by Destiny Ford
Drake’s mouth slid into a smile as he met my eyes and held them for several seconds before turning his attention to Annie. “Thanks for having me, Annie.” He held up a bag. “I brought cookies.”
Annie’s eyes widened as she recognized the bag. “Saints and Sinners Cookies? How did you get those? I thought they sold out at the fair.”
Drake grinned. “They did.”
Great. Now he was going to be revered not only as Branson’s most eligible bachelor, but also the freaking cookie wizard. He could conjure up treats by sheer willpower alone. I frowned as I thought about it. He probably made a deal with the devil to get them. I took a deep breath and fought to come up with something that wouldn’t be antagonistic. “Drake. Shouldn’t you be off somewhere hitting on teenagers?” I failed.
His eyes raked over me as his expression darkened. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was turned on. But men like Drake were always turned on, so I didn’t take it personally. “They’re not who I want to be hitting on.”
My eyes widened at the same time I noticed Annie quirk her brow and stare at us thoughtfully. I gave her a look back that said, don’t read into it. He’s paid to lie and charm people.
However, I didn’t like the insinuation in Drake’s statement. Okay, so that was a lie. I did like it, but I didn’t want to deal with what my liking it might mean. And Annie noticing Drake’s interest didn’t help anything either. I needed a subject change. Immediately. “I don’t know why everyone’s making such a big deal over these cookies,” I said, pointing to the bag of chocolaty sweets. “They look pretty normal to me.”
Annie’s eyes widened like I’d said something sacrilegious. “Have you tried them?”
No, in fact, I hadn’t. Probably because I thought my mom would murder me if I did. She still wasn’t over her cookie slight at the fair. She’d even mumbled about it on the way home after the mouse-tie incident, saying something about how she’d been trying to replicate the recipe for two days, but couldn’t figure out what was in “those gosh darn cookies.”
“Not yet,” I answered.
Annie grabbed the bag off the table, her face a study in disbelief. “You have to try one right now! I can’t get enough!”
“In the grocery store, you said they weren’t as good as my mom’s.”
“Oh,” she said, pausing to think about it. “Well, they’re close, and they’re available at the store. Your mom’s aren’t.”
I took the cookie, examining it. It looked like every other cookie on the planet, and I couldn’t figure out why everyone seemed to be in treat tizzy. “Have you had them yet, Drake?” Annie asked.
“I tried one a couple of days ago. They were really good.”
She offered the plate to him, but he shook his head, putting his hand up. “Not tonight.”
Annie looked taken aback. “But you bought them!”
“I haven’t been to the gym in a couple of days.”
I snorted, and Drake sent me a mildly amused glance. I rolled my eyes. I mean, I appreciated the fact that he cared about his body and went to the gym—every woman who set eyes on him did—but treat deprivation seemed extreme. He and I would never work for that reason alone. I paused, totally stunned that I’d been thinking of us working in any capacity. What in the hell was wrong with me? Unwilling to deal with this newest revelation about myself in regard to Drake, I blurted, “There’s not much point to living if you can’t enjoy it.” I immediately took my first Saints and Sinners bite in an attempt to give myself something to do other than think or speak. The cookies were delicious: peanut butter dipped in thick milk chocolate, but frankly, I thought my mom’s were far better. I wasn’t sure why everyone was in such a fit over these.
“I agree,” Drake said. “And I do. In moderation.”
I snorted again at that and almost spewed cookie crumbs. Moderation my ass. “I’ve heard about your moderation.”
Annie excused herself to go help Rich in the kitchen. Alone with Drake was not something I was comfortable with. Ever. I could never decide if I wanted to punch him, or kiss him. It was a problem. One that was clearly getting bigger each time I saw him.
“I’ve told you not to believe everything you hear,” he said, pointedly.
I shrugged. “When you hear something repeatedly, it’s hard to ignore.”
His lips flattened like he was frustrated. He took a breath and said, “Speaking of rumors, I hear you’re still dating that idiot, Hawke.”
I gave him a condescending smile. “I heard you were buying condoms recently. I’d think someone with your experience would know better than to get them in town. Must have been an emergency. So, who’s the lucky Barbie Bimbo you’re screwing this week?”
His hands tightened slightly where they were resting on his legs. “I wasn’t buying condoms. I had a stomach bug and needed something to stop me from dying. The grocery store was already closed, so I had to go to the convenience store.”
I ran my tongue over the inside of my cheek. “Uh huh. Pepto and Trojans are so easily confused.” Truly, it was entirely possible. If Drake showed up at the convenience store in the middle of the night, people would automatically assume he was there for booty call accessories, not medicine.
“Believe me or don’t. It’s still the truth.” He paused. “And you should be careful calling the women I date names—considering you’re one of them.”
I gave a disbelieving laugh. “We’ve never dated. And you know it.”
Drake lifted his hand and started ticking off points. “You went to the party at the legislature with me, we went to dinner at the Mexican restaurant together, my car has been seen at your house on multiple occasions, and you sat with me on my blanket to watch the fireworks in the park,” he said. “In the eyes of Branson residents, not only are we dating, we have a serious relationship.”
I rolled my eyes. “We’ve never dated. That’s that.”
He steepled his fingers as he studied me. “Why does it bother you so much that people think we’re together?”
“Because of your reputation.”
He blew out a long-suffering sigh. “Come on, Katie. Ryker Hawkins? It doesn’t even sound like a real name. Hawke’s reputation is much worse than mine. You date him openly, and don’t care what people say. What’s different about me?”
I leaned back in my chair and crossed my legs, resting my hands in my lap. “Because to me, your womanizing reputation is much worse than anything Hawke’s done. Men who wish they hadn’t gotten married within six months of ending their Mormon missions are living through your conquests. Your love life is legendary. And somehow, you get away with it without the guilt and judgment every other Mormon in town gets—especially women. It’s an absurd double standard—”
“I agree.”
I stopped mid-soap box. “I’m sorry, you what?”
“I agree. With everything you said.” His eyes and tone were completely sincere, and I was stunned at his opinion, and that he wasn’t afraid to share it. He elaborated further, “Men are judged much less harshly in our community than women. I don’t like it, and I don’t agree with it. But I’d also like to remind you that rumors are rumors regardless of gender. I’ve told you before that you shouldn’t believe everything you hear. Those same men who are telling stories about my conquests and trying to live through me are embellishing stories just as much as the Ladies. Half of the things they say I’ve done haven’t happened at all, and the other half are exaggerated beyond recognition.”
It was hard to believe Drake was telling the truth, but having been the victim of Branson’s rumor mill myself, I couldn’t write off his explanation completely. “It makes it hard to figure out who you really are, Drake. I can’t trust what people say about you, and I can’t trust you, either. I don’t know you well enough.”
A muscle worked at his jaw. “But you think you can trust Hawke? You’ve known him less time than you’ve known me. And Hawke is one of the most dangerous men you’ve ever met.”
> I shook my head, taking a drink of my cider. “You keep saying that about him, but he’s never been threatening around me.”
“Every time he’s even in your vicinity he’s a threat to you. He’s not the type of person you want to be connected to, Katie.”
Drake had serious issues with Hawke, and Hawke didn’t seem particularly fond of Drake either. I wanted to know why. “What’s the problem between you two? Why do you hate each other?”
Drake shrugged. “Ask him.”
“I have,” I answered. “Now I’m asking you.”
He looked at me, eyes narrowing. “It’s between me and Hawke.”
I rolled my eyes again and caught Annie’s gaze. I didn’t realize she’d come back outside, and wondered how long she’d been there, and what she’d heard. She seemed to be completely riveted by my interaction with Drake. Luckily, Annie was my friend, and Annie and Rich weren’t the gossiping type. But I figured I better tone it down for the rest of the night. The best way to do that would be to not really interact with Drake. So that’s exactly what I did for the next two hours—avoid, avoid, avoid.
Eat a cookie. Ignore Drake.
Eat my hamburger. Ignore Drake.
Drink my Sprite-spiked fruit punch. Ignore Drake.
More cookies. More ignoring. I wasn’t sure, but it seemed like the cookies were getting better the more I ate. Or maybe I was just happy to have something keeping my mouth full.
I could only avoid Drake for so long, however. And when it was time for me to leave, Annie handed me the remaining Saints and Sinners cookies—a hostess concession I was sure she’d regret making since she liked them so much—and Drake decided he would leave at the same time as me.
He followed me to my Jeep. His ginormous, ridiculous, planet-hating bright yellow Hummer was blocking my way. I wasn’t surprised. Drake liked to take over things, driveways included. I’d been hopelessly in love with him as a teenager, but I’d learned my lesson. While I’d grown up looking at him with awe and unrealistic hopefulness, my college women’s studies class had made me see him for what he was: a raging egotistical womanizer who reminded me far too much of my old boyfriend—a man who wanted a Stepford Wife, not a woman with a brain. Now I just needed to remind my conflicting hormones of that.
Drake opened my Jeep door for me and I got in, hoping that meant our discussion was over. I hoped too soon. “Why do you dislike me, Katie?”
I took a deep breath, not wanting to have this conversation. At all. “I dislike what you represent. We’ve talked about this before. We even talked about it earlier tonight.”
“Because you think I represent jerks who treat women poorly?”
I hedged. Well, he hadn’t done anything that I’d seen…but still. I’d heard enough to warn me off.
“Have I done something to make you think I’m a womanizer, Katie?”
I stared at him. Of course he had. He was born. You couldn’t look like that and not be a womanizer. “I saw the girls you dated in high school, Drake. And I’ve heard enough about the women you’ve dated since to know you’re not looking to settle down. You just get away with sleeping around because all the men you socialize with are living through you, and the women hope they’ll be your next conquest.”
A muscle worked at his jaw. “So everything you’ve heard is based on rumor. You have no facts that I’m this jerk who’s just looking for the next woman with big boobs who will take her clothes off.”
I used a line that had been used on me recently. “When you hear a rumor enough, there’s usually some grain of truth it started from.”
“If you really believed that, you wouldn’t be happy with what’s being said about you right now. It involves a corn field.”
I was able to refrain from stomping my foot and shouting. Barely. I really thought I’d gotten away with that one. “Sheesh! I wish people would stay out of my personal life!”
Drake arched a brow. “Exactly.”
“You’re a public figure. It’s different,” I said, shutting my door. The window was already down—small town and all.
“It’s really not. I’m being gossiped about because I live in a small town, just like you. I told you: don’t believe everything you hear.”
I stared at him. He had a point, but still. He hadn’t given me anything solid to refute the gossip I’d heard. I was a reporter and worked in facts. Facts I could understand and move forward with. Blind faith was significantly harder.
“Have you investigated any of the stories you’ve heard about me to see if they’re true?” he asked.
Uh…no. I hadn’t. And I wasn’t sure why. When everyone had warned me to stay away from Hawke, I’d defended him tirelessly, and then went to Google and the Tribune’s background check software to get facts to back him up. I had no idea why I’d been so quick to defend Hawke, and even quicker to believe the horrible gossip about Drake.
Drake must have read the answer in my expression. His lips tightened as he nodded once. He turned to leave, but stopped abruptly and walked back over to me. Good grief, he took up a lot of space. Cavegirl Kate liked that. Cavegirl Kate was a traitor.
Drake put his hand on my windowsill and leaned down, his face inches from mine. “And for the record, I’ve been hung up on one particularly infuriating woman for years. Then I heard she was moving back to town and becoming the editor of the Branson Tribune. I haven’t dated anyone since.”
My mouth dropped. I couldn’t have been more shocked if Neil himself had just shown up and started singing “Cracklin’ Rosie.”
“I might not be able to change everyone’s mind about me, Katie. But I’ll prove I’m not the person you think I am.”
My mouth was still hanging open as he walked away.
I stretched as I woke up and smiled. I’d slept like a log, and it was the best night of sleep I’d had in years. Still groggy, I wet my lips and rolled over, hitting the alarm clock. That’s when I noticed something strange. My black silk robe was covering my arm. I rubbed my eyes, sure I was still dreaming. When I opened them again, the silk robe was covering my other arm as well, and tied in a haphazard bow around my waist. This was the robe I wore to make toast in the morning after my shower, not one I wore to bed—especially when it was as hot as the inside of a volcano outside.
I threw my legs over the side of my bed, trying to remember the previous night, but my memory was fuzzy. I’d gone to Annie’s for dinner, then I’d come home. I’d sat down on the couch to watch TV with my bag of cookies and some milk, and I thought I’d fallen asleep there. So how did I get to my bed?
To say I was disturbed by my lack of memory was an understatement. I was in the beginning stages of a freak out. One that escalated to full-on meltdown when I untied my robe and found I was wearing my sexiest, see-through except for a few strategically placed pieces of lace, black and hot pink lingerie.
I had no recollection of how it got on my body. My heart was racing as I walked through the house, hoping that something would trigger my memory—and hoping also that the something wouldn’t be a strange man. I paused and frowned—or a familiar one.
The house was empty as I padded down the hallways on my hardwood floors. I went in the kitchen and noted that the back door was locked and secure. Every room I’d checked so far didn’t include my secret, stray lover. When I got to the front room, I noticed the bottom door handle lock was secure, but the deadbolt hadn’t been engaged. I locked the deadbolt every night without fail so that seemed fishy.
I looked around my living room and noticed my cell on the coffee table. I rushed to the table and sat down to look through my messages, hoping there would be a clue as to what had happened the night before. I looked through all of my social media accounts; no information there. I scrolled through phone calls, nothing strange. No text messages either.
I furrowed my brows in total confusion. Why couldn’t I remember what had happened? And why was I wearing my throw-me-against-a-wall-and-screw-me uniform?
The only concessi
on I had to my night of unremembered passion was the fact that I was still wearing the lingerie. If I’d done anything scandalous, my clothes would have been missing—in theory.
The questions continued to plague me all through my shower. I hated not knowing things, and not knowing something that might have involved my girl parts was upsetting, for multiple reasons, including the fact that I hadn’t been laid in over a year, and really wanted it to be memorable, and preferably with a hot private investigator named Hawke. Was he even back in town?
I stretched my legs and arms a bit as I got out of the shower, testing my muscles. Considering my dry spell, if I’d done any sort of sheet gymnastics, I was sure something would have hurt. Nothing did. That made me feel better. I was relatively confidant nothing had happened other than a costume change, but I still wished I knew the exact series of events.
I thought about it on my way to work, and screwed my face up into a determined expression as I walked in the back door of the Tribune office. I’d figure out the lingerie mystery if it was the last thing I did. I made a pit-stop by the treat table. Spence had brought doughnuts from Frosted Paradise and considering the morning I’d already had, nothing could make me happier than carbs. I took a bite, and almost choked as I turned around, noticing my desk. There was a humongous bouquet of brightly colored flowers in the middle of it. I looked across the room at Spence’s office where he was working on his laptop. “Hey,” I said, my voice hesitant.
Spence glanced up from his work. “Hey, yourself. Nice flowers.”
“Yeah…about that…do you know who delivered them?” I was hoping the mystery flower giver had dropped them off himself.
Spence shook his head. “They were delivered by Beautiful Bouquets this morning.”
I wrinkled my nose as I stared at the appropriately named beautiful bouquet like it was a ticking time bomb. For all I knew, it could be. After several seconds of debate about whether to extract the card or call the police, I finally decided to read the note. I gingerly pulled the card out of its envelope, and exhaled a deep breath when nothing exploded. Sheesh. I was spending too much time with my mother.