Backup Plan (Boys of Silver Ridge Book 1), page 7
“I don’t want to get your seats all wet.”
“They’re leather, so it would be fine, and if you’re really worried about it, I do have a blanket you can put on the seat.”
“Why do you have a blanket in your car?”
“Sometimes I take a nap in my car in between surgeries. It sounds weird, I know, but it’s easier to relax in my car in the parking garage than the break rooms.”
“It doesn’t sound weird. I’d probably prefer to sleep in my car too than somewhere with other people.” She bites her lip, no idea how fucking sexy that looks on her, and turns her attention to the fire. “Should we put it out before we go?”
“Probably,” I reply and look around for something to use to extinguish the fire. We don’t have any water, so instead, I dash out near the edge of the woods, retrieving a small broken tree branch with a thick cluster of wet leaves. I put it on the fire, strangling out the flames.
“Smart,” Chloe says, eyeing me. She looks uncomfortable now, like the thought of getting in the car with me is unnerving. I wish I knew what she was thinking, or that we were still close enough I could just come out and ask her.
The clouds are just spitting out a drizzle of rain now. Thunder and lightning still rage on around us. The storm isn’t over just yet, but we caught a break in the rain.
“Which side of the lake is the house?” I ask, pretending like Rory didn’t point out her house like a stalker this morning.
“The quiet side. Dad’s been there for a few years already. We bought and restored that house I liked as a kid. The one my mom liked too.”
“I remember that house,” I say softly, noticing the sadness that instantly comes to Chloe’s pretty eyes at the mention of her mother. “Have you been out on the lake yet?”
She shakes her head. “No, just down to the dock. My dad and his girlfriend are leaving tomorrow for a romantic getaway, so I probably won’t get out there this trip.”
“They’re leaving when you just got here?” We start walking down the stone path to the parking lot.
“They had the trip planned, and me coming here wasn’t preplanned or anything. Though it works out, because as much as I love my father, he’s a talker, and I don’t get much work done when he’s around.”
“Yeah, I could see that. Having a lake house to yourself while writing a book is exactly what a movie about a writer would do.”
She chuckles. “It is a little cliché, but it will be really nice and quiet. They’re taking the dog too, so I’ll literally have no one but myself to take care of. Though when I’m deep in the writing cave—not a literal cave, but a mental one, I guess?” She shakes her head. “It’s just something us writers say. But when I’m in the writing cave, I can go like all day without eating and only drinking coffee and wine. And then it might be a few days before I shower, and I don’t know why I’m admitting this to you, though I also admitted it on TV last year so…”
“That’s also what I think of when I think of writers,” I joke and playfully nudge her. The second my skin touches hers, a shock runs through me. I look out at the woods, having to talk down my cock—and my heart.
“Write drunk, edit sober,” she says with a wink. “It’s a Hemmingway quote and isn’t that terrible advice.”
“I can’t imagine having a drink while working.”
She laughs, and I love the way that little dimple on her right cheek is still there when she smiles. “Yeah, I don’t think that would go too well.”
We get to my car, which is the only one left in the parking lot. I open the passenger side door for Chloe and reach into the back, grabbing the fleece blanket. I really don’t care if she sits in the car all wet from the rain, but I know Chloe doesn’t like to inconvenience anyone in the smallest way.
“Thanks again for driving me to my dad’s,” she says, and I get a flash of driving her home after school. There were so many times when I wanted to pull over and kiss her.
But there were even more times when it just didn’t happen.
Her phone goes crazy with text messages as soon as we’re back on the road and within cell service range. I’m curious who the messages are from, mostly because I don’t see how Chloe could be single. Jealously sizzles through my veins at the thought of her having a boyfriend, and I need to knock it the fuck off.
She’s busy replying to the messages on the short drive from the park to her dad’s house. The rain is starting to fall harder when I park in the driveway. My heart jumps into my throat when I turn and look at her. I put my BMW in park and shove that fucker back down where it belongs.
“It was really good to see you,” I say slowly, resisting the urge to reach out and brush back that loose lock of hair that’s starting to curl around her forehead. “You look…good. Really good.”
“Even wet?” she asks and then closes her eyes, realizing she’s said something awkward yet again. “You know what I mean.”
I laugh, mind—again—going to her being a different kind of wet. “I do, and yeah, even after you’ve been caught in the rain.”
She blushes and unbuckles her seatbelt. “You look good too, though you always have. It’s not fair.” Her lips pull into a smile. “I’m glad I got caught in the rain when I did.”
“Me too.” The car is in park yet we’re still sitting here, hearts racing. “Do you want to go out and catch up?”
“I’m having dinner with my dad and Wendy tonight or, um…yeah.” She leans toward me, just a bit, and the curl falls into her eyes. I can’t help it this time. I reach out and tuck it behind her ear. I sweep my fingers down along her jaw, and Chloe shivers again. Part of me wants to kiss her right here and now, just to see what would happen.
If it would feel as good as I’ve imagined.
Her phone dings with another text, startling her. She tenses, and I jerk my hand back. “How…how long are you in town?” she asks.
“Until Tuesday,” I say, though I’d only planned on the weekend. If she’s here, I want to be here, trying to make up for all the lost time. “Come over sometime if you can take some time away from your book.”
Her lips curve into a smile again, and the rain starts to come down harder. My heart is hammering in my chest, and I’m feeling entirely too vulnerable right now. She gets another text message, and when I shift my eyes down to the phone in her hand, I see someone named Charles is texting her. It has to be her ex. Are they back together? Maybe they—fuck—I need to give it up.
“Rory would really love if you came over. She’ll be here for a few more days and she has her baby with her, of course. You were always like a sister to her…to all of us.”
“Oh.” The smile disappears from Chloe’s face. “Yeah…a sister.” She lets out a sigh. “Thanks again, Sam. Tell everyone I said hi.”
Without another word, she gets out and walks away.
Chapter Nine
Chloe
Like a sister.
I close the door to Sam’s BMW with a little more force than necessary, fingers slipping from the handle due to the rain. Focusing my attention on the front door of the house, I walk up the driveway, each step squishing beneath my feet.
I’m so stupid. Naive. I guess I’ll never change.
Sam is still in the driveway when I get onto the porch, and I make it a point not to turn around and look at him. Really, I shouldn’t be mad. Not at him. He did nothing wrong, and offering to take me home so I don’t have to walk in the rain was nice of him, and I’m quite thankful because thunder is rumbling overhead again. The storm is getting its second wind—literally. It would have taken me a while to walk back from the picnic shelter. I’m already cold, and there’s no promise a tree wouldn’t have fallen on me. If the impact alone didn’t kill me, I could very easily become hypothermic and die a slow, painful death.
Okay, probably not since it’s still seventy-five degrees out, but the dirt is cold, and I’d at least be chewed to near death from bugs. Sighing, I swing my backpack over my shoulder and get the house key, though I don’t need it. Dad left the house unlocked, like so many others do in this small town. Yeah, Silver Ridge has a low crime rate, but walking into an empty house that’s been left unlocked freaks me out a bit.
Balloon comes running, barking his little head off. At least I’d know if a stranger was hiding inside the house…unless they’ve secretly worked on slowly building trust and this little yorkie-mix sees them as a friend. Dammit, I overthink things way too much, but that’s what makes me a good writer, I hope at least.
“Hey, buddy,” I tell Balloon, peeling my wet clothes off in the foyer. I ball them up and bring them into the laundry room. I turn my boots upside down on a towel and make a mental note to put them out in the sun when the storm finally passes so they can dry.
I go right upstairs and get into the shower, grumbling to myself the whole time about how pathetic and stupid I am. It’s easier to focus on being angry, to mentally kick myself over and over than it is to admit just how much it hurt—how much it still fucking hurt—to hear Sam refer to me as a sister again.
You were always like a sister to her…to all of us.
And she was to me, but Sam was never like a brother to me. So much for all the inspiration I found sitting out in the woods. If Kellie—my main character—were here, she’d slap me and tell me to get out of my funk. To get over it and not waste time on a guy. Though she’d also fight to the death for Marcus, her one true love.
“Fuck,” I sigh and sink to the shower floor, putting my head in my hands. I stay there for a few minutes, doing the breathing techniques I learned during my yoga lessons, and actually feel a little better when I stand back up, quickly shampooing and conditioning my hair so I can get out of the shower.
I started writing my Nightfall series as an escape. Kellie is everything I wish I could be, and her romance is what I dream of. It’s not perfect, she and Marcus fight and bicker, but their love is truer than anything, and it’s one of the things people love so much about the series. Love can conquer all, even though you might have to kill a few demons here or there to get to that point.
Toweling off my hair, I dress in sleeper shorts and a baggy t-shirt. Balloon is waiting outside the door for me, and I go downstairs to get us both a quick snack. I have two and a half hours until Dad and Wendy will come back for dinner. I can get a lot written in two hours, leaving the extra thirty minutes to get myself looking halfway presentable.
But as soon as I open my laptop, I toss my head back in frustration. Charles matches the description of Marcus perfectly, and fans of the series had already envisioned him playing the sexy vampire before the books even got optioned for screen. Tall, muscular, with dark hair and dark blue eyes, Charles is perfect to play him, but I always envisioned someone else, and that someone just reaffirmed my worst fear from when we were kids.
The man I’ve been in love with sees me as his sister, and that’s not sexy in the least. I need to give it up, to get over it, and accept—finally fucking accept—that Sam will never look at me the way I look at him.
Looking at my notebook, I start to type what I wrote longhand, but find myself secretly wanting Kellie to get possessed by an evil spirit so she can slap Sam—aka Marcus—around a bit. I laugh at my own stupidity and set the notebook down, going onto social media instead. I’m cheered up almost instantly when I see some fan-made teasers for the series and feel inspired all over again.
Turning on my playlist I put together just for this book, I get back into it, pounding out over a thousand words in just half an hour. I’m back in the groove, patching the part where I left off to where I wrote that sword fighting scene Charles will be happy about.
And speaking of him, I never listened to his voice messages from before. It’s the downfall of sending each other voice messages instead of regular texts. Unless I have my headphones on, I can’t listen to them in mixed company.
I press play on his first message, listening to him ramble about some gossip he heard on set. Most of our messages are this way, talking about nothing in particular. The fifth message asks if I’m still alive, since I haven’t replied or even listened to his messages yet.
“Yes, I’m alive,” I say and send the message. “I went into the woods to try to get inspired and you’ll never guess who I ran into.”
Three little dots show up in the conversation, followed by a text.
Charles: At the gym, can’t listen. You’re alive though, right?!
Me: Chloe is alive for now. This is her kidnapper. I expect a million dollars and some nudes sent right away or I’m going to off her.
Charles quickly sends a photo of a very obese naked man holding a bunch of dollar bills.
Me: You sent that WAY too fast, sicko.
Charles: hahahaha you know I have an arsenal of photos like that just for you.
Me: I don’t doubt it.
I put the phone down and go back to my book, writing a few more sentences before Charles texts me again.
Charles: Just listened. Who did you run into?
I hesitate for a moment, feeling almost overly dramatic bringing it up. There’s no point. I might see Sam once or twice before I go back to LA, and then it’ll be business as usual. He’ll forget about me and I’ll get busy and remember I don’t have time for a love life, even if the guy I do love decides to hook up with his sister—gross, Chloe. “Too far,” I huff, though that is how Sam thinks of me. I stare at the screen of my phone for a few seconds before texting Charles, hesitant to say it because I know he’s going to want details.
Me: Sam
Charles: The guy who humiliated you in college?
Me: Yep. That’s the one.
Charles: Annnddddd?
Me: And what? We said hi, he drove me home because it was raining or else I would have had to walk through the woods and that’s it.
A few seconds pass by and Charles sends a voice message. “Remind me what happened again.”
I sigh thinking about it, refusing to let something that happened all those years ago embarrass me still…but it does. “They basically pulled a Vivienne from Legally Blonde on me and told me that a party was a costume party when it wasn’t. I showed up dressed like a pirate—and not the sexy kind—and everyone laughed and took pictures, and one of the photos ended up on the front page of the university newspaper. The sorority got in trouble for it and lost their credibility, so the rest of my senior year, the girls had it out for me, blaming me for their charter or chapter or whatever getting shut down.”
“Fuck,” Charles says back. “That’s fucking shitty—hang on, my trainer is coming back.”
Me: Go workout and stay in tip-top vampire shape. I’m going to try to finish another chapter before dinner with my dad. And yes, I gave you a sword fighting scene that’s really fucking cool, if I do say so myself.
Charles sends back a heart emoji, and I try to focus on writing again, but my mind goes back to that day in college. Sam wasn’t the one who lied to me, who purposely tried to embarrass me, but he was on-and-off dating Heather Hunt, the head bitch in charge at the sorority. I was under the impression they were off, and Sam had asked me to go to the party with him.
I thought it was a date…a real date. Our first date.
Heather was jealous of my close relationship with Sam, as well as raging that my short story won in a contest and hers didn’t even get an honorable mention. She was majoring in English and thought it was bullshit a sociology major was even allowed to enter the contest, let alone win.
The fake costume party was an elaborate setup, and she got a lot of people in on it. If Sam was with Heather the night before like she claimed, then he had to have known, and that’s what hurt the most. He’d moved on to med school by then and wasn’t at Michigan State anymore, and arrived that weekend just to party with us. The contest was supposed to be judged on historical accuracy, so I went all out with my pirate costume and even got fake teeth to wear since mine were white and perfectly straight, thanks to wearing braces in middle school.
Unlike Elle Woods, I didn’t stay at the party, acting like it didn’t bother me. If I’d shown up like a sexy bunny, maybe I would have. But I ran out in tears, blinded from all the cameras flashing. The last thing I remember was looking right at Sam, who was already drunk. He just stood there, the shock obvious on his face, while Heather threw her arm around him, cackling as she took photos.
That was the last time we saw each other. He called me nonstop, and emailed me three days after that, but Farisha deleted the email saying I didn’t need to hear any bullshit apology. He didn’t do anything, which she said was just as bad as being in on it. He didn’t defend me. Didn’t run out after me. And from what I heard, he kept dating Heather after that.
It was the ultimate betrayal and would have hurt even if I hadn’t been secretly in love with Sam since childhood. Once a playboy, always a playboy, and I doubt he’s changed.
So as far as I’m concerned, Sam Harris can go fuck himself.
“No phones at the table.”
I flick my eyes from my phone to Dad, smiling. “Sorry. I’ve been waiting for an email from my editor all day, and she just emailed me back.”
“What did she say?” Wendy asks.
“She likes the chapter and outline I sent.” I trade my phone for a glass of sangria, which Wendy made herself and is really good. Wendy asks me about the writing process, which she’s asked about a dozen times before, but I have to give her props. She wants to be involved and wants me to know she cares, but also doesn’t want me to think she’s hoping to replace my mom. If I was younger, that could have been a concern, but it’s not now. Especially since ghost-Mom told me to push them together. She loves Dad even beyond the grave and wants him to be happy.
“This is good,” I tell Wendy, scooping up another bite of homemade macaroni and cheese. “I could eat my weight in cheese, you know.”
“I do,” Wendy says with a smile. “There are lots of leftovers for you while we’re gone. It should last you a few days.”
