of those for me are the staples that get me through long days, tough days, days that seem to never end.
They’re where I find my strength and the discipline it takes to maintain it. That, and it always makes me feel like I’m accomplishing something.
On a day when I don’t feel quite like myself, an extra three-mile run with Garrett on the beach is just the thing I need.
“What happened with the fires up north? Evidently, you didn’t end up getting called up there.”
“Nope,” Garrett answers and bends down to touch his toes, stretching out. I take that as my cue to limber up as well, doing a few hip twists and then grabbing my foot and holding it to my butt to stretch my quads. “They got it pretty under control, down to a thousand acres, but another fire just broke out about thirty miles south of there,” he explains. “I’m almost definitely getting called out for that one. Our unit is first on the list for support outside of the precinct.”
I meet his eyes. “Bethanny giving you shit?”
His smile is a little disconcerting as he answers, “Definitely.”
“And that makes you happy?” I ask with a laugh.
He shrugs. “I’m tired, dude. I…don’t think it’s working. I think I’m going to seriously consider talking to someone about the right way to file for divorce. I don’t want to surprise her, but I want to be prepared.”
Suddenly, the smiling, buoyant guy who stepped onto the beach this morning is making sense. Garrett’s a good-spirited person. He’s not negative or angry at all—pretty much ever. But there was a lightness in his step today I haven’t seen in quite a while. I have to imagine the possibility of extricating himself from the constantly stressful situation with his wife took fifty pounds off his shoulders.
“It seems like you’re feeling really good about the decision?” I ask to confirm. You know, before I do a cheer or offer him congratulations in the middle of a secret emotional breakdown.
He shrugs, just the tiniest of smiles curving up the side of his bearded mouth. “Do I like ending my fifteen-year marriage to a woman I promised to spend the rest of my life with? While we have two kids together and this will affect them greatly, no matter how much I try to protect them?” He shakes his head. “No.”
I nod in understanding.
“But does it feel like I can finally breathe again, after struggling to do so for the last five or so years?” He holds his hands up and out to the sides. “Fuck yes.”
“I get it, dude. It’s not an easy decision, no matter what. I respect the hell out of you for trying everything you could until you couldn’t anymore. I know for a fact that you gave it more than I would have.”
He pulls his foot to his ass to stretch his quad and laughs a little. “Thanks, man.”
“That said, you know I’ll do everything I can to help support you and the kids while this is going on. No matter what, you can call, yeah?”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Garrett jerks up his chin in affirmation. “So, can we go for a run now? I need my lungs to burn.”
I don’t waste any time, turning and taking off down the beach without warning. I turn to yell over my shoulder, “I’m ready when you are!”
His glare is almost brighter than the moon as he takes off after me at a sprint. I return to facing forward, stop smirking, and put my ass in another gear. Otherwise, he’s going to smoke me in no time.
I’m usually able to run without losing my breath at all, but Garrett is like a rabid dog today, nipping at my heels with questions and comments every step I take.
“How have the dates been going?”
“It seems weird that you’re going on so many. Where are you finding the women? Is there an actual swimming pool full of them?”
“I don’t understand why you’re going out on, like, Tuesday nights? Do these chicks work weekends?”
“How did you meet them?”
I screech to a stop, bending over and putting my hands to my knees, and he comes around in front of me, jogging in place while he does, the bastard.
I don’t think he’s beat me in a run—or any athletic competition of any sort—in years. I didn’t realize it until now, but apparently a simultaneous interrogation is the tool he needed to give him an edge.
“All right, all right, Jesus.” I run a hand through my hair and sigh. “You’re right, okay? It’s not just an uptick in my dating. I’m…I’m kind of doing a thing with the SoCal Tribune. Have you heard of the Bachelor Anonymous contest?”
Garrett’s smile is annoyingly pervasive. I bet if the astronauts at the Space Station looked down here, they’d be able to spot the glow of it. “I haven’t, but I can tell you, hearing it now is probably the best thing ever.”
I flip him off.
“So, what? How does this work? And how in the fuck did you end up doing it? A newspaper contest called Bachelor Anonymous. I’m dying, dude.”
I scowl, trying to think of the most succinct way to explain the whole fucking cluster. I only half understand why I’m doing it myself. Explain
ing it to someone else feels nearly impossible.
“Chloe entered me without telling me, and I got picked to be…the main guy or whatever.”
“And what?”
“I go on dates with five different women who applied to be a part of it, and at the end, I’m supposed to pick one to continue dating.”
“Holy shit.” His nostrils flare as his eyes widen in delight, so rather than pause to listen to anything he might be close to saying, I carry on.
“Anyway, this woman…Holley…she’s in charge of the whole thing and writes articles about all of it as it goes along.”
“That’s amazing. So, you just date multiple women and don’t feel bad about it?”
I shake my head. “It’s not really like that. I go on one date with each of them. It’s not like it’s super deep. And some of them, man, you wouldn’t be into. They’re attractive, but like I told Holley…” I laugh as I think of some of the jokes Holley and I came up with during dessert at MoMo Milan after dinner with Bianca. “…Dumber than a bag of rocks.”
Garrett’s eyebrows draw together as he considers me. “And this Holley lady? What’s she like?”
I smile. Thinking of all the things that Holley is and how best to describe them in a way Garrett will understand. “She’s fun. We get along really well even though she’s kind of a mess.” I laugh as I think of her wrecking the four-wheeler on my date with Rachel over the weekend. She seemed a little sore Saturday night but otherwise okay. And I texted her yesterday to see how she was feeling, but she just sent me a GIF of Kim Kardashian lying in bed with the covers up to her chin followed by the thumbs-up emoji. I took her ability to joke about it as a good sign. “But she has a good sense of humor and has definitely made the whole thing a little more enjoyable.”
“How often do you see her?”
“Most days, I guess.” I shrug one shoulder. “We have to get together to plan the dates beforehand, and then we usually meet up afterward to kind of do a rundown on everything that happened. She’s there on the dates too, but obviously, we don’t really get to talk much then.”