Chapter Two
I’m halfway to drunk when Porter comes over to find Zoey and me hidden on the side of the house, swapping sex stories like the good ol’ days. Porter smiles when he sees us, and even tips his head to me politely.
I’m kind of jealous that Zoey got a guy with impeccable manners. She’s the same girl who once revenge-peed on an ex-boyfriend’s lawn in broad daylight, but she deserves to be happy.
“Hey, Porter,” I call out like I’ve got a secret. “How’s it hanging?”
Zoey literally chokes on her sip of beer. We just got done discussing Frankie Miller’s left curve.
“Uh…” Porter narrows his eyes like he knows he shouldn’t answer.
“Don’t,” Zoey says to him, getting to her feet and running her forearm over her chin to wipe away the spit-up beer. She comes to stand in front of him, leaning her long body against his, and they practically melt into each other.
I look away, and sip from my drink. They really are perfect together. The only person who could ever handle Zoey is a guy with a badge and a gun.
Porter gives Zoey a quick, secret kiss, and then turns me. “You’re staying the night, I hope,” he says, motioning to my beer.
I hadn’t planned on it, but I guess our days of reckless driving and getting nearly arrested in police golf carts are behind us. “You got room?” I ask, getting to my feet.
“Ryerson already called the spare room, but I will certainly kick him out for you,” Porter says. Zoey cocks up her left eyebrow.
“Ry is staying the night?” she asks, turning to her fiancé. “I didn’t… realize.”
Porter stares at her for minute, looks at me, then back to her. He sighs. “Cheyenne,” he says. “Don’t hook up with my brother.”
“I wasn’t planning to,” I say innocently.
No one says a word.
“Okay, yes, I fantasized a little,” I add. “But he looked straight through me, so I don’t think you have to worry.”
“I always have to worry,” Porter says with a heavy exhale. “He already asked about you.”
“Shit,” Zoey and I say at the same time.
I quickly wave her away. “It will be fine,” I tell Zoey. “You’re acting like I can’t control myself.”
She cocks that damn eyebrow again.
“Um, excuse me,” I say with a laugh. “Who’s the one who made out with a stranger in uniform?” I look over at Porter, and whisper, “That was you.”
“I was hoping,” he responds easily.
“Sure,” Zoey admits, pulling herself up to her full six-foot frame. “But you’re the one who got married at seventeen. So—”
No sooner are the words out of her mouth, than she claps both palms over it, and then crinkles her nose in apology.
“Frankie Miller’s getting married,” we both say. I sigh heavily.
“One day you’ll have to tell me that story,” Porter says curiously, reaching over to take Zoey’s beer and sipping from it. “But for now, can we get back to the barbecue? Someone is going to fuck up my meat.”
Dear Lord. Zoey and I have to basically swallow our tongues to not jump on that joke. Porter senses it, shakes his head like we’re the immature ones, and heads back to the party with Zoey’s beer. When he’s gone, my best friend turns to me.
“If you hook up with Ryerson Banks, I swear you’ll live to regret it,” she says, a slight slur in her speech.
“At least I’ll live, right?” I say, and smile winningly. When she doesn’t return it, I shrug. “I’m human, Zoey. I’m lonely. But I’m not fucking stupid. Okay?”
“I’m sorry about mentioning you were a child bride,” she says.
“And I’m sorry that your eventual-husband’s meat is being mishandled.”
“Come on,” she says, throwing her arm over my shoulders. “Let’s go help him with his beef.”
“Ew,” I laugh, and we head back out to the barbecue.
***
The day hasn’t been a total waste. Not only did I get to spend time with Zoey and Porter, I got to meet the neighbor’s dog. And if there’s one thing I’m always down for, it’s making friends with canines. Especially when I’m drunk.
And I’m pretty drunk. I’d say nicely buzzed, but that would be a damn lie. I’m sitting back on a lounge chair, next to the pool, sipping my beer. My feet are up, but I’m not entirely sure where my shoes are. I’m bummed because they’re the cute red ones with flowers, but I doubt a house full of cops walked off with them. They might be under another chair.
Most of the kids are gone from the barbecue, and the sun is setting gorgeously over the back fence. I gaze at it from behind my sunglasses.
It’s then that I notice him. And I notice him because he’s watching me, standing at one of the bar-top tables, drinking from a short glass. A little douchey for a barbecue if you ask me. Normal people drink beer.
Ryerson isn’t hiding that he’s looking directly at me, either, but I take the high road, and pretend to not notice him. Okay, maybe it’s a little bit of payback for his earlier snub. And, sure—I’ll obviously have to talk to him eventually. He’s Porter’s brother.
But for now, I’m hard to get. Totally unattainable. Certifiably—oh, shit. He’s coming over.
I swallow hard, and take another sip of my beer, wishing I’d touched up my lipstick. I’m not imagining he’s walking directly towards me; there’s no one else over here. I dig my newly-painted toes into the cushion, and pretend to rest back, eyes shut.
I hear his approach, and then the clink of glass as he sets it on the table between lounge chairs. He sits down and exhales heavily.
Now I have two choices. I can acknowledge him or pretend I passed out. Neither seems like the right move, so I take another sip of beer. I’m going with total ignore.
“Cheyenne, right?” he asks.
Oh my God. His voice is insanely hot, raspy and deep. I’m so dead.
I turn to him, trying not to smile my usual flirtatious grin. “Yep,” I say, and then turn back to the pool. He laughs.
Looking at him was like looking directly into the sun—too beautiful for my eyes to take in. I mean… he can’t really be that good looking. Nobody was. I looked at him again, and he lifted one corner of his mouth in a smile.
Lord, help me.
“I’m Ryerson,” he says, holding out his hand. I take it, and we sort of shake, but mostly it’s just him running his palm over mine.
Seductive, I get it. Frankie Miller was the same way when I was seventeen. I’m a bit more hook-up savvy now.
“Nice to meet you. I’m friends with Zoey.”
“I gathered,” he replies. “You’re the only one here who doesn’t look like a cop other than Zo. And she’s a handful. Are you as crazy as your friend?”
“No,” I say, and take a sip of my beer, trying to figure out his game. He’s not flirting with me—not really. I think he’s sizing me up. Seeing if I’m bedding material. Well, sorry, Ryerson. You won’t hit the jackpot tonight.
“Speaking of Zoey,” I say, swinging my legs to the side of my lounger, “I should go find her.”
“Here, let me help you up,” Ryerson says, getting to his feet. He holds out his hand, but I gently swat it away.
“I’m fine,” I say, not wanting his assistance. I mean, the least he could have done was flirt with me. A pity flirt. But instead he talked to me like he was interviewing me for a job at Applebee’s.
But I’m definitely drunker than I let on, because the minute I’m on my feet, I feel the world tilt severely to the left. I stumble in that direction, and Ryerson reaches out and grabs my wrist.
“Whoa,” he says, trying to pull me back. But my balance is jacked, and when I try to right myself while pulling away from him, I start to fall backwards.
Suddenly, Ryerson jumps forward, arm across my back, and catches me. We stay like that, looking like we’re doing a dramatic Tango dip. My sunglasses have slid down my nose.
Ryerson looks down at me, and he flashes me a devilish smile. “Well, damn, Miss Cheyenne,” he says in that sexy voice. “You have the prettiest brown eyes I’ve ever seen.”
My lips part, and his gaze travels immediately there. If I had any sense, I would straighten up out of his arms and head into the house for a cold shower.
But blame the alcohol, or Frankie Miller, or maybe even Zoey for telling me not to, but I slide my fingers up the back of Ryerson Bank’s neck, and pull him into a kiss.
His mouth—burning hot with a tangy orange twist—covers mine, and just as I feel the touch of his tongue, we both lose our balance.
And in the least graceful fall to ever take place at a police chief’s barbecue, Ryerson and I fall into the freezing cold pool.