Chapter Four

 

 

I WAS pissed. My best friend was keeping secrets from me, the guy I thought I’d been in love with ten years ago didn’t even fucking remember me, and Arad Hadjian, the other policeman in town, was parked in my driveway when I got home after the rest of my hellacious day.

“Move your goddamn car!” I yelled as I stalked up my lawn, furious that he was sitting on my next door neighbor’s porch sipping what looked like homemade lemonade.

“I’m not in your driveway; I’m in Mrs. Sorrel’s!” he roared back after stilling the rocking chair and leaning forward to glare at me.

“This is mine,” I bellowed, making the hatchet gesture with both hands so he’d know what I was talking about before turning to do the same thing to the next driveway over—on the other side of her white-fenced lawn. “That’s hers. Get your car outta my way!”

“Why don’t you come have some lemonade,” he coaxed in an obvious attempt to soothe me.

I flipped him off, waved to Mrs. Sorrel, and then charged around the side of my small wood shingle-and-stone craftsman home to my back fence.

Before I could get it open, Arad was there, grabbing my arm and wrenching me around to face him.

“Dude, what the fuck?”

“Just move your car! Is that too much to ask?”

“No,” he said, letting me go slowly.

“It’s my house, not yours. I’d like to put my own car in my own driveway.”

“Oh,” he said, drawing the word out. “This is about Renaldi’s date.”

I growled, pivoted, opened and closed the fence, and jogged to the back door.

“You should talk to him instead of just being a dick to everyone!”

The idea that everyone thought I was in love with my best friend was horrifying, and I saw only one way to change that perception. I needed to get laid.

 

 

BEFORE LEAVING that evening, I smoked a bowl with my neighbors on the other side of my house, Greg and Candi Morrison. They were the nicest people who always offered to share their weed since I kept an eye on their backyard and made sure it looked good. They rented the house from her parents, and that was a stipulation of their continued residency. The inside was immaculate, and they only smoked the bong pipe outside on their back deck.

Normally I didn’t take them up on their proposal, but my stomach was still iffy and I needed to take the edge off without hitting the tequila in my cupboard. So I crossed the lawn, reminded them that the officer might still be on Mrs. Sorrel’s front porch, and climbed the stairs.

“The wind’s goin’ the other way,” Greg explained as he passed me the bong shaped like an elephant. “We’re good.”

Candi then told me where they had picked up the pipe we were currently using. They had an extensive pipe collection from all over the world—they were both freelance journalists. She was the photo kind and he was a writer. It was nice that they loved each other and worked together, which I told them often.

Greg interrupted her story. “You want a glass of wine?”

I shook my head. “I’m supposed to be hydrating.”

He brought me an orange Gatorade instead. It was good of him. Electrolytes and pot—I was sure to be in good shape after that.

Walking toward Wrecked, where I was meeting Mia, I was aware I was moving slower than usual—courtesy of the weed. As I passed by the patio of Delarosa, the Cuban restaurant that made the Champola de guanábana I liked, I saw Coz and Hutch Crowley waiting in line outside. I was going to cross the street so they wouldn’t see me, but that seemed childish, and since I was stoned, and pretty darn calm, I stayed my course.

“Hey,” Hutch greeted me warmly, and I was annoyed, baked or not, that he checked me out, up and down, since he was with the greatest guy on the planet. He shouldn’t have been checking anyone out when he had a six-foot-two carved specimen of manhood standing beside him.

Coz was mouthwatering. The long-sleeved navy shirt set off his dark hair and eyes, the black dress pants clung to his muscular thighs, and he’d worn the new monk strap ankle boots we’d bought the last time we were in Miami. He had his suit jacket draped over his arm and had pinned the shirtsleeve up, and even though I knew he thought his missing left arm was the first thing people noticed, it wasn’t true. Any connoisseur of beauty noticed Coz’s gorgeous black eyes first, then his broad, strong shoulders, long legs, and perfect ass. My throat closed up just looking at him.

“Wow, Kel, look at you,” Hutch said smoothly, reaching out to touch the collar of my pale blue dress shirt. “You clean up nice.”

I could, upon occasion, and would have added a tie if I was eating with Coz at Delarosa. It was in no way a casual restaurant, and I was wondering how Hutch was going to get a pass with his denim. Coz was dressed up so I had to wonder why Hutch was slumming.

“Did you tell him where you were eating?” I asked Coz.

He grunted the no.

“That was shitty,” I admonished my friend.

“Are you eating with us?” Hutch asked. “I mean, you’re certainly dressed for it.”

I was in my three-piece white suit—it was summer, after all—and the only thing missing on me was the tie. I even had a pocket square. I’d worn it to make a good impression on Emmett’s son and to get noticed and hopefully laid later.

“You’re on a date, aren’t you?” I said snidely.

“Well, yes, but—”

“What kind of stupid question is that, then? Am I joining you,” I retorted, trying not to snarl. “What the fuck?”

Hutch bristled; I could tell from the narrowed eyes and how quickly he crossed his arms. “What’s wrong with you?” he snapped.

Coz interrupted our rapidly disintegrating conversation. “I think I know. Look at me.”

Tilting my head back just a little to meet Coz’s gaze—with me at five eleven, he had those four inches on me—I couldn’t help grinning.

He squinted. “Are you stoned?”

“Just a little,” I confirmed, unable to stop a sigh from escaping.

“Since when do you—oh, your charming neighbors.”

I shrugged, shifting closer, unobtrusively inhaling his clean, masculine scent—soap and a trace of the cologne he wore, citrusy and smoky at the same time. “It’s fine.”

“It’s really not.”

“Why? I’m not driving or operating heavy machinery. I’m no threat to anyone.”

“Except yourself.”

The psh sound I made did not go over well.

“You should go home.”

“Fuck that,” I said dismissively. “After I charm the socks off of Emmett’s kid, I’m hittin’ Laredo.”

“To dance?” Hutch asked brightly.

“To pick somebody up,” Coz informed him.

My smile widened as I stared up at Coz, enjoying the proximity, the heat I could feel rolling off him, watching the muscles in his jaw clench and seeing the scowl darken. The man was truly just edible. Licking him all over crossed my mind.

“Mia called me, told me about what’s his name,” Coz continued.

“Mmmmm.”

“You don’t care?”

Trance broken, I shook my head and leaned back out of his personal space. “No, man, I don’t care. I already knew I’m forgettable.”

I turned to go, but he grabbed my upper arm, spun me around, and dragged me back to his side.

“You’re not forgettable,” he said, staring down into my eyes, his voice all quiet thunder. “That guy’s a fuckin’ idiot.”

I licked my lips, I couldn’t help it; the urge to taste him was almost overwhelming. The whimper from the back of my throat was unmistakable.

We stood there, frozen, and after a moment, when I could breathe again, I noticed his entire focus was on my mouth.

“Did you have a family thing tonight, Coz?”

It took him a second, but he turned from me, even though he didn’t let me go, and gave Hutch his attention. “I do, and I’d be remiss not to show up. You should come with me since we’re honestly not going to get into Delarosa, no matter who I work for.”

“Yeah, I’m so sorry,” Hutch said softly, tipping his head to one side. “When you invited me out, I never actually thought we’d be going to a place like this.”

Coz let me go to face Hutch. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t usually date, Coz. I meet people places and fuck.”

“Yeah, me too,” I chimed in.

Coz looked from Hutch, to me, and back to him. “Well, that’s not me. I pick you up, take you to dinner, maybe even spring for dessert… we walk, we talk, and then I take you home. God only knows how many times we do that before we get around to the screwing.”

Hutch smiled at him. “You really are a good guy.”

“No,” he countered. “Just better than the guys you’ve let near you.”

“Meaning what?”

I could hear it in the tone on both sides. Coz was drawing the conclusion that Hutch had zero self-respect, and Hutch did not love being judged. I would have said something, but it wasn’t my place to—

“You’re both being dicks,” I flared before my brain caught up with my mouth.

They looked startled by my outburst.

“You”—I waved a hand at Hutch—“think he’s slurring your character, and he is, a little, but only because he can be a total self-righteous prick, and not because he actually thinks you’re a whore. He respects the fact that you put yourself out there.”

“I—”

“And you,” I said curtly, indicating Coz, “want him to value himself more, but you can’t help being a little bit of an asshole about it. But you gotta remember, not all of us have families that love us and good friends who think we walk on water. You’ve had one setback your whole life, and so regular human frailty you should give people a pass on.”

They were both staring at me, wide-eyed.

Fuck.

I forgot. That’s what pot did to me, made me arrogant and chatty. It was a lethal combination.

Spinning fast, I jogged away, down the street toward Wrecked.

“Kel!”

I broke into a run.

“Kelly Seaton, you better stop right there!”

Sprinting as fast as I could, I turned the corner, crossed the street, and careened into the front door of my target restaurant, making it to the hostess stand barely breathing hard. Between the gym and my job, I was in pretty good shape.

“Kelly,” Didi Garretty said, smiling at me. “Are you meeting somebody?”

“Mia and her mom and some others,” I answered, taking a quick breath and straightening my suit, pulling on the cuffs so I was pristine again.

“Oh, yes, we just put some tables together.”

“For five people?” That made no sense.

“No, sweetie, for twelve people,” she said, stepping out from behind the stand so I could see the cute gray pencil dress she had on. “I assume they counted you.”

I hesitated because I didn’t even want to go in anymore. And they didn’t really need me. It wasn’t like I was actually part of the Renaldi family.

A whistle caught my attention, one of those high-pitched noises you had to put your thumb and index finger into your mouth to make. It was completely unladylike. So, of course, it came from Mia. When I found her face in the crowd, the words “get your ass over here” were easily discernible.

Didi snorted out a laugh. “You better go, huh?”

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath.

Of course, my party had joined Britton Lassiter’s. Why wouldn’t they? It just made perfect sense. I had the sudden urge to run home and change. I was outfitted for Laredo later, looking sleek in a suit for picking up guys. But here at Wrecked, which was basically an event hall restaurant, the kind people could rent to have parties, wedding receptions, b’nai mitzvah, and the like, I was overdressed. People were wearing sandals, for crap’s sake. 

When I was almost there, Mia came around the table and held out her arms. As I reached her, she lifted her head so she could whisper in my ear. “Not my idea—it was Britton’s mother’s. He came over to talk to me and she followed along and suddenly furniture was moving.”

I grunted softly.

“Just so we’re clear. I wouldn’t do that to you, and we both know our mother thinks Britton’s pond scum.”

Our mother… that was nice.

I squeezed her tight, making her squeak on purpose, and then stepped back, smiling as she took hold of my hand and led me back to her seat and the one to the right of her.

I greeted the table with a wave. “Hey, everyone.”

They all said hello back, and I was introduced to Landon Cheong, Emmett’s son, who was very handsome, and his equally stunning fiancée, Blaire Adina. I met Britton’s mother, Jacqueline; his father, Edward; his brother, Eric; and then Olivia came back from the bathroom and rushed over to hug me.

“This is the guy who saved me from the psycho the other day,” she explained, which got me a handshake from her dad—who insisted I call him Ed—and a guy clench from Eric.

Britton thanked me from the other end of the table where he was sitting with Kennedy Vaughn, his girlfriend visiting from Ann Arbor.

They were in a long-distance relationship, but she was considering moving to Mangrove since it was, she said, perfectly quaint and charming.

“I’m just waiting for this man to ask me,” she teased, more for his benefit than mine, bumping him with her shoulder.

Everyone immediately started in with the oohing and ahhhing and how cute and adorable they were together. It was too much for me.

Hearing the opening chords of a song I knew, I turned back to Mia, standing over her and hovering. When she tilted her head back to see me, I waggled my eyebrows for her.

“You’re an ass.”

“Just come on,” I said seductively. “They’re playing your song, baby.”

She growled, and even the people at the next table overheard her. The laughter came quickly, everyone finding her amusing, even Kennedy, who, though focused on her boyfriend, clearly liked his new law partner.

Mia put her hand in mine, and I helped her out of her seat and walked her to the middle of the empty dance floor. I turned to her as the first verse of one of the most beloved ELO songs took off. I spun her around as she shook her head and then moved away just enough to give her room to get her groove on.

“This is my song?” she asked as I sang along to “Evil Woman.”

I nodded as she threw away any semblance of decorum, and we danced like idiots, clearly dorking it up, having fun. When we got together, our collective age was fifteen.

Other people joined us from other tables, and when the song was over and “Tainted Love” came on—weirdest mix ever—we walked back to the table and flopped down into our chairs.

“I ordered a couple pitchers of margaritas,” Eric announced, “and appetizers as well.”

“Thank you,” Mia said sweetly. “Though I’m thinking we’re good with water.”

Yes, water was very good. I still needed to hydrate more.

As I raised my glass, I noticed my drink napkin was folded up under my salad plate. When I opened it up, I saw writing in black ballpoint. The message was simple: Britton Lassiter wanted to speak to me outside.