Flaunt, page 15
This is Sara, and I want her to be comfortable. Happy. So …
“We’re going to have to order dinner out,” I say. “Unless you want to sneak into Jess's. He keeps extra heat-up pizzas in the freezer in the garage. I took the last pepperoni last weekend, so unless they’ve been to the store, we’re probably stuck with sausage and mushroom.”
She laughs. “We can’t keep eating out.”
“Why?”
“It’s expensive, and I’m broke. You know this. Hence, why I’m here.”
I smirk. “I thought you were here for oral, but okay.”
She just shakes her head, amused.
“Anyway, Shade House burgers again?” I ask.
She sighs. “You’re paying.”
“Of course.”
I drop my towel and slide on my shorts. Her gaze holds tight to mine as I get them situated on my hips. There’s something on her mind, something I’m probably not going to like. I can tell. I get that a lot.
“I really don’t want to complicate things, Banks.”
“Good. I’m not a complicated guy.”
She presses her lips together. “I don’t ask to stay with men.”
“Good. Because I don’t ask women to stay with me.”
A light slowly appears in her eyes. Sweet girl.
I start toward the kitchen, pausing only to kiss the top of her head as I go. “Want a drink?”
She sighs in defeat. Whew.
“I’m going to grab my phone so we can call in our order,” I say over my shoulder. “Be in my bed and in my shirt when I get back.”
“And what if I’m not?”
I don’t miss a step. “Then I’ll come find you and carry you back there. Why don’t you just keep it simple for both of us?”
She scoffs to save face. But the sound of her feet slapping quickly against the floor gets more faint, which means she’s headed to my room.
I blow out a breath and find my phone. Then I grab two waters and a bag of cookies I borrowed from Mom’s on Sunday, then head back.
I hope I’m projecting confidence and not the wobble in my gut. I’m not usually so assertive. Live and let live. But if I’m not super clear and give her too much wiggle room to get out of it, I know she’ll revert to what she knows. And that’s evading any possibility of depth in a relationship. Well … evading a relationship altogether.
Leaving.
If she really wanted to go, of course, I’d let her. I’d help her. But I don’t think that’s true.
I think she likes being wanted.
“Here you go,” I say, tossing the bag of cookies on the bed beside her. “Consider it an appetizer.”
I try not to stare or make a big deal out of how my heart thumps seeing her in the middle of my bed with the blankets just covering her chest. I just set the drinks on the bedside table and lie on top of the blankets next to her.
She offers me a cookie. “It’s weird lying in your bed.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
I take the cookie. “Well, I’m your fake fiancé now. You should get comfortable here.”
Her smile is soft. I love it on her face.
“Do you really want to go with me?” she asks, nibbling on the edge of a chocolate chip.
“Yeah. Especially if you’re going in that dress.”
She giggles. “I need to either wear the other one or have that one cleaned first. I’m going to have it dry-cleaned either way.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure. I guess. I mean, I might not answer, but you can ask.”
Fair enough. I settle in against the pillows. “Why did what’s-his-face saying that to you bother you that much?”
“What do you mean?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Maddox said I shouldn’t get a dog the other day because I can barely keep myself alive.”
She laughs.
“Although true, he said that because he knew it wouldn’t hurt my feelings. And he knows that because he knows me.”
“Okay …”
I blow out a breath. “So what was it about ‘not being wife material’ that bothered you?”
“What does it matter?”
“Because I want to understand you and that seems like a good place to start.”
I hold my breath, positive that she’s going to either get up and leave or tell me to fuck off. But, much to my surprise, neither happens.
She takes small bites of her cookie and stares across the room.
“You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to,” I say. “I was just curious.”
“You know what’s curious to me?”
“What’s that?”
She turns her head my way. “That I’ve never really thought about it. It pissed me off on a gut level, but I’ve never thought about why.”
I’m curious and want to press, but I give her space to get her thoughts together. My typical tactic of hounding people until I get what I want won’t work here. And, strangely, I don’t want them to.
Finally, she heaves a breath. “I think it’s because it was a dickish thing to say, first of all.”
“Agreed.”
“But also …” She frowns. “I guess it makes me really mad, because Joshua doesn’t know anything about me, but he was able to needle me. He struck a real fear, and I don’t know if he did it on purpose or if he got lucky.”
She looks so alone. Is she really withdrawing from me? Is it intentional? Or is it habit?
I lay my palm next to hers and bump her pinkie finger with mine. She holds it out to the side, and I lace mine over it. That’s better.
“What are you afraid of?” I know I’m pushing my luck, but it’s now or never.
She takes a long, deep breath. “I’m afraid that maybe he’s right.”
“What do you mean?”
She smiles sadly at me. “I don’t really know how to talk about this.”
“You just open your mouth and let the words flow. I do it all the time. Sometimes it works out for you and sometimes not.” I wink. “I wouldn’t recommend ordering a dozen chickens without thinking it through, though.”
Her laughter is light and small, but it’s there. And that’s good enough.
She blows out her breath. “For someone who talks a lot of shit, I’m pretty uncertain about a lot of things—most things, really.”
“Like what?”
“Like … I can’t believe I’m talking about this,” she mumbles.
I stroke her pinkie finger with mine. She stares at them as if the sight of them gives her strength.
“I don’t know how to connect with people,” she says softly. “I don’t know if I connected with my mother or not and it drives me nuts every day. I have no memories of her, no stories to tell at parties when people share their favorite mom tales.”
Oh, Sara. I want to hold her and kiss her, but if I do, she’ll stop talking. And as much as I want to heal her wounds, I want her to have the chance to unload them. Give them to me. I’ll carry them for you.
“My dad was great,” she says. “But he was military, and there wasn’t a ton of hugging or words of affection. And that’s fine. It comes with the territory. But then he married Sabrina, and suddenly, he had the ability to do both.”
She frowns and looks so … sad. She looks down at our fingers again, and I just wait, because I feel there’s more.
“With Sabrina, and then with Bethany, he was warm, and you would even have thought he was cuddly. But he never did that with me.”
And there it is. Shit.
I wrap my arm over her shoulders and pull her closer to me. She lays a hand on my chest and doesn’t even try to pull away.
My parents are huggers. My family, except Foxx, are warm and tactile—sometimes too much. But Sara has never had the level of affection I have taken for granted.
My chest stings for her. I wish I knew how to fix it. I would.
“I love my friends,” she says. “And Ashley’s mother, Gretchen. I don’t know what would’ve happened to me without her. At least she tried to rope me in.” She chuckles. “She’d come to a party at two in the morning in her nightgown and find me if I hadn’t checked in or come to her house.”
Thank God for Gretchen.
She swallows against me. “I guess I’m scared that I’ll never have a family or a connection with someone else because I’ve never had it. But I’m too scared to try to have it too because what if I fail? What if it proves that my fears are right, and I don’t know how to …” She looks up at me. “Be wife material, I guess. And what if everyone else already knows?”
I press a kiss on the top of her head. “Well, for what it’s worth, you’re doing an excellent job as my fake soon-to-be wife.”
Her entire body relaxes. She rests her cheek against me once again.
I don’t know what to say. I’m so bad at this. When things get murky, I distract myself by walking across the street and seeing what everyone else is doing. But Sara doesn’t have that option.
So it’s just been her all this time? How fucking lonely.
“Why don’t you talk to anyone about this?” I ask. “Have you talked to Ashley or Becca?”
She shakes her head. “No. I know they love me—they’re the best. But it’s just hard to imagine that anyone really cares.”
“They care. I promise you they do.” I squeeze her shoulder. “And I care too.”
She laughs as if she’s dismissing me.
“And my mom will care,” I say, groaning. “Don’t ever tell her any of this if you don’t want her in the middle of your life trying to fix it all. This is a huge warning.”
She sits up, holding the blanket to her chest. Her eyes are bright. “Oh, your mom said to tell you that you owe her a lot of lawn care for having her yellow bowl.”
I push my head back on the pillows and groan. “I really didn’t think I had that.”
“You really did have it.”
“Ugh. Okay.” I breathe out and rest my eyes on Sara again. “But you have to help me.”
“Me? Why?”
“Because you let her in.”
She laughs. “She would’ve gotten in either way. And I didn’t let her in. She just came in.”
I’m really not enjoying this open-door policy anymore.
“Are we ordering food or what?” she asks.
I toss her my phone. “I’ll have a burger and fries.”
“That’s what you had last night.”
“That’s what I like.”
Her eyes hood. “So you like what you like, and you like it often?”
“Often.”
She hums. “Well, that’s good since you’re my fake fiancé now.”
“And you’re my new best friend.”
The words tumble out of my mouth before I think about it. Again.
Dammit, I have to stop doing this.
But the more I think about it, the more I like it. The more it makes sense. Not only do I need a new best friend—thank you, Ashley—it’ll help me build trust with Sara.
She blinks once. Then twice.
“It’s a trade,” I say. “Take it or leave it.”
A mischievous grin tickles her lips. “Friends with benefits?”
I grab her and pull her onto me. “As many benefits as you want.”
“Deal.”
I swallow her laughter with kisses and forget all about dinner.
18
Sara
Me: I’m here.
Banks: Come in the side door.
Me: Okay.
I walk around the Carmichael Classics building and find Banks standing at the door. His bright smile, happy to see me, makes my smile stretch from ear to ear.
This whole thing between him and me is bananas. I woke up this morning after getting three hours of sleep because we stayed up all night watching old movies, eating cold pizza that he stole out of Jess’s garage around midnight, and replaying our couch activities.
It’s the most fun I think I’ve ever had in my life. That’s a high in and of itself—but it’s also a little scary. At least, it’s scary until I see him. Then the wobbliness inside me is kicked to the curb.
“Today has taken forever,” he says, pouting.
But as soon as I reach him, the frown leaves his face, and he presses his mouth roughly, yet tenderly, against mine.
I place a hand on his chest and wad his dirty shirt in my fist. I could let him kiss me forever.
Finally, he pulls back.
“So we’re just kissing like that now, huh?” I ask, grinning. “Out it public for the world to see?”
He grins right back. “Do you want me to stop kissing you, bestie?”
No, no, I do not.
“How was your day?” I ask. “Is Tasha ready for her vacation?”
Banks groans. “Stop saying vacation. It’s my new least favorite word.”
I laugh. “You’ll be fine without her.”
He makes a face like he’s not convinced. But I am. I’m pretty sure Banks would be fine in any situation if he wanted to be.
I follow him inside the shop and through a little archway onto the actual floor. The room is expansive and bright with clean, white walls and big overhead lights. Cars line the room, some on the ground and others raised on lifts. It’s surprisingly clean and organized—very much not like his house.
“You need to have whoever cleans this place come to your house,” I say, laughing. “You could eat off the floor here, and I worry about eating off plates in your kitchen.”
He gasps. “I’ll have you know that I clean up here.”
I gasp back at him.
“I do,” he says. “I mean, the guys all help take care of their shit and keep whatever area they’re working in clean. But I always stay late and go through and make sure it’s all where it’s supposed to be.”
He walks over to a display. A plethora of glass jars sit in a red holder, and each is filled with different screws and bolts. On the front of every jar is a white label with black writing, denoting what’s inside.
“I did that,” he says proudly. “Doesn’t it make you feel good to see it?”
“Um, no. But I’m glad it does you.”
He flashes me a disapproving look. “Sometimes I come early on Sunday mornings before dinner at Mom’s and sweep or wipe down all the heavy traffic areas.”
“I don’t …” My brows pull together. “How are you this person here and not at home?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. This place feels like home to me. My work family is here. We have a monthly dinner together here. We stay late and work on deadlines, yell, almost cry …” He chuckles. “At home, it’s just me.”
Interesting.
I know absolutely nothing about cars, but I need to show some interest because this is important to him. Even though his questions yesterday made me uncomfortable, he did it because he suspected I needed to answer them. I know that’s true. He wouldn't have done it otherwise.
That’s one of the things I’m learning about Banks. He’s way more observant than anyone gives him credit for.
I mosey down the shop. What can I ask about that would make sense? My sights finally settle on an emerald-green car up on a lift.
“What kind of car is this?” I ask, pointing up.
Banks smiles. “That is a Camaro. It’s one of my favorite body styles of all time.” He grimaces. “I hate saying that because it feels like I’m betraying Betsy.”
“Your car?” I ask, amused.
“She’s my baby. Never tell her I talked about a Camaro. She’ll be crushed.”
“I promise. Your secret of loving Camaros more than Betsy is safe with me.”
He grabs me and brings me into his chest. His hands lock at the small of my back. My heart flutters like a teenager with her first boyfriend, and if I think about it too much, I might be disgusted with myself.
It’s too bad I’m too focused on him. And that I came here with a purpose.
“Am I taking your picture or what?” I ask, drawing a line down his jaw. “Because if you keep holding me like this, I’ll lose my interest in photography.”
“And gain an interest in …”
I snicker. “Pornography.”
He bursts out laughing and steps away, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He scans the screen.
“I don’t get it,” he says. “Look at this.”
I peer over his shoulder.
Unknown: Peahens prefer peacocks with the longest trains and biggest displays. They are most attracted to peacocks with the most perfect train, number of iridescent “eyes,” and even their symmetry.
“Who is sending those?” I ask.
He shrugs. “My brothers get them too. Of course, I got a peacock when Moss got a flamingo.”
I snort.
“I wanted a lion or a tiger,” he says. “Something badass. Instead, I get a bird with iridescent feathers.”
Our eyes snap together.
“A sparkly bird?” I ask, raising my brows.
“That can’t be a coincidence. But the sparkles thing would make me lean toward Jess, but he gets the texts. No one else knows about the sparkles thing except my brothers, and they all get them.”
“Even Foxx?”
Banks’s eyes narrow. “But this isn’t a Foxx kind of thing to do. It’s too … fun.”
I laugh.
Banks shakes his head. “But maybe it is. He did lose his key at the marina, and that’s very not Foxx-like. Maybe he’s breaking down in his old age.”
“It’s the easiest explanation.”
He grins like the cat that caught the canary. “I’m gonna get that bastard. I’ve been thinking of different ways to do it. I have one in mind, and it’s a little … over the top, even for me. But this whole peacock thing just sealed his fate.”
“What is it?”
“Can’t tell you.”
I gasp. “And why not?”
“Because it’s good. Really, really good. Like he might actually kill me good. I’ll need an escape route pre-planned. Maybe up my life insurance.”
