Strings Attached (Love In Brooklyn Book 3), page 1
STRINGS ATTACHED
ERIN THOMSON
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
Also by Erin Thomson
About the Author
1
JAKE
Then
The plane touched down at JFK and I tried to squash the feeling that I shouldn’t be here, that I’d be better off heading straight to Barcelona. Impatience and excitement were at war in my gut. Impatience, it would appear, was very close to winning. The prospect of spending some time with Hunter was the only thing keeping me from getting on another plane to Barcelona here and now. That, and the fact training didn’t start for six weeks. So two things then. Even with a few weeks in New York I’d still be arriving in Spain early, giving myself plenty of time to settle in and acclimatize to the city. My new home. After so many years of working toward this, so many years of waiting,
A few weeks wouldn’t kill me—even if right now it felt like it might.
For as long as I could remember, all I’d ever wanted to do was play soccer. From the moment I first kicked that black and white ball I was hooked. It was all I did, all I thought about, all day, everyday. I ate, slept, fucking breathed soccer.
It was my life. And I didn't see it changing in a hurry. In fact, it was probably about to consume me even more.
The cab made its way through the streets, and I let my gaze wander, enjoying the view—so different from California. I almost went to school on the East Coast, but a full scholarship from Stanford was hard to say no to, even if I was bailing on it now. My dad was less than thrilled at the decision, but how the hell was I supposed to turn down an opportunity to play in fucking Europe? Europe, then the EPL. That had always been the goal.
I bounded up the stoop and knocked, buzzing with this feeling like life was full of possibilities. Like I could do anything. Like everything was about to change. And I guess it was, all that separated me from my soccer career was six short weeks.
The door swung open, and I only just managed to keep my jaw from hitting my shoes. The girl standing just inside the threshold was most definitely not my cousin. No, she was a smiling package of curves and curls. And I was staring.
“You’re not Hunter,” I said, uselessly. I’d never been so relieved not to be related to another person in my life.
She planted one hand on her popped hip and peered up at me, recognition firing in her whiskey-colored eyes. “The cousin.” Her voice was incredible. Sweet and husky, like honey over gravel.
“I am. And y—”
“The same cousin,” she cut in, “who steals my friend away every summer.” Those eyes made a slow journey of perusal from my feet up to my face. “I remember you being taller,” she said before turning on a dime and walking deeper into the house, the neon pink of her bikini drawing my attention to her swaying hips. “You comin’ California?”
I stood for a beat, mute and dumbfounded, before I scrambled inside and followed down the hall. I had the distinct feeling that my entire world had just shifted on its axis. This girl was now my gravity, and I was being pulled from a spot in the center of my chest.
“Jake!” Hunter said, clapping me on the shoulder as I stepped out the back door and onto the porch. I returned his half hug, even as my eyes sought her. She was on one of the two banana lounges that sat on the grass, legs outstretched, large sunglasses perched on her nose. Even with her face turned up to the sun, I could have sworn she was watching me from the corner of her eye.
“How was the flight?” My attention snapped back to Hunter.
“Good, uneventful, except for the numerous voicemails Dad left, which I am ignoring.”
He laughed. “Probably wise. He’s not happy?”
“You could say that.”
“He’ll get over it.”
“I’m not sure he will, but it doesn’t matter.” I paused. It was true, Dad’s opinion on my career no longer mattered. What the fuck did I care if he didn’t support me? I’d secured a spot with Barcelona on my own, anyway. I didn’t need him—not anymore. “It’s really fucking good to see you,” I said.
“It’s really fucking good to see you, too.” Another slap to my shoulder. “And you’ve met Harley, again.” One hand waved in the direction of the banana lounge and my eyes followed. Harley. Wait, again?
“Ah … perhaps not officially.” I tried to sound cool, but my cracking voice probably gave me away. Were my palms sweating?
“Well then, officially,” he started as she stood. “Jake Davenport, cousin, meet Harley O’Connell, best friend. Harley, meet Jake.”
Her head tipped to one side as she extended a hand. “Jake Davenport …” God, that voice. “Should I be offended that you don’t remember me?”
My hand swallowed hers as we shook and a bolt of something ran up my arm and down my spine. “I can guarantee I won’t forget you again.”
Her face split into a grin that showed off pretty much all her teeth and I knew, right then and there, that I was going to marry this girl.
2
HARLEY
Now
It was a well-known fact that there was nothing more frightening than a broken coffee machine on a Monday morning. Granted, it would be a less than ideal situation any day of the week, but on a Monday, it hit just that little bit harder.
“I’ve tried everything!” Darcy wailed, green eyes wide and panicked as I rounded the counter and eased her out of the way. She was waving one of the group handles around like a baton, or maybe a weapon.
“Good morning to you, too, Darce. Now, when you say everything, does that include speaking in soothing tones? Because you know Edith can tell when you’re all … agitated.” I gave her a pointed look.
Her answering one was flat as she slapped the group handle into my waiting palm.
“Harley, you have ten minutes to fix it or I’m calling Tommy.”
“It, is Edith, and Tommy is not allowed to touch her again after what happened the last time.” I shuddered at the memory of how she’d run after Tommy’s last service. It took a week of daily tweaking before she felt right again. It was not an exaggeration to say that I would break Tommy’s fingers if he touched her again.
“Ten minutes,” Darcy repeated before turning on her heel and fleeing to the kitchen, the doors swaying in her wake. I stowed my bag in the cubby hole under the counter and turned my attention to my favorite coworker. Was it strange that my favorite coworker was a piece of machinery? Some might say yes, but they had not worked with Edith.
“Good morning, Miss Edith,” I crooned, running a hand across her smooth chrome face. “How are you this morning, my dear? A little grumpy, by the sound of it? Now, I’m sure you didn’t mean to give Darcy a hard time, but you know you need to take it easy on her—especially on a Monday.” I started my usual routine, checking her over in preparation for another busy day of caffeine and advice dispensary.
God, I loved my job, even with a grumpy Edith.
It didn’t take long to find the issue—a kink in one of the pipes—and it was fixed with three minutes to spare.
Darcy reappeared from the kitchen carrying a large tray of banana-coconut muffins—if you ever wondered what day of the week it was, all you needed to do was look at Darcy’s muffin of the day and you would wonder no more. Monday was banana-coconut. Tuesday was double chocolate. Wednesday was blueberry streusel. Thursday was apple cinnamon. Friday was raspberry and white chocolate (my least favorite on the principle that white chocolate was the devil’s handiwork and not actual chocolate). Saturday was orange and poppyseed. Finally, on Sundays was the Elvis, a glorious, salty-sweet behemoth of banana, peanut butter, and bacon. I ate three of them yesterday and regretted nothing.
“Fixed?” Darcy inquired as she unloaded the batch of muffins.
“Was there ever a doubt?”
“I’m looking into a new machine.”
“You are not!” I gaped. “Darcy, Edith is an integral part of our team.”
“It is a piece of machinery and one we can now afford to replace.”
“She does not need to be replaced,” I assured her. And it was true. Yes, she was on the older side, but the older machines were made to last. I didn’t need a fully automated thing with a million buttons. Buttons meant issues, as far as I was concerned. Issues that were trickier to fix than a couple of kinked pipes. Give me analog and leave me be. Darcy was spared the rant as the door opened and Deacon, one of our regulars, entered. Judging by the look on his face, I was needed.
&
I tried, and failed, to reign in my delighted smile. “Tell me everything.”
We made it through the breakfast rush without further issues from Edith, which was a relief and allowed me to assure Darcy that she didn’t need replacing. I really didn’t want to think about adjusting to a new machine.
As the flow of people turned into a trickle, Cecilia tripped through the door guzzling the remains of a Red Bull. She was working with us for the summer before she started her junior year of high school in the fall.
“Do not bring that shit in here, Cece. It will rot your insides.” Apparently, I had turned into my high school vice principal Mrs Pruit.
“Yes, mom,” she said with a wink and tossed her can in the trash behind the counter. “Sorry I’m late, I slept through my alarm.” She pulled her ash blonde hair into a high ponytail. There was clearly more to it than just missing an alarm—she looked like she’d had about two hours sleep and neither of them had been restful.
Ten excruciating minutes of silent table clearing and meal delivery later my patience had officially worn out.
“Okay, come on, out with it.”
“Out with what?”
“With whatever is making your ponytail all droopy. Usually it’s taking out half the customers and victimizing everyone else, but right now it’s barely managing a lethargic sway.”
“I’m just tired.”
“Uh-huh …” I waited.
“Toby and I broke up last night. No, we didn’t break up, he dumped me. Over text! Because, and I quote, ‘I’m feeling really suffocated right now, Cece.’ Suffocated! Because I asked him if the rumors about him and Shelley fucking at his going away party were true.” She slumped onto one of the stools and let her head drop onto her arms with a sad little groan. As much as I loved being kept in the loop, sometimes this generation made me genuinely fear for the future.
“Cecilia, what have we said?” I slid a muffin across the counter.
“That Toby is a moron,” she said around a mouthful of banana-coconut.
“That pretty much all boys are morons. But at least now you can enjoy your summer and kiss as many cute ones as you like.”
“But Shelley Price!”
“This is on Toby, not Shelley.”
“It’s kind of on Shelley,” she mumbled.
“Other women are not our enemies, or our competition—they are our allies, our sisters. You should know that! Isn’t Shelley on your JV team?”
“Yup, I get to do six weeks of trust exercises with the girl who had sex with my boyfriend. Lucky me. Maybe I should be grateful the summer program isn’t happening.”
“What, why wouldn’t it be happening?”
“Apparently the coach has pulled out or something. Any chance I can keep working here for the whole summer?”
“Only if you turn up on time,” I said, and she poked her tongue out. “I will give you the next ten minutes to wallow about Toby and his poor decision making. After that, you’re going to pick yourself up, have a triple shot and get on with your life. Deal?”
She sat up and squared her shoulders. “Deal. Can I take that triple shot now?”
“Yes, you can. And I don’t think you need to worry about some drunk dipshit at a party spreading baseless rumors about your soccer training program thing. What the hell would they know anyway?”
“I think his dad is the one who’s fronting the cash for it or something.”
“Oh. Well, he might still be full of shit.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“I’m always right.”
“Thanks, Harley.”
“You’re welcome,” I said, placing the triple shot in front of her, she drank it so fast it had to have scalded. “Now, get back to work.”
She bounced off her stool and took the tray for table three while I lamented the fact that girls were still being pitted against one another for male attention. Such a waste of their collective potential. But I was doing my part to educate the youth.
“The hot one with the hair is here again,” Darcy whispered as she sidled up beside me. I glanced up to see Chase and Jeremy walking in. Darcy wasn’t wrong, Jeremy really did have a spectacular head of hair. Even after an exercise class it still had remarkable height and looked all shiny, and not from the sweat. I also knew from experience that it felt just as silky as it looked.
Chase, on the other hand, was pink-cheeked, somewhat glassy in the eyes, and the messy knot on top of her head was listing to the left. That was a woman who’d just had her butt kicked.
I nodded for a couple of bottles of water to be taken to the table and watched as Chase guzzled down half of one as she collapsed into her seat.
“Thank you, Harley,” she called across the small space and I curtsied in response.
Jeremy caught my eye as he sat and winked, a thrill danced its way down my spine. We’d been hooking up here and there since Thanksgiving and it was always a good time. But I was beginning to get the feeling that he was teetering on that edge of asking for more from our rendezvous and that just wasn’t in my game plan. He was a nice guy. Great in bed. And that hair. But I was unmoved about the idea of more with him. Yes, my nipples and vagina were always happy to see him, but my heart remained untethered. Just the way I liked it.
In my defense, I had been very clear about the casual nature of our arrangement well before we got naked, and he had assured me he was fine with it. But then, like so many other (delusional) men, he seemed to think that his magic penis would change my mind and have me begging for him to put a ring on it or something.
“He’s looking’ at you all dreamy,” Darcy said.
“Dreamy? Really?” I bumped her hip with mine. “How about you go do your job and take his order?”
“Like you are not already making his coffee.”
“Because I am outstanding at my job, yes of course I am, but that doesn't mean the man isn’t also hungry.”
“Oh, he’s hungry alright.”
“I walked right into that one.”
“You really did.” She slapped my butt with a laugh as she walked away.
“Good morning, gorgeous,” a smooth voice said from the to-go window, and I found a guy with his elbows propped on the sill. He looked way too confident in that perfectly preppy kind of way, like he’d never been shot down in his life. I suppressed my eye roll.
“Good morning, what can I get you?”
Brown eyes predictably darted down to my chest before he ordered. “An Americano and your number.” And there it was.
“I can provide half that order for you.” He might be cute, but I didn't like it when they assumed they could just ask for my number before they asked my name. Where was the give and take? Where was the ‘will they-won’t they’ dance? It was never a good sign if they didn’t appreciate the building of tension and anticipation. In my experience, it was a sure-fire sign that foreplay was the last thing on their mind—when it should be the first.
“So, no coffee for me today?” Hilarious.
“That’ll be three-eighty,” I said with a wide smile as I handed over his cup.
“No number?”
“Not this time.”
He shoved a ten into the tip jar, like it would make me change my mind.
“You have a great day!” After a moment of hesitation, he stepped away, mumbling something I was sure he thought was cutting.
“Brutal,” the next customer said with a low whistle. I shrugged, hands still busy with the line of waiting coffees. This guy, unlike the last one, had a little more heat about him and it wasn’t just the scruffy jaw, messy man-bun, and the tips of a tattoo poking out from the top of his shirt. It was that indefinable something-something.
