The Rebound, page 11
I’ll bet they’re tangled up in each other on his kitchen island right now. He’s probably got his hands in her blue hair, and she’s got her red lips on his perfect neck, leaving her mark on him. Imagining Saint’s impressively sized erection being used for Lydia’s pleasure. My heart throbs painfully.
I brush my teeth harder than usual, as if I could scrub my thoughts clean with toothpaste. I’m the one who nipped our “benefits” in the bud, so I have absolutely no right to be spiteful now.
Saint can fuck whoever he damn well pleases. I don’t get an opinion.
Even as I tell myself this, I feel the jealousy reaching a boiling point deep inside me. In bed, I throw the covers over my head and hope these intrusive thoughts don’t infiltrate my dreams.
But behind my eyelids, all I can see is his face disappearing behind a closed door, over and over on an endless loop.
I wanted him to kiss me before he left. Maybe that’s selfish, but it’s true. He didn’t pick up on any of my cues.
What did I expect, for Saint to still be hopelessly into me? I can’t fault him for moving on when I’m the one who asked him to. He’s already doing enough for me as it is. He doesn’t owe me anything. Throwing me that baby shower today was already so extra.
Suddenly overheated, I throw the covers off with a huff. I don’t need to fall asleep to be trapped in a nightmare. If I continue to be so selfish, I may very well lose Saint for good.
Staring up into the darkness of my ceiling, I can’t imagine anything worse.
• • •
“This is your place? Oh my gosh, Kinley. You’re really moving up in the world.”
My cousin Martha does a slow three-sixty as she takes in my condo, her little twin boys mimicking her by spinning in rapid circles. They’re three years old with grinning mouthfuls of lopsided teeth, and use big-boy words like actually and Lamborghini. The sight of their silly antics makes me break into a fit of giggles along with them.
The day after my baby shower, Martha reached out to me, asking if she and the kids could visit on their way to meet up with her husband. He’s in New York on business for several days, and since they hadn’t taken a family vacation together in over a year, they decided to kill two birds with one stone.
I wasn’t sure how I would handle hosting a small family at thirty-eight weeks pregnant, but I’m honestly glad they’re here. Keeps my mind off how crappy I feel.
“Here, let me take your bags,” I say, reaching out.
Martha shakes her head vehemently. “Woman, you are pregnant. Haven’t you learned? No manual labor. Guest room over there?”
She nods down the hall, and I let her find her way, the twins trailing behind her. The front door is still open, so I move to close it, but pause when I see a familiar face down the hall.
Saint stands at his door in his running gear, flipping through his mail. Oofta. Something about a man fresh off a long workout does it for me. His athletic shorts hang low on his hips and his T-shirt is damp with sweat, making it cling to all his muscles.
My heart hammers, and my hands itch at my sides, wanting so badly to touch him.
It’s been two weeks since I saw him last, the longest we’ve gone without seeing each other since we first met. Sure, we’ve exchanged a text or two, checking in with each other. But seeing him in the flesh, all glistening and glowing, is an entirely different experience. He’s unbelievably gorgeous. And I’m humongous.
Ugh.
“Saint,” I call out, my voice catching in my throat.
Jeez, calm down, psycho.
He turns, popping out an earbud and flashing that killer smile at me. “Hey, stranger. You look well. How’ve you been?”
“Good,” I say, leaning against the door frame as casually as I can. “My cousin and her kiddos are here for the night.”
“Oh shit, another Reeves. How many of you are there?”
“Pretty much just her. Do you want to come by for a bit? I’ve got some lemonade on ice if you’re thirsty.”
Subtle much? I hope it’s only obvious to me that I’m the thirsty one, and not for the lemonade. But the guy is a freaking thirst trap. I mean, look at him.
Saint doesn’t hesitate for a moment. “That sounds perfect. I probably smell, though.”
“I don’t care,” I say, and I really don’t.
I hold the door open wide, and when he passes me, all I smell is that masculine musk I’ve come to crave. The pulsing of my heart is decidedly elsewhere now, warming the touch-starved territory between my legs. I need to cool down. Maybe I do need some of that lemonade after all.
Inside, Martha has reemerged from the guest room, holding her kids’ hands.
“Who’s this handsome young man?” she asks, doing her best impression of Grandma Reeves, even though my cousin is only a few years older than we are.
The older twin, Liam, immediately repeats, “Handsome,” followed by Beck, the younger.
Martha and her husband are big alt-rock fans.
“This is Saint, my neighbor. He’s on the same team as Walker.”
“Wow, you’re just crawling with beefcake here in Boston, aren’t you? How long have you played hockey, Saint?”
Grinning good-naturedly, he says, “Oh, you know, just about forever.”
Saint takes it from there, entertaining Martha and the kids while I pour us all glasses of lemonade. I watch from the kitchen as Saint kneels down to the twins’ level, snagging a high five from each of them. Their hands look so tiny compared to his.
“Wet,” Beck says, pointing at Saint’s damp hair.
“Yeah, I’m a bit sweaty. I went for a run today. Do you two like running?”
“Yeah,” Liam chimes in, pulling on his mom’s hand.
“Why don’t you show me?” Saint asks, more to Martha than the kids.
Smart.
“Don’t knock anything over,” Martha warns before letting them both go.
Liam toddles down the hall to the living room and takes a lap around the coffee table, squealing with delight as Beck chases after him.
“Run, Saint,” they call out, prompting Saint to follow after them in a slow-motion sprint.
The kids love this and dissolve into giggles, wrapping themselves around Saint’s legs and sitting on his shoes so that he can “dinosaur walk” them around the condo. Holy cuteness, Batman.
My chest feels tight as I watch them. Stupid pregnancy hormones.
Martha shoots me an impressed smile as she helps me carry the refreshments. “He seems like a catch. Anything happening between you two?”
I shake my head with a sigh. “Unfortunately not.”
Wait, what did I just say? I’m so thrown by my own subconscious making herself known that I nearly spill the tray of chips and dip I’m carrying.
Saint would be a great dad, obviously. But a dad to my child? I didn’t let myself entertain that thought until right now.
Is that what I want?
No, that’s crazy. I have a bad case of pregnancy brain. My hormones are in full swing right now. That’s all. Just because I have a bun in the oven doesn’t mean every male I encounter is hungry for fatherhood.
Gross. Do better, Kinley. He’s not my boyfriend. He’s not gonna be a father-figure to my kid. Period.
While I silently scold myself, Martha tells a story about her pregnancy with the twins.
I should really listen since I’m due within the month, but I can’t help but be distracted by the beautiful, burly man in the room. I watch Saint take long gulps of lemonade, his Adam’s apple bobbing enticingly in his throat.
I don’t see any hickeys . . . maybe he and Lydia aren’t actually hooking up. Maybe that was just my imagination.
God, I hope so, but I don’t know for sure. I guess I’ll keep living with these little heart pangs and try to ignore how much they feel like regret.
14
* * *
SAINT
My head has been spinning constantly with thoughts of Kinley.
She’s a great girl and I like her, more than I probably should, but there’s a lot of complications that have been nagging at me. First, she’s Reeves’s sister, which is a problem. The guy hates me, and this would only make our team dynamic worse. And considering I’m already on thin ice, I need to tread carefully.
Second, there’s no denying the fact that she’s pregnant. It hasn’t bothered me at all, which is maybe strange in and of itself. And as naive as I’ve been about the whole pregnancy thing, I know Kinley becoming a mom will change our relationship. Her focus will be on her child, and rightly so.
And do I even know how to take on a fatherly role? Highly doubtful. I haven’t ever been around a baby. Never even had a younger sibling. I wouldn’t know the first thing to do, or how to support Kinley through all that, even if we were dating.
Which we’re not.
These are the thoughts that replay on a constant loop. All day, I’ve tried to distract myself by doing different things to try to clear my head that usually work—like hitting the gym hard for some extra reps. I’ve also done my laundry and watched a UFC fight that I’ve been excited about, but I still can’t get out of my own damn head.
Which is why when my buddy Alex texts me, I talk him into meeting me for a beer. Alex is in a serious relationship. Maybe he’ll have some good advice for me.
• • •
“No way,” Alex says, shaking his head when we sit down at the bar thirty minutes later.
“Just hear me out,” I say, sliding the pint glass the bartender sets down in front of me toward Alex. I can tell based on the dark color that this is his oatmeal stout. This brewery opened last year, and it’s quickly become a favorite of ours. Not that I’ve been out much lately.
Alex is still scowling at me as I wait for the bartender to pour my ale. I take a fortifying sip before continuing.
“I click with her better than any other girl. That has to mean something, doesn’t it?”
He considers this and takes a drink of his beer. “Maybe.” Then he scowls at me again. “But not necessarily. You also once tried to tell me that you felt something special with those redheaded twins.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me.
I blush a little. Okay, the old Saint was a bit of a jackass. I’m not necessarily proud of how I acted in the past. Gotta love it when your buddy points out to you what an idiot you’ve been.
“That was a long time ago,” I grumble.
Alex chuckles. “That was literally last summer, dude.”
I roll my eyes. “Then please, by all means, impart some of your wisdom, my wise friend.”
Alex exhales slowly, considering his words. “You know I say this with all love and respect, but what are you even doing? Not only is she Reeves’s sister, but she’s about to have a damn kid.”
These are two facts I’m well aware of. “I know, man. I know, okay.”
“Well, knowing it and living it are two very different things. Are you ready for that? A kid is a huge responsibility. And babies? A newborn?” He shakes his head and his eyes widen. “It’s like no sleep and constant supervision. My nephew had colic when he was born, and it was awful for my sister. For months and months.”
I can’t imagine losing sleep for months, and then having to train and perform at the level I do during the day. That would suck . . . Alex is right about that. A sinking feeling twists in my gut.
“Hey, forget it, all right? Let’s just enjoy our beers.”
He nods and tips his chin at me. “You got it, buddy.”
15
* * *
SAINT
Alex’s bachelor party is at a bar in downtown Boston famous for its brisket sandwiches.
Being the little food nerd he is, and being too Type A to appoint a best man to handle the planning, Alex set it all up himself. We’re a few appetizers deep now, clearing room for our entrees by stacking emptied pint glasses tall enough to make the waitress nervous.
When I return to the table after helping her carry the evidence of our team’s insane tolerance back to the bar, Alex fixes me with a skeptical look.
“You flirt with her?”
“No,” I say with a shrug. I guess she’s cute, but the thought didn’t even cross my mind. Honestly.
“Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?” Alex growls, and the other guys join in on the ribbing just because they can.
“Our playboy is reformed. Now he’s only got eyes for Reeves’s sister,” Logan says with a smirk, and I sock him in the shoulder.
“Shut the fuck up, Tate.”
Reeves stands up from the table, muttering something about needing to use the bathroom. The man won’t even look at me.
Five minutes ago, I tried to ask him what he was drinking, and he guzzled the whole thing down rather than respond to me. Message received, loud and clear. I thought we’d had a breakthrough at the baby shower, but apparently I’m still a jackass in his eyes.
It doesn’t help now that the guys are giving me shit about having a crush on Kinley. The worst part is that they’re totally right.
I sneak a glance at my phone, hoping to see a text from her. No luck. Aspen and the other women are a few blocks away at a wine bar, much classier than this joint. Kinley is there with them, probably serving as the chaperone since she obviously can’t drink. I hope she’s having fun at least. I sure as hell am not.
“Come on, man,” Alex drawls, obviously on the slippery side of tipsy. “Give us the deets.”
“I’ll admit I’m curious too,” Lucien mumbles through a mouthful of fried pickles.
“There aren’t any ‘deets’ to share.”
Tate rolls his eyes at me. “C’mon, man. Reeves is taking a shit. You can tell us.”
Gross.
“What is this,” I deadpan, “a scene from Grease?”
The musical reference goes catapulting over their heads. Uncultured swine.
“All right, if you really want to know, listen up.” I lean in conspiratorially. The guys lean in too, looks of interest plastered on their dumb faces. For my own personal shits and giggles, I try to draw it out for as long as possible. “The thing about Kinley and me, you see, is that we . . . are . . . friends.”
They all groan in unison, throwing their hands in the air and settling back into their seats.
Alex scoffs. “Whatever, man. Let it be known that whatever is going on between the two of you, I saw it coming from a mile away. You heard it here first, folks.”
“Hear, hear,” Lucien says, raising his glass.
A second later, they’re all toasting to a nonexistent relationship. Ain’t that the saddest shit you’ve ever heard of?
“Yo, Lucien,” Alex says suddenly. “What’s it like being with a pregnant woman?”
Lucien shrugs, a devilish smirk stretching across his face. “A woman is a woman. The sex is great. Don’t you agree, Saint?”
Fuck this. I’m equal parts intrigued and envious, so I keep my mouth shut and will continue to do so as long as we’re on this subject.
I’m trying to keep the drinking to a minimum tonight in case Kinley needs me for some reason, but now I’ve got all sorts of dirty ideas in my head of what exactly she might “need” from me. If they keep this shit up, I’m about ready to chug what’s left of this beer and order two more.
Reeves returns to a table of grown men giggling like a bunch of schoolgirls. Suspicious, he pins me with a glare. “What did I miss?”
“Nothing.” I straight-up lie to his face, inspiring giggles anew from the peanut gallery.
Reeves cranks up the disdain by pushing past me to get to his seat. So much for that breakthrough, huh?
I sincerely hope Kinley is having a better night than I am, because this is bullshit.
16
* * *
KINLEY
“What do we think? Red or white to start with?” Aspen asks no one in particular, perusing the wine menu in the cozy booth we’re all squeezed into together.
“I prefer white,” Summer says.
Camille nods amiably. “Whatever you want, Aspen.”
The bride-to-be turns to me and cocks her head to the side. “Do you have a favorite?”
“I alternate between the two, but it’s up to you. I can’t drink anyway.” I pat my oversized belly with as much humor as I can muster.
Since we’re sitting in a booth, I had to position myself at the end and point my torso to the side so my small planet of a body can fit without the table shoving into my belly. Long story short, I’m huge.
“Oh my God, I’m sorry. I’m such a dumbass,” Aspen says, so genuinely contrite that I actually feel bad for her.
“Happens all the time when you’re pregnant, right?” Camille cuts in, shooting me a look that says I get you. I appreciate this woman more than she probably knows.
“Right. Don’t worry about it. I’ll be just fine.” I tap the menu’s section labeled MOCKTAILS with one finger. “They’ve got some alcohol-free options I’m eyeing.”
Aspen gives me a relieved smile. “Okay, good. I’m really glad you could come. I know it was kind of a last-minute invitation.”
One week’s notice was plenty of time for me, but I wouldn’t dare admit that. These women seem to think I have a bustling social life outside of them, when in reality this is my entire social life. “Not at all. I’m so happy to be here.”
The waiter comes and takes our orders, and it’s just my luck that they’re out of the alcohol-free seltzer I wanted to try. Aspen looks like she’s about to fight the waiter for taking away my only shot at happiness this evening, so I just ask for some water and a glass of cranberry juice that I don’t really want.
God, I miss wine so freaking much.
“Tell me about how you and Alex got together,” I ask Aspen, doing my best to veer the subject away from my personal pity party. “I’ve only really heard about the tattoo bet with Saint.”
The glances I get after mentioning Saint’s name aren’t lost on me. I’m sure these women have a lot of ideas about what’s going on between the two of us.
I brush my teeth harder than usual, as if I could scrub my thoughts clean with toothpaste. I’m the one who nipped our “benefits” in the bud, so I have absolutely no right to be spiteful now.
Saint can fuck whoever he damn well pleases. I don’t get an opinion.
Even as I tell myself this, I feel the jealousy reaching a boiling point deep inside me. In bed, I throw the covers over my head and hope these intrusive thoughts don’t infiltrate my dreams.
But behind my eyelids, all I can see is his face disappearing behind a closed door, over and over on an endless loop.
I wanted him to kiss me before he left. Maybe that’s selfish, but it’s true. He didn’t pick up on any of my cues.
What did I expect, for Saint to still be hopelessly into me? I can’t fault him for moving on when I’m the one who asked him to. He’s already doing enough for me as it is. He doesn’t owe me anything. Throwing me that baby shower today was already so extra.
Suddenly overheated, I throw the covers off with a huff. I don’t need to fall asleep to be trapped in a nightmare. If I continue to be so selfish, I may very well lose Saint for good.
Staring up into the darkness of my ceiling, I can’t imagine anything worse.
• • •
“This is your place? Oh my gosh, Kinley. You’re really moving up in the world.”
My cousin Martha does a slow three-sixty as she takes in my condo, her little twin boys mimicking her by spinning in rapid circles. They’re three years old with grinning mouthfuls of lopsided teeth, and use big-boy words like actually and Lamborghini. The sight of their silly antics makes me break into a fit of giggles along with them.
The day after my baby shower, Martha reached out to me, asking if she and the kids could visit on their way to meet up with her husband. He’s in New York on business for several days, and since they hadn’t taken a family vacation together in over a year, they decided to kill two birds with one stone.
I wasn’t sure how I would handle hosting a small family at thirty-eight weeks pregnant, but I’m honestly glad they’re here. Keeps my mind off how crappy I feel.
“Here, let me take your bags,” I say, reaching out.
Martha shakes her head vehemently. “Woman, you are pregnant. Haven’t you learned? No manual labor. Guest room over there?”
She nods down the hall, and I let her find her way, the twins trailing behind her. The front door is still open, so I move to close it, but pause when I see a familiar face down the hall.
Saint stands at his door in his running gear, flipping through his mail. Oofta. Something about a man fresh off a long workout does it for me. His athletic shorts hang low on his hips and his T-shirt is damp with sweat, making it cling to all his muscles.
My heart hammers, and my hands itch at my sides, wanting so badly to touch him.
It’s been two weeks since I saw him last, the longest we’ve gone without seeing each other since we first met. Sure, we’ve exchanged a text or two, checking in with each other. But seeing him in the flesh, all glistening and glowing, is an entirely different experience. He’s unbelievably gorgeous. And I’m humongous.
Ugh.
“Saint,” I call out, my voice catching in my throat.
Jeez, calm down, psycho.
He turns, popping out an earbud and flashing that killer smile at me. “Hey, stranger. You look well. How’ve you been?”
“Good,” I say, leaning against the door frame as casually as I can. “My cousin and her kiddos are here for the night.”
“Oh shit, another Reeves. How many of you are there?”
“Pretty much just her. Do you want to come by for a bit? I’ve got some lemonade on ice if you’re thirsty.”
Subtle much? I hope it’s only obvious to me that I’m the thirsty one, and not for the lemonade. But the guy is a freaking thirst trap. I mean, look at him.
Saint doesn’t hesitate for a moment. “That sounds perfect. I probably smell, though.”
“I don’t care,” I say, and I really don’t.
I hold the door open wide, and when he passes me, all I smell is that masculine musk I’ve come to crave. The pulsing of my heart is decidedly elsewhere now, warming the touch-starved territory between my legs. I need to cool down. Maybe I do need some of that lemonade after all.
Inside, Martha has reemerged from the guest room, holding her kids’ hands.
“Who’s this handsome young man?” she asks, doing her best impression of Grandma Reeves, even though my cousin is only a few years older than we are.
The older twin, Liam, immediately repeats, “Handsome,” followed by Beck, the younger.
Martha and her husband are big alt-rock fans.
“This is Saint, my neighbor. He’s on the same team as Walker.”
“Wow, you’re just crawling with beefcake here in Boston, aren’t you? How long have you played hockey, Saint?”
Grinning good-naturedly, he says, “Oh, you know, just about forever.”
Saint takes it from there, entertaining Martha and the kids while I pour us all glasses of lemonade. I watch from the kitchen as Saint kneels down to the twins’ level, snagging a high five from each of them. Their hands look so tiny compared to his.
“Wet,” Beck says, pointing at Saint’s damp hair.
“Yeah, I’m a bit sweaty. I went for a run today. Do you two like running?”
“Yeah,” Liam chimes in, pulling on his mom’s hand.
“Why don’t you show me?” Saint asks, more to Martha than the kids.
Smart.
“Don’t knock anything over,” Martha warns before letting them both go.
Liam toddles down the hall to the living room and takes a lap around the coffee table, squealing with delight as Beck chases after him.
“Run, Saint,” they call out, prompting Saint to follow after them in a slow-motion sprint.
The kids love this and dissolve into giggles, wrapping themselves around Saint’s legs and sitting on his shoes so that he can “dinosaur walk” them around the condo. Holy cuteness, Batman.
My chest feels tight as I watch them. Stupid pregnancy hormones.
Martha shoots me an impressed smile as she helps me carry the refreshments. “He seems like a catch. Anything happening between you two?”
I shake my head with a sigh. “Unfortunately not.”
Wait, what did I just say? I’m so thrown by my own subconscious making herself known that I nearly spill the tray of chips and dip I’m carrying.
Saint would be a great dad, obviously. But a dad to my child? I didn’t let myself entertain that thought until right now.
Is that what I want?
No, that’s crazy. I have a bad case of pregnancy brain. My hormones are in full swing right now. That’s all. Just because I have a bun in the oven doesn’t mean every male I encounter is hungry for fatherhood.
Gross. Do better, Kinley. He’s not my boyfriend. He’s not gonna be a father-figure to my kid. Period.
While I silently scold myself, Martha tells a story about her pregnancy with the twins.
I should really listen since I’m due within the month, but I can’t help but be distracted by the beautiful, burly man in the room. I watch Saint take long gulps of lemonade, his Adam’s apple bobbing enticingly in his throat.
I don’t see any hickeys . . . maybe he and Lydia aren’t actually hooking up. Maybe that was just my imagination.
God, I hope so, but I don’t know for sure. I guess I’ll keep living with these little heart pangs and try to ignore how much they feel like regret.
14
* * *
SAINT
My head has been spinning constantly with thoughts of Kinley.
She’s a great girl and I like her, more than I probably should, but there’s a lot of complications that have been nagging at me. First, she’s Reeves’s sister, which is a problem. The guy hates me, and this would only make our team dynamic worse. And considering I’m already on thin ice, I need to tread carefully.
Second, there’s no denying the fact that she’s pregnant. It hasn’t bothered me at all, which is maybe strange in and of itself. And as naive as I’ve been about the whole pregnancy thing, I know Kinley becoming a mom will change our relationship. Her focus will be on her child, and rightly so.
And do I even know how to take on a fatherly role? Highly doubtful. I haven’t ever been around a baby. Never even had a younger sibling. I wouldn’t know the first thing to do, or how to support Kinley through all that, even if we were dating.
Which we’re not.
These are the thoughts that replay on a constant loop. All day, I’ve tried to distract myself by doing different things to try to clear my head that usually work—like hitting the gym hard for some extra reps. I’ve also done my laundry and watched a UFC fight that I’ve been excited about, but I still can’t get out of my own damn head.
Which is why when my buddy Alex texts me, I talk him into meeting me for a beer. Alex is in a serious relationship. Maybe he’ll have some good advice for me.
• • •
“No way,” Alex says, shaking his head when we sit down at the bar thirty minutes later.
“Just hear me out,” I say, sliding the pint glass the bartender sets down in front of me toward Alex. I can tell based on the dark color that this is his oatmeal stout. This brewery opened last year, and it’s quickly become a favorite of ours. Not that I’ve been out much lately.
Alex is still scowling at me as I wait for the bartender to pour my ale. I take a fortifying sip before continuing.
“I click with her better than any other girl. That has to mean something, doesn’t it?”
He considers this and takes a drink of his beer. “Maybe.” Then he scowls at me again. “But not necessarily. You also once tried to tell me that you felt something special with those redheaded twins.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me.
I blush a little. Okay, the old Saint was a bit of a jackass. I’m not necessarily proud of how I acted in the past. Gotta love it when your buddy points out to you what an idiot you’ve been.
“That was a long time ago,” I grumble.
Alex chuckles. “That was literally last summer, dude.”
I roll my eyes. “Then please, by all means, impart some of your wisdom, my wise friend.”
Alex exhales slowly, considering his words. “You know I say this with all love and respect, but what are you even doing? Not only is she Reeves’s sister, but she’s about to have a damn kid.”
These are two facts I’m well aware of. “I know, man. I know, okay.”
“Well, knowing it and living it are two very different things. Are you ready for that? A kid is a huge responsibility. And babies? A newborn?” He shakes his head and his eyes widen. “It’s like no sleep and constant supervision. My nephew had colic when he was born, and it was awful for my sister. For months and months.”
I can’t imagine losing sleep for months, and then having to train and perform at the level I do during the day. That would suck . . . Alex is right about that. A sinking feeling twists in my gut.
“Hey, forget it, all right? Let’s just enjoy our beers.”
He nods and tips his chin at me. “You got it, buddy.”
15
* * *
SAINT
Alex’s bachelor party is at a bar in downtown Boston famous for its brisket sandwiches.
Being the little food nerd he is, and being too Type A to appoint a best man to handle the planning, Alex set it all up himself. We’re a few appetizers deep now, clearing room for our entrees by stacking emptied pint glasses tall enough to make the waitress nervous.
When I return to the table after helping her carry the evidence of our team’s insane tolerance back to the bar, Alex fixes me with a skeptical look.
“You flirt with her?”
“No,” I say with a shrug. I guess she’s cute, but the thought didn’t even cross my mind. Honestly.
“Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?” Alex growls, and the other guys join in on the ribbing just because they can.
“Our playboy is reformed. Now he’s only got eyes for Reeves’s sister,” Logan says with a smirk, and I sock him in the shoulder.
“Shut the fuck up, Tate.”
Reeves stands up from the table, muttering something about needing to use the bathroom. The man won’t even look at me.
Five minutes ago, I tried to ask him what he was drinking, and he guzzled the whole thing down rather than respond to me. Message received, loud and clear. I thought we’d had a breakthrough at the baby shower, but apparently I’m still a jackass in his eyes.
It doesn’t help now that the guys are giving me shit about having a crush on Kinley. The worst part is that they’re totally right.
I sneak a glance at my phone, hoping to see a text from her. No luck. Aspen and the other women are a few blocks away at a wine bar, much classier than this joint. Kinley is there with them, probably serving as the chaperone since she obviously can’t drink. I hope she’s having fun at least. I sure as hell am not.
“Come on, man,” Alex drawls, obviously on the slippery side of tipsy. “Give us the deets.”
“I’ll admit I’m curious too,” Lucien mumbles through a mouthful of fried pickles.
“There aren’t any ‘deets’ to share.”
Tate rolls his eyes at me. “C’mon, man. Reeves is taking a shit. You can tell us.”
Gross.
“What is this,” I deadpan, “a scene from Grease?”
The musical reference goes catapulting over their heads. Uncultured swine.
“All right, if you really want to know, listen up.” I lean in conspiratorially. The guys lean in too, looks of interest plastered on their dumb faces. For my own personal shits and giggles, I try to draw it out for as long as possible. “The thing about Kinley and me, you see, is that we . . . are . . . friends.”
They all groan in unison, throwing their hands in the air and settling back into their seats.
Alex scoffs. “Whatever, man. Let it be known that whatever is going on between the two of you, I saw it coming from a mile away. You heard it here first, folks.”
“Hear, hear,” Lucien says, raising his glass.
A second later, they’re all toasting to a nonexistent relationship. Ain’t that the saddest shit you’ve ever heard of?
“Yo, Lucien,” Alex says suddenly. “What’s it like being with a pregnant woman?”
Lucien shrugs, a devilish smirk stretching across his face. “A woman is a woman. The sex is great. Don’t you agree, Saint?”
Fuck this. I’m equal parts intrigued and envious, so I keep my mouth shut and will continue to do so as long as we’re on this subject.
I’m trying to keep the drinking to a minimum tonight in case Kinley needs me for some reason, but now I’ve got all sorts of dirty ideas in my head of what exactly she might “need” from me. If they keep this shit up, I’m about ready to chug what’s left of this beer and order two more.
Reeves returns to a table of grown men giggling like a bunch of schoolgirls. Suspicious, he pins me with a glare. “What did I miss?”
“Nothing.” I straight-up lie to his face, inspiring giggles anew from the peanut gallery.
Reeves cranks up the disdain by pushing past me to get to his seat. So much for that breakthrough, huh?
I sincerely hope Kinley is having a better night than I am, because this is bullshit.
16
* * *
KINLEY
“What do we think? Red or white to start with?” Aspen asks no one in particular, perusing the wine menu in the cozy booth we’re all squeezed into together.
“I prefer white,” Summer says.
Camille nods amiably. “Whatever you want, Aspen.”
The bride-to-be turns to me and cocks her head to the side. “Do you have a favorite?”
“I alternate between the two, but it’s up to you. I can’t drink anyway.” I pat my oversized belly with as much humor as I can muster.
Since we’re sitting in a booth, I had to position myself at the end and point my torso to the side so my small planet of a body can fit without the table shoving into my belly. Long story short, I’m huge.
“Oh my God, I’m sorry. I’m such a dumbass,” Aspen says, so genuinely contrite that I actually feel bad for her.
“Happens all the time when you’re pregnant, right?” Camille cuts in, shooting me a look that says I get you. I appreciate this woman more than she probably knows.
“Right. Don’t worry about it. I’ll be just fine.” I tap the menu’s section labeled MOCKTAILS with one finger. “They’ve got some alcohol-free options I’m eyeing.”
Aspen gives me a relieved smile. “Okay, good. I’m really glad you could come. I know it was kind of a last-minute invitation.”
One week’s notice was plenty of time for me, but I wouldn’t dare admit that. These women seem to think I have a bustling social life outside of them, when in reality this is my entire social life. “Not at all. I’m so happy to be here.”
The waiter comes and takes our orders, and it’s just my luck that they’re out of the alcohol-free seltzer I wanted to try. Aspen looks like she’s about to fight the waiter for taking away my only shot at happiness this evening, so I just ask for some water and a glass of cranberry juice that I don’t really want.
God, I miss wine so freaking much.
“Tell me about how you and Alex got together,” I ask Aspen, doing my best to veer the subject away from my personal pity party. “I’ve only really heard about the tattoo bet with Saint.”
The glances I get after mentioning Saint’s name aren’t lost on me. I’m sure these women have a lot of ideas about what’s going on between the two of us.
