by Jill Shalvis
Cat turned to Heather. “He’s getting pretty old. Maybe he’s started to lose his hearing along with his wits.”
Heather nodded sagely. “Good thing, or he’d be able to hear us now.”
“I can hear you,” he said. “And she wants the divorce.” He turned to Maze, but her deep breathing and stillness told him she was no longer just ignoring him.
She’d fallen asleep.
He didn’t get two blocks before the chatter in the back seat stopped as well. One glance in the rearview mirror explained why. Caitlin and Heather had also fallen asleep, curled up together like a pair of kittens.
Relieved at the silence, he drove home, his mind racing. Was what Caitlin and Heather said true—did Maze not want to file for divorce? And if so, what did it mean?
He hadn’t realized she had taken, nor had he meant for her to take, the “mistake” comment to heart. He’d truly believed he’d been her mistake and had been operating from the knowledge that neither of them had been thinking clearly that long-ago night. That they’d been far too young to tether themselves to each other. That as much as it’d destroyed him, they’d done the right thing by going their separate ways. He, for one, had needed to grow the hell up, and he had.
And Maze had always been violently allergic to any sort of roots or ties, especially relationships. Hell, she still couldn’t even say the words I love you to those she clearly did love, like the two in his back seat.
In fact, the whole reason he’d presented the divorce the way he had was so that she wouldn’t completely freak and feel like he was trying to trap her into a commitment with him. He’d used the fact that she’d made it crystal clear she hadn’t wanted to stay connected to him in any way as further proof.
And you’d walked away pretty damn quickly yourself, never bringing it up again, instead letting it fester between you like a dirty secret. Like she was your dirty secret . . .
But that was the past, he argued with himself. And now it seemed possible that he’d made decisions based on facts that weren’t true. The thought sent an odd sensation running through his veins, a glimmer of something new.
Hope.
He glanced over at Maze again, so still in the passenger seat, head tilted awkwardly to the side. Reaching out, he nudged her into a better position, causing her to let out a soft snore, which made him laugh. Even snoring she looked good.
He had it bad.
He’d sent a quick text to Jace, so when he pulled up to the house, Jace was already there waiting. He peered into the window of the car and shook his head with a small laugh.
“Where’s Dillon?” Walker asked. “I texted him too.”
Jace shrugged. “I don’t know. I knocked on their bedroom door, but he didn’t answer.”
Asshole. Walker got out of the car. “If you take Heather, I’ll get the other two.”
Jace nodded and scooped up Heather.
“Mmm,” she whispered, throwing her arms around his neck, snuggling in, and setting her head trustingly on his shoulder without ever opening her eyes. “I love the way you smell. Where’s my baby?”
“Asleep,” Jace said softly, brushing a kiss to her temple. “Don’t worry, I’ve got the monitor hooked to my belt.”
“Aw. Hey, Jace?”
“Yeah, babe?”
“If we’d gotten married and then you offered me a way out with a divorce, I wouldn’t take it. You should know that.”
“Um, okay?” Jace sent Walker a questioning look.
Walker just shook his head. He wasn’t going into that. Not now, not ever. He got Caitlin to her bedroom and went back for Maze. He laid her down on the bed, then went downstairs again, turning off the lights and locking up. When he got back upstairs, he realized Jace and Heather were in his room, presumably because Sammie was sleeping in Heather’s.
Great. He peered into Maze’s room. She wasn’t on the bed where he’d left her. Then suddenly she came out of nowhere, yanking him all the way into the room, shutting the door behind him to press him up against the wood.
Jesus. “You’re awake,” he managed.
Her hair was . . . wild, her cheeks flushed. Her eyes were shining bright with intent and she was smiling at him, truly smiling at him for the first time in years, and he felt his chest tighten because he couldn’t—wouldn’t—take advantage of her. He’d kill anyone who did. But when she hugged him, he couldn’t help but put his arms around her and hold her close. Closing his eyes, he breathed her in. This is all you’re doing.
And then she rocked her hips against his and he knew he was a dead man walking. “Maze. What are you doing?”
“Trying to be irresistible.” She’d already dropped his sweatshirt. She tugged off her T-shirt next and then started on her jeans, but Walker grabbed her hands.
“You’re already irresistible,” he said, never having meant anything more than those few words. “But you’ve got to stop—”
“You don’t wanna kiss me?”
His low laugh was mirthless as he wrangled her in and pressed his forehead to hers. “More than my next breath, but I want you to remember it.”
They stared at each other.
“I will remember it,” she said, tugging her hands free to lose first her bra and then his shirt. “Yum. Naked Walker chest.”
“Maze, I can’t. I won’t take advantage of you.” Again.
“Mmm, that’s actually kinda sweet.”
God help him, she was shimmying out of her jeans now, and as promised, she was . . . sweet baby Jesus . . . commando.
“New plan,” she said, and then shoved his jeans to his ankles. “I’ll take advantage of you.”
That was when her foot got caught on her pant leg and she toppled over like a felled tree.
“Shit.” Walker rushed to scoop her up and against him. “You okay?”
“Yep. I meant to do that.” She snuggled in closer and pressed her face to his throat, taking a little nip as she kicked her jeans away, smiling when he sucked in a deep breath.
His grip tightened on her, his voice a rough, warning growl. “Maze—”
“How do you always taste good?” she asked, licking her way to his ear, giving him an all-body shiver of the very best kind. “Seriously, though. How?”
“You need to get a grip.”
She slid her hands to a most impressive erection. “Done.”
He choked and manacled her wrists with his hands. “I was talking to myself.”
She set her head on his shoulder and sighed.
“I’m going to let go of you now,” he said cautiously as she became a deadweight in his arms. “Are you going to behave yourself?”
The only answer he got was a soft snore.
Chapter 21
Maze’s to-do list:
—Make Caitlin and Heather pinkie promise to have regular girls’ nights out for the rest of their lives.
One moment Maze was dreaming about eating pancakes, and the next she was awake and her head felt like it might fall off. Without opening her eyes, she groaned, then stilled at two realizations. One, it was still dark. Two, she was lying on something.
Correction: lying on someone . . .
Eyes still closed, she reached out and gave Jace a shove. “Dude, it’s not your turn for the bed. Move over.”
“Babe, you’ve got ninety percent of the bed already, I can’t move over any farther without falling off.”
Oh boy—not Jace.
Walker.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, and then groaned again because dear God, her head.
“Shh.” Walker ran a soothing hand down her back.
Her bare back.
“What the—” She blinked blearily, lifting her head with difficulty, but hey, at least it was still attached to her neck. “What are you doing here?”
“Sometimes I wonder that very thing.”
“In my bed,” she clarified, ignoring his amused tone. “What are you doing here, in my bed?”
“Mine’s already taken.
”
She blinked. “By who?”
“Heather and Jace.”
“Oh my God,” she said again, shocked. “Why?”
“Well, when two grown-ups like each other a whole lot, they—”
She pointed at him and he thankfully shut up.
To laugh. When he was done he said, “I put a glass of water and aspirin on your nightstand. How bad is it?”
She grunted and took the aspirin, chasing it with the water before lying back down with a sigh and closing her eyes. Apparently there were people who enjoyed having full conversations in the morning, and she was of the mind-set that it was okay to hurt those people.
But Walker didn’t say another word. Probably because talking wasn’t his first choice of morning activity either.
She lifted the covers and took a peek. Walker was in black knit boxers and nothing else. She wore a sports bra and cheeky undies. They’d come from a set of five, each with a pun on a different sport. At the moment, she was wearing the hockey ones, which had little hockey pucks and sticks all over them and said PUCK OFF across the front. “This isn’t what I was wearing last night.”
“Nope.”
She swiveled her gaze his way. He was looking amused again.
“Where are my clothes?” she asked.
His amusement faded. “You don’t remember?”
She frowned and gathered together some loose thoughts. Rescuing Caitlin from the florist shop. The bar. The penis cookies. Sharing secrets with Heather and Caitlin. Dancing. Dancing with Walker. Going home. Trying to execute a sexy striptease . . . “Oh God,” she moaned.
“There it is.”
“Tell me I didn’t really try to do a striptease when we got home.”
“Okay, I won’t tell you.”
She stared at him, suddenly remembering everything, including wrapping her hands around his goodies. Welp, there was no point in being embarrassed now, especially when she’d enjoyed every second of it. “But how am I wearing more—and different—underwear than I was last night?”
“I put them on you so you wouldn’t kill me when you woke up.”
“A sports bra. I’m impressed.”
“Yeah, well, who knew how hard those things are to get on,” he said with a low laugh.
She laughed because okay, so he was a good guy. A really good guy. “And your clothes?”
“You got me down to my skivvies before I could control you.”
There was a little quiver in some of her good parts. Or all of them. And she wasn’t the only one. He was . . . awake too, and she lifted the covers to take another peek.
“See anything that interests you?”
Yes. “Drunk Maze is losing her touch if you’ve still got a stitch of clothing on.”
He laughed. “No, she’s not. You were a lot of fun last night. You always are.”
“Maybe we should forget about last night.”
“Too late.” He leaned back against the headboard, hands behind his head, the sheets pooled in his lap. “I’ve already filed it with my other favorite Maze memories.”
He sat there in her bed looking so delectable she was nearly rendered stupid enough to forget why they weren’t friends with benefits. Nearly. The truth was she needed a time-out, and fast. Reaching over the side of the mattress, she grabbed up his shirt from the floor. Pulling it on, she instantly realized her mistake. It smelled like him, which was to say delicious. She nearly pressed it to her face to inhale it, but he was still watching, so she flopped onto her back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. “Are Heather and Caitlin okay?”
“Jace took care of Heather, but because Sammie was sleeping, he took her to my room, and when he didn’t open the door again, I took it as man code to go away. So then I got Caitlin to her bed—”
“Where was Dillon?”
“He didn’t wake up.”
Asshole.
“Yeah,” Walker said, watching her face. “I’m with you there. But we can’t step in, Maze. This is her life, her choices.”
“But what if she’s basing her choices on things she believed to be true that might not be?”
“Such as?”
“A year ago she had a nervous breakdown.” She waited for his reaction and didn’t get one. “You knew?”
“Not until long after,” he admitted.
“And you didn’t tell me or Heather?”
“It was her story to tell.”
She hated that but knew he was right. Knew also that if she’d been checking in with Cat as she should have, Cat would have told her herself. “Dillon was the only one there for her.” That Maze hadn’t been was something she’d have to live with. “And I think she feels a lot of gratitude to him for that. But she was also under the impression he wanted kids as much as she does.”
“Again,” Walker said softly, “her life, her choices. She’s free to walk away, Maze. People do it all the time.”
She ignored the dig, intended or not. “She’s getting married tomorrow.”
“Have faith in her.”
She nodded. Sighed. Stared up at the ceiling some more, extremely aware that their bodies, side by side, were touching, and that his was big and warm and corded with muscles that she wouldn’t mind tracing with her tongue. “Why aren’t you out running, or doing something equally insane?”
“Because we have unfinished business.”
“We always have unfinished business.”
“Not that,” he said with a laugh. “Not entirely, anyway.”
“What then?”
He turned to face her. “I’m having a hard time piecing together exactly why you’ve been so mad at me.”
She looked at him in surprise. “I’m not,” she said. “I’m actually trying to remember why I said we weren’t going to sleep together anymore.”
His eyes darkened. “Hold that thought. Talk first. Can we start with Vegas?”
She nodded reluctantly.
His serious gaze held hers. “You left me there. You got on a plane and vanished. And please don’t say it was because I said it was a mistake. That’s a bullshit excuse and you know it. You’re not shy, Maze. If that was all that tripped you up, you’d have said something to me right then. In fact, you would’ve gotten right in my face about it, and then I’d have said you misunderstood and explained myself, and we’d be fine.”
Her heart was pounding in her ears. “This isn’t something that can be fixed with a conversation, Walker.”
“No shit. It’s because you’re scared and won’t admit it.”
She felt her spine snap ramrod straight. “No, you don’t get to turn this on me. You made it clear that I was a problem that had to be handled, and I felt . . . stupid.” And humiliated and heartbroken. Fix that with a damn conversation, she thought bitterly.
But Walker’s face softened. “It wasn’t like that, Maze. You weren’t the problem, I was. I was going to be shipping out. I couldn’t—”
“I understood that part. I was proud of you.” She felt choked up. “So proud. But . . .” Her throat decided to close too tight to finish that sentence how she wanted, which was, When you didn’t even try to come after me, I knew the truth—you didn’t love me enough to make it work . . .
But she wouldn’t beg for love, not ever again.
God, they were both so screwed up.
He studied her face and then closed his eyes, as if looking at her pain was too much for him to take. “That morning when I woke up with you, I felt . . . sheer joy.” He shook his head. “I’d never experienced anything like it. Do you know how many people have walked away from me, Maze?”
She felt her heart squeeze.
“Just about everyone,” he said. “But then you hitched yourself to me and promised forever, and . . .” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “We were so far gone that night. When you said you didn’t even remember it . . .” He grimaced. “That’s when I realized that I’d taken advantage of you. I hated myself for that.”
Stunned, she
shook her head. Because she remembered so much more than he thought. “Maybe I took advantage of you,” she whispered.
He gave a head shake. “That’s not how it works.”
“You mean because you have the penis, therefore you get to decide what I think?”
His eyes flashed. “You know damn well that’s not what I’m saying. You’ve got the sharpest mind of anyone I know. I was trying to make it easy on you. We made a mistake rushing things. We were too young. I knew we’d get there someday, but I also knew I was committing to a job that would take me away for long months at a time. The last thing I wanted was for you to be married to someone who wasn’t even home. You’ve had enough family members disappearing on you.”
“What I’m hearing is what I’ve always known,” she said. “You regretted what we did.”
“No.” He stopped. “Okay, so I regret Elvis. But I could never regret anything with you.”
She stared at him, a little surprised by how genuine he sounded. And more than that, how the words made her feel. A minute ago she’d been enjoying the view of him in nothing but those boxers, and maybe she’d also been thinking what could another hour in bed with him possibly hurt?
And she still felt all that, but now she also felt . . . more.
He didn’t regret her. She hadn’t been a mistake.
She thought about what Heather had said last night. From Walker’s perspective, she’d walked out on him. End of story. He hadn’t needed to know why; all he needed to know was that he hadn’t been wanted.
Again.
She was the one who’d made a mistake, a big one. “You would’ve grown to resent being tied to me so early,” she said.
“No. You don’t get to tell me how I feel about you. Do you remember any of the conversation we had that night?”
Even now she could conjure up flashes of them together in bed, teetering on the edge of no return. Did she remember any of it? She remembered all of it. The warmth of his body on hers. The pull of his fingers in her hair. The taste of hunger and desire on his lips . . . “I remember you giving Elvis the don’t make me kick your ass look.”
“Because at the ceremony, he kissed you way too enthusiastically.”