Chapter Three

 

Several months later…

 

“Simon’s back in the country.” Jeff’s casual comment in no way matched the bombshell he dropped. “Seems the project wrapped up quicker than they figured.”

Alys was glad her back was to her brother as she put the final touches on the cheese plate she’d put together for tonight’s poker party. She hadn’t seen Simon since the night she’d refused to go on a date with him. Maybe it was a coincidence he was always traveling for work, but she doubted it. “Is he coming over? I can always cut some more cheese.”

“Nah. I asked, but he has other plans. I’ll catch up with him tomorrow.”

She desperately wanted to ask how he was and if he was back to stay or only visiting, but her brother knew something had gone down with Simon and she wasn’t going to give him any information. Just as she hadn’t before. “Sure. Say hello for me.”

“You can say hello yourself.” Jeff snagged a piece of cheddar, spoiling her careful arrangement, and she slapped at his hand. He peered at her, his eyes, so like hers, narrowed. “We’re having lunch at Boyz. Come with.”

“Can’t. I’ve got too much going on at work.” And she couldn’t sit and break bread with a man she spent far too much time thinking about—and longing for. That wasn’t who she was. It didn’t fit with the life she’d planned out for herself. It didn’t matter how much she’d missed him. If anything, she should be angry with him for disturbing the status quo. It was one thing to wrestle with a stupid crush, quite another to be tempted with what could never be.

“I never thought I’d hear myself saying it, but you work too hard.”

“And you don’t?” she scoffed as she stuck the plate in the fridge, away from prying fingers. She found the crackers in the cupboard and set them out for later, adding a couple of bags of snacks, along with some bowls. If she kept working and distracted Jeff, she could avoid this conversation.

“What happened between you and Simon?” Clearly, Jeff was focused.

“Nothing happened.” True, that. “I told you before.”

“Alys. He asked permission to take you on a date. The date didn’t transpire to my knowledge and Simon told me to mind my own business. I imagine he asked, seeing as you haven’t spoken his name since then. And you shut me down when I asked back then. So, what happened?”

Heat rushed up her throat to flush her cheeks. “Are you my father now?”

“No. But friends don’t go after little sisters. It’s code.”

“That’s…” She didn’t know what that was. Sweet? Some kind of macho thing?

Jeff shrugged. “I love the guy. He’s my best friend. But he knew I wouldn’t think he was good enough for you, hence the permission thing.”

“Why would you think that?” Was she defending Simon? Or being contrary? It was complicated.

Big brother’s face was somber, his lips turning down and his eyes bleak. “Si and I were kinda … busy. Being guys. Until I met Andrea.”

“You say it like it’s a badge of honor. Being busy.” She knew she sounded like some judgmental bitch, but it had ground and grated the only way jealousy could on a teenage crush when she witnessed Simon’s conquests. And maybe later in life too.

A dull flush masked his cheekbones. “I changed my ways, Alys. You know that.”

“Wouldn’t it have been better if you had … concentrated on other things in life instead of on … that?”

“That didn’t fully occupy my time, kiddo. I was a jock and still managed to graduate high school. Good enough grades for college. Same for Simon.”

Sanctimonious and holier-than-thou. That was her. She managed a chuckle. “So you did.”

“Hold up.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Is that why you and Simon didn’t connect? Because of his past?”

“We’re friends. That’s better.” It wasn’t really a lie. It would be better if they were friends. But they weren’t anything, seeing as he no longer even spoke to her. Damn him.

Jeff stared and she forced herself to meet his gaze, keeping a calm demeanor, refusing to let him see her angst. Her brother gave an abrupt nod. “If you say so.”

Deciding not to consider what he really thought, she pushed past him to go and change. He and Andrea were getting married soon and she couldn’t keep living here. Her comment to him about being her father was mean-spirited, considering that their parents hadn’t been directive or involved in their children’s lives. Jeff had been more of an authority figure, more caring and protective of her than either of them. He’d taught her right from wrong.

Bob and Marion Standish made no secret of the fact they were delighted when their youngest child—Alys—had been ready to leave the nest, thrilled to have an unencumbered married life once again. Jeff had insisted Alys move in with him and it hadn’t been much different than when he’d lived at home. Including having Simon around.

But now… She hated the idea of living on her own, craving company. Yet it would probably be a good experience for her, too. With a sigh, she rifled through her closet and pulled out a comfortable shirt, pairing it with her oldest jeans. Poker night was about comfort and camaraderie, nobody having the need to impress. She’d start looking for new digs tomorrow.

A quick tug of a pick through her curls, some gloss, and she was ready. Ready to set up the room for the arrival of their friends and Jeff’s fiancée, and to keep concentrating on not thinking about a certain Simon Carruthers.

Fortunately, most everyone arrived early and she was soon absorbed in host duties and playing her usual bad cards. She hadn’t won a game since Simon quit coming for poker night.

****

He paced the length of his living room, and then swiveled and stared out the vertical window. Nothing to see. Nothing to do. Canada had been an easy project, with people speaking English, if with some idioms he never did get, and now he was back, looking for another one.

After pulling out his phone, he studied the text from Jeff inviting him to poker night. Urging him to come, that Alys had put together her usual spread and they were short a man. Man. Was that an oblique reference to Alys being single? Like him?

He jammed the device back into his pocket, scowling at nothing in particular. The project hadn’t been all time-consuming. He’d been included in some of the after-hours activities, mostly a bar or scratch party, and there’d been a few available women. No language or customs barrier either—single, accessible, and over twenty-one. He simply hadn’t been interested, all his free time—and other times—occupied by thoughts of Alys. Who didn’t date men with experience.

Slouching on his couch, he heaved his feet onto the coffee table and glowered some more. Clearly, the guys she did date weren’t the ones she wanted to gain experience with! Months and months of being celibate, like her presumably, and she wouldn’t even know it, wouldn’t know the effect she had on him. There was that thing about becoming a virgin again, except he wasn’t that deep into religion and guys couldn’t get surgery like women could. Sue him, he’d looked it up on Wikipedia.

A groan escaped his lips, part anger, part desperation. Why was he wasting his time? He had to accept what he couldn’t change, and if Alys couldn’t accept him as he was now, then that was on her. He dragged out his phone again.

An hour later, he was rapping on the door of the house Jeff shared with Alys, his gut like a stone and his arm around gorgeous blonde named Eleanor.

Paul pulled the door open, his brows shooting toward his hairline. “Hey! I didn’t think you were coming.”

“Eleanor’s never played poker.”

“Ah.” Paul’s gaze swept over her, probably appreciating her shoes, the way he lingered at her feet. “I’m Paul. Come on in. Alys’s fixing something in the kitchen and Jeff and Andrea are… Well, they’re ensconced on the couch during the break in the action.”

They stepped inside and he toed off his shoes. Eleanor visibly hesitated. Paul said, “Leave them on. Miu Miu, right?”

The blonde preened and tapped her sunglasses. “My favorite brand. At least for now.”

“My husband, Ryan, is a designer. Up and coming. Maybe you’ve heard of him?” Paul drew her along, chatting, and Simon was left to consider his stupidity of bringing another woman to poker night. Drawing on his usual equanimity, he squared his shoulders and followed in their wake.

“Buddy.” Jeff heaved to his feet and strode over, sharing their customary side-armed hug. “Didn’t expect you.” He cut his stare to Eleanor and Simon wished the ground would open up and swallow him.

“Got my second wind. This is Eleanor.”

He introduced Andrea, who smiled that sickly sweet smile women honed to express their ire without words. Fortunately, his date seemed oblivious, wrapped up in a fashion consult with Ryan.

“I didn’t know you were still seeing her,” his friend murmured, a similar smile on his face. Maybe near conjugal bliss meant an adaptation of one’s other half’s mannerisms.

He shrugged. “You know.”

“I don’t.”

Simon might have pursued that response with a pointed one of his own, but Alys emerged from the kitchen, a round tray of fancy appetizers clutched in huge, red oven mitts. She froze, mid-step, her gaze locking with his. Her lips parted a trifle and began to curve up at the corners when Eleanor laughed.

Alys darted a glance in that direction and her face drained of all welcome and color. The tray tipped slightly, appetizers slipping. He moved her way, a hand outstretched as she visibly recovered, gaining control of both her emotional and physical reactions.

“Simon. Hi. I didn’t think you were coming.” Her voice was higher pitched than usual, to his educated ear, educated with everything Alys, and her smile seemed forced, not reaching her eyes.

“Let me take that.” He grabbed for the tray, instead of her, cursing as he burned his fingers.

“Don’t!” She tugged it back and the bites of food lurched, a few tumbling to the floor. Alys dropped it onto the nearest surface with a clatter, the oven mitts slipping from her hands, and hustled him into the kitchen.

He stumbled along, breathing in her scent, itching to be closer, as she turned on the cold water. “I’m fine.”

“That tray was hot. Put your hand under the faucet.”

He obeyed, the cooling sensation welcome on his scalded flesh, while he drank in her closeness and concern. The way she held his hand and scrutinized his fingers touched something in his chest.

Too quickly, she turned off the water and patted him dry with a paper towel. “How’s it feel?”

You feel great. Oh, his burn. “It’s fine, Alys. No big deal. I get far worse injuries on the job.”

“Okay.” She wrung the paper towel between her hands and looked everywhere but at him. “We should get out there. I need to clean up the floor.”

Andrea walked in, her dark eyes scanning. “I scooped up the worst of it. No harm done. Give me a cloth and I’ll get the sticky bits.”

Alys handed over a damp cloth without protest and slipped past him, heading for the living area. Andrea smiled again, this time communicating what a dumbass he was, and left without another word. He leaned against the counter and sighed. He had no idea what to do next, although walking out the back door had some appeal—if he was a coward.

A pained snort of laughter escaped his mouth. He’d been nothing but a coward for months. Avoidance thy name is Simon.

When he gained the other room, everyone was situated around the big table set up in the dining area, people focused on the cards being dealt. It appeared he alone had been agitating about the situation until he noted how rigid Alys’s curvy frame was—and how the rest studiously ignored him. With the exception of Eleanor, who had transferred her interest to the Paul and Ryan show.

He dropped into a chair—not his usual one, beside Alys—and gathered up his cards. The near heart flush did nothing for him, but he raised mechanically. The only positive thing was he didn’t have to teach Eleanor the game, her education provided for.

Gradually, conversation resumed with the usual taunts and blandishments about people’s prowess and he forced himself to focus and contribute. But it definitely wasn’t his imagination that Alys avoided eye contact and rarely spoke to him.

It sank in that friends didn’t treat friends in that manner, and despite his palpably bad decision to bring a date, his spirits picked up a tad. Alys was … hurt. Which meant she had to feel disappointment, and he dared to hope that meant she felt the green-eyed monster. Her earlier reaction supported that premise. Jeff and Andrea radiated disapproval when they communicated with him directly and Paul and Ryan slanted hints of scorn in his direction. But all he cared about was Alys.

Despite how awkward the situation was, he began to enjoy himself. Certainly, he had to extricate himself from the faux pas that was Eleanor, or his decision to bring her here, but maybe it had been strategic in the end. That sounded better than the action of a desperate man. His mind had figured that out and he’d acted on it. His new story and he was sticking to it.

“All in.” And he was. He shoved his chips toward the center of the table.

Faces turned his way and he kept his own shuttered. He wasn’t just playing for the pot but for Alys’s affection, taking a new approach. He’d cleared away the old structure, much like he did when doing the drawings for new buildings in project management. He couldn’t change the past, but he could certainly rebuild. All he needed was the foundation and Alys’s evident angst was the impetus required.

“You’re bluffing,” Jeff scoffed.

“I don’t bluff.”

“You do.”

Okay, he did. When he meant to win by any means possible. He shrugged and sat back in the chair, taking care he looked relaxed and confident. Keeping Alys in his peripheral vision, he waited.

Paul surveyed his cards and the ones on the table and then folded. He scanned Eleanor’s and whispered in her ear. She giggled, drawing a frown from Alys, and nodded. “Okay. I’m in too.”

“He has you covered,” Andrea warned.

“He’s done that,” Eleanor agreed, batting her lashes at him.

His heart sank at the rather crude reminder, but he remained stoic, again taking a smidgen of hope from the way Alys’s lips thinned. So not a friend zone. His lips twitched, involuntarily, and Jeff crowed.

“He’s bluffing. That’s his tell.”

Ryan squinted but folded, and Alys checked her cards, her brow creasing. She glanced again at the cards facing up on the table, yet not in his direction. He’d have a tell for her if only she would look at him.

“I call.”

Jeff and Andrea shared a look, communicating in that way they’d perfected during their time together. Chances were they’d be in big trouble for that if this was a professional game but here, they were indulged. They both folded and Andrea dealt the final card. Ace of spades. No help to him.

“Let’s turn our cards over all at once,” Eleanor pleaded, her blue-eyed stare bouncing between him and Alys. Her fashion interest with Ryan and Paul had evidently waned and her competitive instincts were on point.

“Sure.” Alys wasn’t as practiced with the sweetly poisonous smile as Andrea, probably because she was so nice, but she gave the blonde one anyway. “On the count of three.”

They poised their fingers over the down cards and when Ryan completed the count, flipped them over. Eleanor’s hand was a mishmash of color and featured one small pair, signifying where Paul and Ryan’s intent truly lay. Alys’s, on the other hand, was full of knaves, fitting, considering the situation.

“Jacks take it.” Jeff spoke the obvious. “Busted flush.”

“Busted heart flush,” Simon pointed out, staring at Alys.

She paled and then—flushed. Eleanor glared—at everyone. Mission accomplished.

Ryan broke the silence, pushing the chips toward Alys. “I’ll hit you up for a loan, sweetie.”

“You never repay them,” she teased back, recovering her equilibrium. The chips chinked as she gathered them up.

“There is that.” The guy winked at her, eliciting a smile, and regardless of his sexual orientation and commitment to his husband, Simon felt like punching him and spoiling that polished handsomeness.  

The conversation turned to the upcoming wedding. Ryan had designed the dresses, apparently and Simon counted himself—and Jeff—lucky that they’d escaped some kind of fashion-forward tux.

“Who’s your plus one, Simon?” His best friend put the needle in with a not-so-subtle nod toward Eleanor. Who sat taller and tossed her hair back.

“I’m Alys’s escort.” As a crowd pleaser, it provoked some mixed reactions, but he was only interested in one. Alys’s mouth trembled and she blinked rapidly, her throat working on a swallow. There was a chance she had a plus one attending but he’d deal with that at the time.

“I should get going.” Eleanor’s voice cut through the tension, icy and dagger-sharp.

“Okay.” He got to his feet with a last look at Alys and then moved to take the blonde’s arm. “Good to see everyone again.”

A chorus of farewells followed them to the door, Eleanor rigid and clearly seething beside him. He’d have to apologize to her and would do so, yet he couldn’t regret attending poker night.

“So, the plump, little girl,” his ersatz date said, once they were settled in his truck.

Maybe he didn’t have to apologize. “What?”

She read his tone and cleaned up her act. She wasn’t a true bitch. “Alys. She’s a pretty thing.”

“She’s more than that.”

“I don’t like being used. Not to make anyone jealous.”

“That wasn’t my intent.”

She swiveled to face him, her face shadowed in the alternating streetlights. “No?”

“No.”

“But we’re going nowhere. Not picking up again.”

“We’re not.” He stopped at a light and threw her a glance. “Sorry.”

She faced front again. “Don’t be.”

As a blow to his ego, it fizzled. The only opinion that mattered was Alys’s. The drive was completed in silence and Eleanor refused to let him walk her to the door. He waited until she got inside, regardless, before pulling away and heading home. Hoping that the one step forward hadn’t meant three steps back, he headed off to bed.

His recent celibate lifestyle meant no involvement with another and didn’t include relegating his right hand to non-active status. Stretching out between his cool sheets, he palmed his anxious length, that brainless appendage hardly interested in the nuances of the evening.

Like some kind of spirit animal in those books both Alys and Andrea read—and shared—his libido had taken note of the woman he continued to crave. He’d had a semi, pretty much from the moment he’d entered the house where Alys lived, and maybe even since he’d decided to attend poker night.

With a groan, he stroked from tip to root, handling himself firmly. It was probably perverted to envision his pure Alys, but maybe she was thinking of him, touching herself. That image tightened his balls and he focused on his near-instant orgasm, welcoming the rush of heat and thick moisture as it coated his hand. His vision whited out for an instant before clearing and being replaced by a flushed and sated Alys.

With a shudder, he fumbled for some tissues and cleaned up, satisfied with a simple hand job. Whatever his life was coming to, he was content to let it take him. For now.