I stood in front of my suitcase, making my mind up about what to wear. The muscles in my legs ached from our shower, but other than that, I’d never felt better in my whole life.
I’d successfully put the voices in my head on mute. It wasn’t too hard at all. Not when he did all the right things. Said all the right words. Touched every single right spot on my body.
No. It was easy to be with Cord.
The hard part was going to be in a few weeks when I’d have to pull the plug. I was already in over my head, and things had moved from dangerous territory to you’ll need FEMA to clean up your heart when this is done.
The smart, logical voice of reason, deep within my head, had warned me that every time I saw him, it would only make things hard when it was over. She also reminded me daily that after our few weeks together, I’d have to get away or I’d never survive it.
Sure, I could let things go on for a few more months. It would even be fun, I was sure. But then, when the newness, the thrill of passion ebbed and the secret got too big to hold in, he’d lose interest and I wouldn’t be able to hide away to lick my wounds in peace.
Past the wedding, if things didn’t end then, everyone would know, and I wouldn’t be able to bear them bringing it up.
Yet, I was still fucked—even more fucked than I’d been in his high-end shower.
I wasn’t strong enough to turn him away when he’d offered to leave. I’d wanted him there too much. With my eyes wide open, I’d spend the day and night with him knowing each new memory would be one that I’d have to scrub from my mind in due time.
Still, I was going to do it, but I feared those memories would be totally fucking worth it.
He was already dressed in shorts, t-shirt and a ball cap. He looked fresh and relaxed, sitting in the chair across the room as he put on his shoes.
“Shit. Dana, look at your knees.”
I stepped back from the bed and leaned forward, lifting the towel out of my way so I could see what he was talking about.
Yikes. Sex wounds. Red and scuffed up.
I ran my fingers over them. They weren’t sore—at least not yet. Funny how an orgasm can numb superficial wounds after sex.
Ironically, I hoped sex would do the same for my stupid heart. Maybe I wouldn’t feel the pain as much if I ended things on a high note. As good as he was, it wouldn’t surprise me if that was possible.
He came over and squatted in front of me. “Damn. Are they sore?”
“Nah. Your Royal Highness’s knees are tough.” I gave his shoulder a push.
“I’m sorry.”
I poked him in the cheek. “I’m not.”
He’d also left four red spots on my side where he’d dug into me there at the end. They’d fade that day, and he’d never be the wiser.
I loved how strong he was. How powerful he was. Yet, I always felt safe in his arms. Protected. He wouldn’t purposefully hurt me—physically. I was certain of that.
Emotionally? That would be all on me.
I dropped the bottom edge of the towel and went back to hunting for clothes in my suitcase.
“All right. I’ll go make us some coffee. Those rolls are best when they’re still warm. So hurry up.”
As he walked by me, he grabbed my ass cheek and then gave it a good swat—which I totally liked. My mouth fell open and the words, “Oh yeah,” fell out of it.
From the doorway, his eyes lit up. “Oh yeah?”
My chest caved, and I laughed. It was yet another time when he looked like he was about to jump me, and I loved it.
“Oh yeah?” he taunted again—not dropping it.
“What?”
He stalked back. “You like your ass spanked?”
The instinct to flee flashed through me, but I didn’t move because I wanted to get caught.
Needless to say, my ass was about as red as my knees by the time we made it to Target later that morning.
“I’m going to customer service so they can print Becca’s registry.”
He stopped and glowered down at me. “The what?”
“Their gift registry. I figured while I’m here, while I’m actually shopping, I might as well get their wedding gift.” Maybe I didn’t have to do it that day, but it was on my initial list of things to do. Like I said, I wasn’t a huge shopper, but when I committed to going, I got shit done.
“You can’t just pick something out for them?”
Standing by the cart corral, just inside the doors, I pleaded my case. “Yeah, I could, but why guess? They made a list of stuff that they specifically want. Why chance it?”
“Because you’re their friend. That’s for other people.”
My head pitched forward, and I argued, “No. That’s for everyone.”
His brow tightened, and he looked disappointed in me. My dad used to give me the same look when I was being a shit, but I didn’t see what the big deal was.
“You do what you’re gonna do. I’m going to buy something off the list.”
He wrangled a cart free of the clustered row—a little aggressively I might add.
Inwardly, I snickered because I enjoyed frustrating him.
“I’ll be down there.” I couldn’t help myself but to smile as big as I could in his direction. It also kind of excited me that I wouldn’t have to push the cart. I hated those damn things.
After the three-mile-long list was printed, I turned to see him waiting just outside the customer service area, casually looking at his phone. He rolled his eyes at the screen, and then typed something before he looked up, saw me, and shoved it in his pocket.
“Work?” I guessed when I got near.
“No. Reuben.”
“Does he need something?” I was prying, but I wasn’t sure why. Maybe just for conversation. Maybe because I was curious about that whole Ruben-didn’t-want-us-to-see-each-other thing that Nolan had let slip at the gym.
“He needs to get a fucking life.” He did that head tipping thing and gave me a grin. “What’s on your great, big list there, Sexy Claus?”
“No. Don’t even start with the names today. And a better question would be: what’s not on this list.” Then, like a smart ass, I pulled out my personal list. “Wait. Did you mean this one?”
“You’re going to need a list for your lists if you don’t watch it.”
I started walking, and he caught up. “I’m not forcing you to shop with me. Really. You can go wander around. Or leave and come back. Or go back to KC. Honestly, I’ve got this.”
He grazed my arm, and I slowed my roll.
“Oh no, you don’t, Dana. I washed your hair, provided you with breakfast, and got you off—how many times is that already today? So suck it.” He snatched my original list out of my hand and started moving again. “You’re stuck with me today.”
I laughed and hoped no one overheard. But, yeah, it wasn’t so bad.
Down almost every aisle, we threw things into the cart. You’d think we were staying at his house for weeks. It was a good time though.
I couldn’t remember a single instance when I’d never been to the store with a guy, and I tried not to overthink about how it might be a long time until it happened again.
Knowing my luck, maybe never.
“Soda and water are the only things left on here,” he stated. We pulled down the aisle where the drinks were, him in the lead. “I’ll throw them on the bottom. What kinds do you want? In the meantime, you look at that dumbass registry for strangers and figure out what you want us to buy.”
Us. That word felt like riding a rollercoaster right off the tracks.
Dana, check yourself.
“I’ll pick something, and then you can pick something if you want, but we are not getting them anything together.” I was arguing up at the back of his head, but, lost in my defense, I slammed right into him when he abruptly stopped.
“Excuse me.” With one arm, he grabbed a huge case of water and slid it on the rack beneath the cart. “Two?” he asked like I wasn’t trying to win a fight with him.
“Two. You heard me, right?”
He heaved the other beside the first, then answered. “Yeah, I heard you.” Farther down the aisle, he walked, pulling the cart along with him. “Coke? Pepsi?”
“Coke. We’re not sharing a gift, Cord. And maybe Sprite.” He yanked cases of both off the shelf and finagled them onto the front of the buggy, but he didn’t look very confident they’d stay, making a silly face as he anticipated which would fall first.
Did he not realize we were arguing? In the middle of Target. On the soda and water aisle. For crying out loud.
Or was it all going over his head?
Someone walked by us, so I opted for scanning the list, yet still held firm to what was and wasn’t going to happen with our respective gifts. Respective gifts.
As he walked past me, back to the helm of the cart, he bent and quickly kissed my lips. “Where am I headed?”
I blinked up at him, and—I’ll be honest with you—I was confused as all hell.
“Pots and pans.”
As if the words were lyrics to an old Frank Sinatra song, he crooned, “Show me the way, mouthy.”
I walked past end caps with things I probably would have looked at longer—had I been alone—but I just kept going, headed toward the center of the store where I knew we’d find the kitchen stuff eventually.
As my flip-flops slapped against my heels, I thought.
I was mouthy. He was going to get tired of me faster than ever, with the way I spoke to him. I’d never—I mean never—spoken my mind with a man like I did with Cord.
I supposed, when you knew what the outcome of a relationship would be all along, what was the point in false pretenses?
In the past, I’d always been passive and pleasant, regardless of knowing it was never going anywhere. It simply wasn’t worth my energy to argue. To debate.
By the time I stumbled upon the sets of pots and pans, scanning my list for their specific request, I kind of felt shameful.
That Old Dana was one fucked up chick.
“Which ones?”
Finding the ones Becca had her eye on, I said, “I’m getting these.” A very nice, although modest set of cookware.
“Oh, come on. We can do better than that.” He studied the box. “An eleven-piece set? How sweet.” It was annoying how handsome sarcasm looked on his face.
Yeah, he didn’t really talk to me like other men had either. My time was probably running shorter than I thought, but he never backed down.
“If we get them something together, then we can get them something nicer,” he nagged. “And don’t our best friends deserve that? Don’t they deserve the best from us?”
Well, shit. He had a point. One I couldn’t really argue. Dammit. But I wasn’t cheap and didn’t want him thinking I was.
“You’re right. That’s why Jodi and I are getting this other set.” Quickly, I scanned the shelf for a more expensive package. None of them really looked like her style, but I was sinking.
“What about this one?” His thumb jetted out to the side and tapped against the box I’d put in the seat at the front of the cart.
“Yeah, that’s the wrong one.” I shook my head. “I grabbed it by mistake.”
I hauled it back to the shelf and put it back where I found it. I’m not sure if you’ve lifted a set of cookware head high before, but it was fucking heavy. Thank God, the more expensive set—which I was about to impulsively buy, against all my better gift-giving judgement—was on the bottom shelf.
I heaved, and it scooted across the floor, but picking it up was going to be a chore.
“That’s the one,” I insisted and thumped my pink tipped toes against the box. “Can you carry it to the register?”
“Can you steer this cart?”
It was full as hell, but I’d manage. “Of course I can.”
He picked up the box and tossed it a little to improve his grip. All I noticed were the muscles in his back pulling against his shirt as he headed to the front of the store.
I trailed him, and two very specific things disappointed me. I wasn’t going to find a guy who’d argue with me like he did. And, as shallow as it was, I was kind of sad that whoever the guy was in my future wouldn’t be able to fill out a Chili Peppers concert tee the way Cord could. Because have mercy.
What are you doing, Dana?
I pushed the cart, throwing my ass into the corners to get the damn thing turned, all the while doing my best to keep up.
If I was going to let this thing between us keep going, at least until our friends said I do, I needed to tame down my mouth a bit.
It was fun playing house. Playing the girlfriend. The one he took to the Waffle House late at night, gave motorcycle rides to, hooked up at the gym with—the one he spanked, and then argued with in Target. Those weren’t things that real couples did. Well, most probably weren’t, the Target thing was probably normal.
He just made it all feel so real.
He said I was his in the shower. His.
His what? His booty call? His drinking buddy with benefits? His friend?
Had it not been in the heat of the moment, more than just words tossed around during sex, they might have even felt cruel—like a lie some Ken Doll would tell.
I’d never be his.
Cord’s.
Come on.
I let him go first so that he could set the box down as soon as possible, although he didn’t seem to struggle with it much. He opened the cooler in the checkout line, unscrewed the cap on a Snapple, drank down about half, and then handed it to me.
“Ahhh. Want some?”
He was so weird. I shook my head and squinted at him. “Who are you?” Then immediately I took the glass bottle and drank the rest. It was the best stuff on Earth after all, and I loved Peach Mangosteen.
He pulled out his wallet, and I answered with one word. “Don’t.”
I gave him the I-ain’t-fucking-around look and his hands went up in the air. At least it worked on someone other than Jodi and Becca, finally.
After I paid and Cord loaded the cart, conversation went back to normal. He was back to acting like a jack ass, playing Bon Jovi at a volume that everyone at the lake could to hear, blaring from his big truck with the windows down as he drove us back to the cabin.
With Cord helping, it didn’t take nearly as long as I’d expected to unpack the groceries and get the Jell-O shots in the freezer. I poured, he capped, and before we knew it, there were three full cookie sheets of the damn things cooling in his garage.
My cell phone said it was only two thirty, and there was a lot more sun left in the day.
“I think I want to lay out for a while,” I said over the counter to Cord. He’d been looking at his phone too—eating from my bag of popcorn. Bastard.
He finished what he was doing and gave me his attention. “Okay. I’m going to do some work then, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t care.”
He’d been a huge help, despite my wanting to throttle him half the day. I’d taken up a lot of his time that week. He’d lost two full work days already on account of me.
“Okay, I’ve got a small office down stairs. I’ll go take care of a few things, then we’ll get on the water before it gets dark.”
I walked around the counter, felling like I needed to thank him or at least let him know how much I appreciated the help—and maybe his company.
“The water?”
I hopped up on the counter—all by myself on the first try—and kicked off my shoes. He wasted no time, stepping up to me and shimmying his way between my legs.
“We’re taking the boat to dinner.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck and gave him a swift kiss.
“What’s this? No argument? Are you feeling okay?”
I gave him the stink eye, but quickly took it back, determined to be sincere, for what it was worth. “I’m glad you stayed. It was nice having you here to help.” Words like that were hard for me to spit out, but when push came to shove—and it was needed—I was mature enough to do it.
He swept the flyaway hair in my eye to one side of my forehead, didn’t like it, and then swept it to the other side where it belonged. With my cheeks in his big hands, his thumbs gently rubbed the valley between my jaw and my ears. His honey-brown eyes focused on my mouth.
Closer and closer he got until I tasted the whispered “You’re Welcome” when it left his mouth for mine. The cool lick of his tongue charmed mine out to play, and then I fell heart first into the kiss and deepened it.
Abandoning my face, he embraced me and pulled me closer. Higher still, he lifted me by the ass off the granite. My legs wrapped around him, and we held each other tightly.
I told him a few secrets, but they were translated into kisses on his neck as he carried me to the bedroom, where he tossed me onto the bed. I laughed as I bounced, and he fell to the mattress beside me.
“Or we could do this all day,” I suggested. All desire I’d had of returning after the weekend with tanned skin had flown out the window.
His forehead bunched as he studied into my eyes. He was always doing that. Sometimes the eye contact was great, and I never wanted it to end. But, on occasion, I felt vulnerable and transparent—like it did then.
My apprehensions broke the gaze.
He bit his bottom lip, and when I tried to pull it free with my index finger, he playfully snapped at it.
“Hey, no biting.”
Well, then again, I might be into biting.
I was into all sorts of new things over the past few weeks—reverse cowgirl, spanking, sex on exercise equipment, and driving almost completely naked across town. Trying new things with him had been so much of the fun.
Not the pee thing. That was still bullshit.
“I’d love—” His voice broke on the word, and he cleared his throat. “Excuse me. I’d love to hang out on the deck with you, but I really need to work for an hour or two.”
I didn’t want to be that girl—the rejected tart who pouted. Although, I sure as fuck could empathize with her.
Swallowing the taste of disappointment, I reminded myself that it had been my idea to go lay out anyway. It was no big deal, and my stupid ass needed to get used to how that felt. When we went our separate ways, because that would be my idea too.
I’d beat him to the punch.