Chapter 9 #2
The places that phrase sends my mind are extremely inconvenient for our current circumstances.
I bite the inside of my mouth to distract from Isla sliding her legs around my hips.
The warmth of her body pressing into my back, inching closer until she’s flush against me.
My hands slide underneath her legs, grazing the edge of her jean shorts and the soft skin of her thighs.
I grip her firmly, tight enough to ensure I won’t drop her when I stand.
Thea’s song—some obnoxious pop song about Jeff Bezos—blasts through the speakers, giving me a welcome distraction. Nice going, Thea.
“Why?” Isla whispers the word in my ear once I’m standing at my full height.
I swallow hard, keeping my gaze focused forward to avoid looking at her. Her head rests over my right shoulder to remain harder to see, especially through my loose hair.
“Why, what?” I walk to the door, avoiding the temptation to check if the group Isla’s avoiding is paying attention.
“Why are you helping me?”
I shrug my shoulders. “You’re my brother’s partner.”
“Right.”
“I’m also divorced. And I’d like to think that if I wanted to avoid my ex, that someone would help me, too.”
“Sounds like your divorce was more amicable than mine.”
“Didn’t feel that way at the time,” I reply. “But it’s been five years. I’ve moved on.”
Isla sighs. “Wish my ex would do the same.”
I already know the answer thanks to Spencer’s Isla Covington info dump a few weeks ago, but I don’t want to stop talking to her. “How long has it been?”
“We separated last year,” she whispers as I finally reach the door, getting us outside without being spotted.
I turn right, walking in the opposite direction from where they sit in front of one of the windows.
“Everyone thought I’d change my mind. Because who wouldn’t want the future CEO of Covington-Randolph Transportation?
A Yale graduate. As if that’s all that matters in life—letters next to your name and zeros at the end of your bank account. ”
I still at her words, surprised to hear the sentiment coming from a Covington.
Isla complained to me about her family when we were kids, the way her parents paid more attention to their family business and social obligations than to their children.
They had expectations, none of which had anything to do with their kids’ actual dreams. It was the complaining all teenagers did about their parents.
I didn’t expect to hear that sentiment from her now.
It’s turning everything I assumed about her on its head.
I stop walking once we pass Hidden Gem Bakery next door, and ease Isla off my back, holding onto her until her feet hit the ground.
“He must be a prick,” I say.
She huffs a laugh. “You could say that, at least at the end. I don’t know, maybe I didn’t notice before.”
“Or you were so in love with him that your brain wouldn’t let you see it?”
She turns to me, surprise etched into every inch of her expression. “It’s either that, or I actively ignored clear red flags. I’m not sure what’s worse — my brain tricking me, or refusing to see what’s in front of my face. Either way, I’m to blame, and it makes it hard to trust my own judgment.”
I scratch the back of my neck. “It’s easy to see everything that went wrong after it’s over. It’s a lot harder to see in the moment.”
“It sounds like you’re talking from experience.”
I shrug. “I didn’t see it coming. But after she told me she wasn’t happy, it was the last puzzle piece that made a fuzzy picture come into focus. Something wasn’t right, but I could always explain it away as something we could fix.”
“Yeah,” she replies with a shallow nod. “Work. Distance.”
“Family obligations,” I add to her list. “Exhaustion. Burnout.”
Isla and I stare at each other, a silent understanding passing between us.
We know what it’s like to have the relationship of our lives collapse, to sift through the shrapnel, wondering what the hell happened.
It’s not something someone can understand unless they’ve also been through it.
No words can describe the loss of your anchoring relationship, your supposed forever.
“Thanks for helping me,” she says softly.
“Sure.”
I can still feel her soft skin against mine, her body pressing into me, the tickle of her breath on my ear. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forget it.
Spencer and Thea crash through the café doors.
It breaks the spell between us in the nick of time, before I do something stupid like ask if she remembers meeting a boy fourteen years ago at a skating competition.
They’re laughing hysterically, inadvertently walking into each other as they lose all composure.
My first thought is that I haven’t seen Thea look this happy since she arrived. My second thought is that I shouldn’t have left these two up to their own devices.
“That was awesome,” Spencer says as he reaches us, his breathing finally under control. “I should’ve been an FBI agent.”
“You collected to-go boxes and packed up our food,” I say under my breath.
To my shock, Isla snorts.
“Yeah, without being caught.” His eyes dance with amusement. “Thea made the whole plan come together. That second song choice.” Spence puts his fingers to his lips and kisses them with an enunciated mwah sound.
I’m afraid to ask.
“What was it?” Isla speaks at her normal volume, her tone no longer tinged with sadness and regret.
“‘WAP’.”
I have no idea what that means, and no way am I going to ask. It’ll make me more worried about my niece, and I don’t need to add to those endless concerns. My sister’s parenting style is different from how I’d be as a parent—not that I’ll ever step into that role.
Isla breaks into a devious grin. “You didn’t.”
“Oh, she did,” Spencer chimes in.
Isla looks expectedly at me.
After a beat of silence, she says, “You have no idea what we’re talking about, do you, Taz?” She leans onto her tiptoes, placing a hand on my shoulder for leverage to whisper into my ear. “Wet ass pussy.”
My reaction is visceral, which sends Spencer into hysterics.
I’m not scandalized by the term, but I’m concerned my niece knows what it means.
And having Isla this close, whispering it into my ear, sends my mind to the filthiest of places.
Isla in my lap, sunk deep onto my cock, moaning how fucking good I feel, how wet she is for me.
I take a step back, needing distance from her and that incredible fantasy.
Isla’s gaze remains locked on me, one side of her lips tilted up, her cheeks flushed.
It’s from the North Carolina heat, or at least that’s what I tell myself, because any other reason would be fucking disastrous.
I clear my throat, diverting my stare to the traffic passing beside us.
“It was censored.” Thea flashes a satisfied smile. “Everyone thought it was funny.”
Isla holds her hand up for Thea to slap it. “I think it was genius.”
“You should’ve seen their faces.” Spencer’s voice is thick with glee as he recreates an over-the-top expression—eyes bugged out wide, mouth askance. “I think someone choked on their drink. What a successful first family meal. Same time next week?”
Spencer winks, but I know him well enough to know he’s not joking. He wants to build chemistry with Isla. He also hates spending time alone, and his boyfriend is on a world tour with a musical act for the summer.
“If it involves trolling my ex, I’ll be there,” Isla says, slipping her phone out of her pocket. “Preferably, if I can watch from across the street with binoculars.”
Spencer smacks a hand to his chest. “I live to serve.” He hands a to-go bag to Isla. “This is yours. See you tomorrow bright and early, partner.”
“I’m mentally preparing myself for Coach Linden.”
“As you should,” I say. “That woman intimidates even me.”
Isla’s lips twist into a cheeky smile. “I don’t know if you should set that bar.”
“Let me guess, you think you should?”
She rolls her eyes. “More than you, obviously.”
Spencer points at me, then Isla, moving in the air between us. “Do you two need a minute?”
Thea laughs. “This is what they’re like. You should’ve seen them in the parking lot.”
Spencer raises an eyebrow. “What parking lot?”
“When Uncle Wes hit Isla’s car.”
Spencer turns toward me. “You hit her car?”
“It was her brother’s,” I reply easily as if the incident was no big deal. And it wasn’t, until Isla unnecessarily made a huge fuss. “But yes.”
Spencer nods his head slowly. “Explains the vibe. Well, at least one of the vibes.”
I want to smack him across the face.
“Well, Brooks should be pulling up any second,” Isla says, twirling her phone in the air and blowing past Spencer’s innuendo. “See you in the morning,” she says to Spencer before turning to Thea. “Thanks for making me laugh.”
Finally, her head swivels toward me, and I suck in a breath, awaiting her words. “And thanks for the…” She gestures toward me, vaguely in the direction of my back.
“Yeah,” I say, voice breathless for no fucking reason.
Spencer snickers behind his hand.
“Cut it the fuck out,” I mutter.
The bright orange car that set Isla and me off on the wrong foot pulls up to the curb, mercifully ending this painful goodbye.
Isla waves to us, then jogs to it. Brooks Covington wears shades even as the sun begins to set, and gives us a salute in greeting.
He embodies everything I hated growing up: someone with money, privilege, and not a care in the world.
Sometimes I wonder how different I’d be if I hadn’t had the responsibilities I did. Maybe I’d be the guy someone like Isla Covington would want instead of the “curmudgeon-y” pain in the ass she’s forced to deal with.
There’s no point thinking about it, but it doesn’t stop me from fixating on it the entire drive home.