Do you ever have those days, or weeks in my case, where your mind is all over the place, and you can’t focus on any one thought to decipher where they’re going?
I haven’t exactly been a good friend. Mila and Caleb are getting married this winter, but Izzy, she’s marrying Gigantor in a few days and guess who’s the maid of honor?
Me.
Guess who didn’t do anything to help her friend?
Me again.
Thank God for Mila. In all fairness, or to make me feel better, Izzy knew what selecting me as a maid of honor meant and in turn eventually gave the job to Mila.
Two days before the wedding, I call Willa to make sure it’s okay that I fly back for the wedding and then I’ll fly back to LA the next day. Then we leave for Spain the following evening.
Willa’s cool with it because the guys’ calendars are free as they’re training for the event in Madrid this week.
It’s when I tell the guys I’ll be gone for a couple days where shit gets interesting. Not to mention Tiller and Shade have their dirt bikes inside and they’re doing wheelies up the stairs, then nose wheelies down the other side of the circular staircase.
“I have to go to Seattle,” I tell them, standing in the foyer when they both stop in front of me.
“What for?” Shade asks, taking off his helmet. You know, I have to hand it to them that they’re even wearing their helmets. You’d think guys like them, daredevils and all, they wouldn’t be much into safety, but they are. Helmets on all the time. And by the box of condoms that gets delivered to the house each week that I order, their safety is across the board.
I’m distracting myself. Back to Shade and the helmet on his lap now. He asked me a question.
“My friend Izzy is getting married,” I tell him, jumping to the side when Tiller revs his bike, wheelies out of the foyer and into the kitchen. I’m still amazed they ride their bikes in the house, but then again, I’m not. They’re all crazy like that.
Shade’s lips curve into a smile as he pulls out his cell phone from the pocket of his board shorts. “I think I should come with you.”
My stare meets his, my heart skipping with it. “No, you shouldn’t.”
“Yes, I should.” He shrugs one shoulder and pockets his cell phone again. The smirk’s still present as he tugs his helmet back on, the sounds of Tiller’s bike upstairs now echoing through the house. Brap Brap. “Besides,” Shade yells over the pinging of his own bike running again. “I have a photo shoot for the street tour. I need a plane ticket, assistant. Preferably one next to you. I wouldn’t want to fly alone. You never know what kind of trouble I could get into alone.”
I want to smile, but I can’t. I shouldn’t. I look down at my phone. I checked his schedule. Twice. They don’t have anything planned all week leading up to Spain. “No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
I swipe my finger over my phone and open his calendar. “Goddamn you, Shade. You scheduled that just now, didn’t you?”
“Yep. I love Seattle. I can be your “plus one” at the wedding.”
Just in case you didn’t notice, or maybe you were looking the other way, but he totally just air quoted the word “plus one.”
“And how do you think Izzy will feel about that? She didn’t invite you.”
He waves me off. “She’ll love me, and I look amazing in a suit. Just wait.”
Oh, believe me, I’ve already imagined him in a suit. I once saw a picture on Instagram of him in a suit, with no shoes and wearing his helmet. I think it was to advertise an awards show or something where he performed some stunts. Anyway, the picture was the screen saver on my phone for like a damn month, or longer. Probably more like six months.
I play it cool and twirl a curl of my messy hair around my finger playfully. “I think you’re forgetting you destroyed her hotel the last time you were there. You burned some bridges.”
Shade stares at my hair, the smile never fading from his lips. “Not true. I was there in July and was the perfect gentleman.”
I’m no longer smiling. “Do you even remember being there in July?”
He shrugs, shifting his weight on the bike from his right foot to his left and raises his foot to the peg. “Not really, but I know I didn’t destroy anything.”
Except my heart.
Why did you pull out? Why don’t you remember me?
AN HOUR LATER, the guys are done with their “house” riding and are in the kitchen looking for food. I’m at the kitchen island with my laptop making Shade’s plane ticket reservations for tomorrow morning, with him over my shoulder asking that we sit together and his phone ringing constantly. He ignores it, as usual.
Doesn’t even look at it. Why would he? He’s trying to get me to like him enough to sit next to him.
“Are you going to answer that phone or just let it ring?”
He shrugs, rolling his eyes. “I don’t like talking on the phone. So no, not going to answer it.”
I take the phone from off the counter. He lets me. I glance at the number. It’s just a number, no name. “Who is it?”
He shrugs again, like he’s taking after Camden now. What do I do? I fucking answer it.
Holding the phone to my ear, I glare at Shade because I’m pretty damn sure he’s setting me up. “Hello?”
The girl on the other line stutters. “Oh, I. . . um. . . is this Shade’s phone?”
“Yes, it’s his phone. Can I help you? I’m his assistant, Scarlet.” Shade smiles and takes a piece of licorice off the counter to chew on. I do the same because two can play this game.
“I was looking for him. Not his assistant. He told me to call him.”
I laugh. “Yeah well, he gives his number to anyone because guess what, he doesn’t answer it. I do.”
“Well, can I talk to him?” she presses. By now, Shade’s laughing. Look at him. He thinks this shit is funny. Stupid jerk.
“No. He’s busy eating licorice.”
“Eating licorice?”
Taking another piece of licorice from the package, he slaps my forehead it with it lightly, then traces my face with it. I open my mouth and bite it, chewing slowly. “Yep. Would you like to leave a message and I’ll see if he wants to call you back?”
Shade drops his arm and looks at the small piece left in his hand, then to me, still grinning.
“Yeah, tell him Rachel called.”
“Rachel?” I repeat, waiting to see if Shade knows her, only he shrugs. Again. Like he has no clue. Because he doesn’t. Ask him what he had for lunch earlier and he’d give you the same face. I’m convinced he’s had too many concussions in his life.
“Yes, Rachel. He has the number.”
“Okay, sure.” And then I hang up and hand him his phone back. “Why do you give your number out if you’re not going to call them back?”
“Seems like the polite thing to do.”
I turn to face him and he tries to touch my thighs. I slap his hand away. “So you tell them to call you but you have no intention of ever answering them?”
His brow pulls together. “That sounds mean.”
“Well it is. You’re giving them false hope there’s more to the connection they thought they had with you.”
You know the double meaning here, but does he?
Do you see that face? The way his lips thin out, pressing together almost contemplatively?
He might.
Tiller comes into the kitchen holding his phone in his hand and his helmet. “What’s going on with you two?” Then he motions between us and sets his helmet on the counter.
“Nothing,” I say immediately, only to have Shade ignore him completely and pick up his cell phone, staring at the screen.
Roan’s the next in the kitchen and knocks Tiller’s phone out of his hand onto the floor. “Stop texting her.”
“Would you rather I ignore her? She’s texting me.”
“I’d rather you didn’t sleep with her.”
Tiller bends over, retrieves his phone and mumbles, “Too late.”
Roan shoves him, Tiller shoves him back and then before we know it, they’re fighting in the kitchen.
I look to Shade, who’s watching them wrestle around on the floor and then eventually steps over them. “I thought they were getting better?”
He takes a seat next to me at the kitchen island and slides a beer my way. “Apparently not. Did you book my ticket?”
I nod, still watching them. Tiller’s on top of Roan now, holding him to the ground and laughing. “Whose side are you on?”
Shade has a bag of tortilla chips next to him and a bowl of guacamole Roan made last night that’s pretty much to die for. “Side for what?”
I tip my beer toward the guys, and when his head turns, I steal the guacamole. “With them.”
Shrugging, he turns back around and glares that I’ve taken his food. “I’m not picking sides.”
Afraid he’s going to bite me, or not so afraid because his bites are worth it, I slide the bowl back his way. “Who do you agree with then?”
“Neither.” He opens the bag of chips, takes one out, and then dips it in the guacamole. “Roan fucked up. But then again, so did Tiller.”
The guys get up from the floor, and Tiller takes off running outside, does a backflip off the rocks and jumps in the pool, fully clothed.
“How’d Roan fuck up?”
“Not my place to say. If he wants you to know, he’ll tell you.”
I love that he doesn’t tell their secrets. I wish I could do the same, but if Mila ever told me a secret, I always told Izzy for some reason. I don’t know why. It was like it was burning a hole in my mouth and I had to tell someone.
“Why don’t Roan and Tiller have to go to the photo shoot?”
Shade reaches for a chip, loads it with guacamole and then hands it to me. I’m half tempted to eat it right out of his hand, but I don’t. I’m afraid if I do, I’ll start sucking on his fingers.
As I chew the chip, bursts of cilantro, lime, and avocado filling my mouth, Shade watches my mouth closely. “Roan can’t go to any of the other Street Tour stops. He’s preparing for Erzberg, and Tiller, he refused. I’m sponsored by the event so that means I’m the face of all their advertising. Look at me. . . wouldn’t you want me?”
Do you see my face? Dead giveaway. I think even he notices.
He bumps my shoulder. “You can deny it all you want, but you’re secretly in love with me.”
There’s no secret about it, dude.
The front door opening and voices draw our attention behind us. It’s Willa, Ricky, and the baby. As soon as I notice Willa, I scoot away from Shade, trying not to be too obvious.
For the next ten minutes, we, mostly me and Willa, stare at her beautiful baby.
“What’s her name?” I ask, staring at the tiny wrinkly baby in my arms, but she’s so stinking cute. I can’t help but want to squeeze her.
Willa side-eyes Ricky, who’s grinning now, proudly.
“Berlin Gwyneth. . . Sawyer,” she says, then covers her face in what seems like embarrassment.
Shade laughs and then rips the baby from my arms like he’s a goddamn natural at holding them. “I knew it.” He gives Ricky a cocky nod. “Nicely done, Dad.”
Ricky can’t help the beaming smile plastered on his face. “Thanks.” Then he winks at Willa. “Mama did all the work though.”
And you know, I think the comment is meant to be dirty too, because Willa’s cheeks warm slightly and Shade starts laughing.
“How’d you come up with the name Berlin?” I ask.
Ricky grins and proudly says, “That’s where I knocked her up at.”
“Ricky!” Willa gasps. “Why would you tell them that?”
Shade rocks the baby back and forth like a pro. “Don’t sound so surprised. He’s a dirty motherfucker just like the rest of us.”
I’m not paying any attention to them any longer because guess who’s holding a baby.
Shade.
The thing is, he is a natural holding her, not tense like you’d imagine a twenty-one-year-old man to be. It’s as if he’s held thousands of babies.
I’m not sure what my expression is, but it’s alarming enough that Willa elbows me. “Stop biting your lip.”
Easier said than done. Shade smiling + sweet baby girl in his arms = ovary explosion.
I never wanted to have kids until today. Now I’ll have his litter.
Litter? Really, Scar? Couldn’t think of anything better? He’s not a dog.
Well, that’s debatable at times. Let’s not forget when he kicked over his bike.
All I know is being on a plane with Shade, without his brothers, will prove to be the biggest test of my employment. I’m sure of it.
I lean into Shade, sneaking another peek at the baby before I whisper, “I can’t believe you stole a baby from me.”
Shade smirks. “All girls love me.”
Ain’t that the fucking truth.