Chapter 21

Melany

I WAS SUCH an idiot. And there was no one to blame but myself.

Why the hell had I brought up the subject of Chance with other women? It was so stupid! But I’d somehow managed to twist myself up into knots at the thought that I was cramping Chance’s single, bachelor style that I opened my mouth and the words just spewed out without my permission.

We managed to get over that particular hurdle, and had bone-meltingly good sex shortly thereafter, but two days had passed and I was still obsessing over the thought of him one day meeting a woman who caught his attention. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to handle it if that ever happened.

Again, all my fault. Because I’d agreed to this ludicrous arrangement in the first place.

My heels tapped on the pavement as I climbed the front steps of Constance’s front stoop. I knocked, and when she opened the door, her eyes went wide. “What’s going on? Why are you here in the middle of the day on a Tuesday?”

“I left work early,” I answered, as I barged my way inside, too wrapped up in my own head to pay attention to the chaos Landon and Patrick were already causing. “Told them I wasn’t feeling well.”

She closed the door behind me and guided me toward the kitchen. “Are you sick?”

“No. But I’m losing my mind.”

She looked at me with understanding before asking, “Is this tequila trouble or wine trouble?”

I let out a humorless laugh. “I wouldn’t suppose you know how to make a cosmo?”

Her expression morphed to sympathetic as she answered, “Not unless you want me to call up our flamboyant little friend and ask him for the recipe.”

“God, no,” I groaned. “If Tomas got wind of any of this, I’d never hear the end of it.”

Connie rested her hand on the kitchen island as I sat on one of the barstools across from her. “Got wind of what, exactly?”

I bit my lip and started fidgeting in my seat, unable to meet her gaze as I announced, “I’ve been sleeping with Chance.”

She did an impeccable impression of Edvard Munch’s Scream—minus the hands on her cheeks—before sputtering, “You… I… what… when… how did I not know this? When did this happen? And don’t you dare leave out any details!”

I slapped my hands over my face as I mumbled, “It’s been going on for about three weeks.”

“WHAT?”

I waved my hands in front of me and hissed, “Shh. The boys!”

“Are busy destroying the last few nice things I own, so they aren’t paying a bit of attention. Start talking.”

And that was just what I did. I told her everything—how we’d agreed it wouldn’t make things weird; how, despite my best intentions, sleeping with Chance only made me fall harder. I told her how he’d promised to tell me as soon as he met someone he liked. Once I finished, every conceivable emotion had spun across her features like that big wheel on The Price Is Right, finally coming to a stop on disbelief.

When her silence finally became too much for me to bear, I snapped, demanding loudly, “Will you say something already?”

“You know I love you, right?”

Uh-oh. That wasn’t a good start.

“Uh… yes.”

“Good, keep that in mind when I ask my next question.”

“Okaaaaay.”

Constance took in a deep breath, then yelled, “What in the ever-loving HELL were you thinking? Have you lost your mind? What made you think that you, of all people, could have sex without getting your heart involved?”

Yep, I was right. Not good. “I wasn’t thinking!” I defended. “For the first time in my life, I did something I wanted without considering the consequences. He makes me feel good. No, he makes me feel amazing, and I wanted more of that, more of him. And he actually wanted me, so I just went with it. And now I’m all tangled up. I’ve gotten myself into this mess, and I have no clue how to get out of it. He’s been great about this whole thing, but for him it’s just fun. Meanwhile, I’m over here falling in love with the guy and, eventually, he’s going to end it when he meets someone he likes, and I’ll be left with a broken heart and no one to blame but myself.”

By the time I finished ranting, tears were pricking the backs of my eyes.

“Oh my God,” Constance breathed. “You’re falling in love with him?”

I sniffled and got a hold of myself before answering. “Yes. But you can’t repeat that to anyone. Swear, Connie.”

“Oh, honey.” Those two words dripped with concern and sympathy, and hearing that in my best friend’s voice was almost enough to make those suppressed tears well back up, but I was determined to push them down.

“Promise, Con.”

“I promise,” she reassured on a whisper. “But you need to talk to him, sweetie. Tell him the truth. He might feel the same way you do.”

“He doesn’t,” I insisted.

“But he might.”

“He doesn’t,” I snapped. “So telling him the truth wouldn’t do me any good.”

Her expression hardened with determination. “You can’t know that. If you—”

“I’m not telling him,” I broke in. “That’s not going to happen, so just let it go. I just needed to vent, get it all off my chest, you know? I’ll be fine.” I inhaled deeply and repeated in a softer voice, “I’ll be fine.” But I wasn’t sure who I was trying to convince, Constance or myself.

“I think you’re making a mistake,” she said quietly. “But I won’t push you. Just know, I’m here for you to vent to any time you need me.”

I reached across the countertop and gave her hand a squeeze. “Thanks, babe. I love you.”

“Love you right back. Even if I don’t always agree with you.”

Then the moment was broken by Landon’s little voice. “Mom! Patrick’s eating the potpourri again!”