Chapter 10 Blake #2
“I’m Annaliese Jackson. I live over in Dollar Point, but my brother Eddie spends a lot of time at your place in the summers. He’s friends with Beau.”
“Oh, shit. Yes. I know your family. Your parents are like the real estate agents of Lake Tahoe.”
She grins, flashing a pair of deep dimples. “Just my mom. That’s her gorgeous face on all the signs. My dad is a developer. He builds most of the houses around here.”
We hear a wave of raucous laughter in the next aisle, and then a trio of young men round the corner.
“Liese!” one of them whines. “What the hell? Why’s it taking you so long to get a box of—” He stops when he notices me. “Oh, I see. Yes. I would also stop for her.” He flashes me a lopsided smile. “I would stop for you.”
I have to laugh. “Thanks.”
“These are my friends from college,” Annaliese says, quickly making the introductions.
The one who can’t stop checking me out is Clay. Preston is the tall, lanky one in the red 49ers cap. And the one pulling up the rear is Kuri, whose stunning face could stop traffic.
“We all just graduated,” Annaliese tells me. “So the boys came up for the week. Sort of like a graduation celebration.” She glances at her friends. “Blake is here for the summer.”
“Nice! We should chill,” Clay says immediately.
I shrug. “Sure.”
“You should see her house,” Annaliese says to the guys. “It’s sick. Remember that huge boathouse we saw when we were cruising yesterday? With the blue doors and the rooftop deck?”
“Holy shit, that’s your property?” Preston exclaims. “The hockey house?”
“Wait, your dad’s Garrett Graham?” Kuri blurts out.
“John Logan,” I correct. “But we co-own the house with the Grahams.”
Preston shivers. “Oh my God. That is incredible.”
“You guys are welcome to come by,” I tell them. “I mean, I’ll have to check with my handler first, but I’m sure it’s fine.”
“You mean your boyfriend?” Annaliese says in amusement.
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“She’s single,” Kuri says happily, and I can’t stop a chuckle. He seems like the goofball of the group.
“What’s your number?” Annaliese slides her phone out of the pocket of her cutoffs. She keys in the digits I recite. “Perfect. I’ll text you later. We can figure something out.”
“Sounds good,” I say. She seems cool, and her friends are entertaining.
As the group wanders off, I track Wyatt down to the dairy aisle.
“Where have you been?” he says absently. “Crying in the cereal aisle?”
“No, just ran into some locals. I invited them over.”
His gaze sharpens. “What locals?”
“Don’t you dare snap into babysitter mode,” I scold. “I’m an adult and I can invite friends over if I want. Anyway, it’s Annaliese. The Golden Boys can vouch for her.”
“Oh, I remember her. Yeah, she’s cool. What kind of ice cream should we get?” He’s holding up two different containers. “Choc-shock cherry explosion or praline fudge-mallow?”
I gawk at him. “Do you realize how much sugar is in those?”
He ponders that, then says, “You’re right. We should get both.” He deposits both tubs in the cart and pushes it forward.
As we get into the checkout line, I spot Annaliese and her friends loading items onto the neighboring conveyor belt. She grins when she notices me and Wyatt, and a minute later, my phone buzzes in my pocket.
ANNALIESE
You should hit that. He’s so hot.
He refers to me as “kid.”
ANNALIESE
Ouch.
Yeah.
In the parking lot, I admire Wyatt’s arms again as he bends into the trunk, stacking paper bags inside it. Why do his muscles flex so much?
“Wyatt?” a female voice says. Bright and overly eager.
I glance over to see a woman in the next row of cars. She’s in her early twenties, with long brown hair, a tiny sundress, and oversize sunglasses.
Wyatt straightens only to offer a polite nod. “Hey, Rosie. How’s it going?”
Rosie. Why does that name sound so familiar…
Oh my God.
The canoe girl.
It takes some effort to keep my jaw closed.
This is the girl who was so devastated when Wyatt moved on to his next hookup that she showed up in the middle of the night in a canoe, crying her eyes out and screaming for him to come down to the dock and talk to her.
I wasn’t present for the theatrics, but Beau was, and he swears it happened.
And then right after that, her family sold their house, though I still maintain that part is a coincidence.
The brunette approaches us with a nervous laugh, the sound pitched just a tad too high. “It’s so weird running into you. I was just thinking about you the other day.”
“Yeah?” His tone suggests he doesn’t need any more details than that.
But Rosie keeps talking. “Yeah. I’m in town visiting Harriet, and we were talking about the night we all went cliff jumping on the island. Do you remember that?”
He nods absently. “Fun times.”
Her smile wavers for a second. “So fun.”
Wyatt’s not even looking at her as he finishes loading the groceries, and I feel a pang of sympathy for the woman.
“How’ve you been?” Rosie pushes.
“Good. You?”
“Great. Busy. But not too busy for, um, you know, seeing friends or whatever.” She stops, regrouping. “You know, if you wanted to hang out while I’m in town.”
Oh God. This is mortifying. It’s like watching a slow-motion train wreck. I edge toward the side of the Jeep, wishing I could melt into the pavement.
“Glad you’re doing well” is Wyatt’s response. He might as well have picked up a crossbow and shot an arrow into her heart.
Getting the message, Rosie flattens her lips and steps away. She flicks a frown in my direction, then stalks off, her sandals striking the asphalt with each quick step.
I wait until we’re inside the Jeep before glaring at him. “Did you have to be so cold?”
“Not cold,” he corrects. “Polite.”
“Dude, that was cold. She was crushed. Was that the same Rosie who…you know…the canoe crier?”
“Yup.” He starts the engine. “Trust me, I learned the hard way what happens when you encourage her. Even a friendly smile has her envisioning weddings and babies. So…boundaries.”
I suppose that makes sense, but I still feel awful for the girl. That rejection sucked.
And I can’t help putting myself in Rosie’s shoes, imagining what would’ve happened if I’d hooked up with Wyatt on Christmas Eve, only to have him look right through me the next day. The way he just looked at her.
I honestly don’t know if I would’ve survived that.
So maybe it’s better that I’ve never experienced…whatever it is that Wyatt gives these women. This magic dick he speaks of like it’s a curse.
Maybe it’s better if I never open that door.