Chapter 4
Glitter and Other Problems
Eddie
Ipull up to Kiki’s place and throw the truck into park, my fingers drumming against the steering wheel as a restless energy hums under my skin.
I’m being stupid, or am I?
Here’s the thing. Kiki’s expecting Theo and me tonight. We’ve become a package deal over the last month—pizza, dinosaurs, whatever movie Theo needed to watch a hundred times.
Except tonight… I’m showing up alone, a fact I failed to mention.
Yeah, you know exactly why you didn’t cancel, man.
Because somewhere along the way, this stopped being about Theo insisting she tag along… and started being about me wanting to see her.
Theo acted as a buffer from my feelings, allowing me to maintain a safe distance.
But tonight, he’s not here.
I am.
“Jesus,” I mutter, scrubbing a hand over my face. “Why does this have to be so complicated? It’s just dinner with a friend.”
Yeah, sure. Right.
Grabbing the wine and cookies, I give myself a final glance in the rearview mirror, and stroll to her door.
Deep breath. Just act natural.
Which would be so much easier to do if she didn’t swing the door open while I was still in the middle of my internal pep talk.
An infectious smile curves Kiki’s lips. “Right on time.”
God, I love that smile. It didn’t exist a month ago.
But it falls from her face as her gaze shifts past me, scanning the porch. “Where’s Theo?”
“Don’t take it personally, but he got an offer he couldn’t refuse.”
Kiki leans against the door frame, crossing her arms over her chest. “Wait a second. He’s standing me up?”
I chuckle, running a hand over my jaw. “If it makes you feel any better, he stood me up too.”
“So, what was this fantastic offer?”
“His grandparents are in town, and they bribed him with some 3D dinosaur movie.”
“Totally unfair. Me against dinosaurs? That’s not even a contest.” Kiki rolls her eyes, skewing her mouth to the left in the most adorable fashion.
Not certain she realizes how appealing that maneuver is, or how perfectly shaped her lips are.
Seriously, stop staring at her mouth.
I hold up the wine and cookies. “While I know I’m a poor stand-in for my son, I brought these along to soften the blow. Question is, are you going to let me inside or are you leaving me to freeze on the porch?”
“Shit.” Kiki steps aside, waving me in. “I’m sorry. It’s so warm in here since you fixed the stove that I forgot it’s like the arctic out there.”
The second I walk into her living space, the heat envelops me. “You aren’t kidding. At least that explains why you’re wearing a t-shirt.”
Not that I’m looking at how that t-shirt hugs her curves. Nope, definitely not doing that.
She glances down, pulling at the hem of her shirt. “I love it nice and cozy but this is…”
“Like a sauna?”
“It’s a bit much,” she giggles.
I jerk my hand toward the stove in the corner. “How about you open the wine and I’ll set the thermostat to a temperature conducive to actual humans.”
“I’ll gladly open the wine but I thought you were a beer guy.” She reaches into the fridge, pulling out my favorite lager. “So I grabbed these for you.”
“Good woman.”
She holds up the wine and beer. “Which will it be, Mr. Landry?”
I motion toward the beer, smiling when she brings it over. “You know me well.”
But somehow, not well enough.
Okay, that’s enough. Time to downshift into friendly conversation topics.
How hard can it be?
Turns out the universe wants to test that theory.
“Hey, do you want your receipt?” A piece of paper floats to the floor from the bag holding the cookies, and Kiki bends over to grab it, effectively derailing all my platonic plans.
How did I miss the greatest ass I’ve ever seen? Seriously, it’s perfect—round and plump and the way I would wrap my hands around her—
Jesus man, get a damn grip.
Look, I always thought Kiki was a good-looking woman. That’s not an opinion, either. It’s a straight-up fact.
But when we first started hanging out, there was this fragility to her. Like she might shatter if the wind hit her wrong.
Now? She’s glowing, and filled out in all the right fucking places.
“Everything okay?” Kiki stands in the doorway, her brow raised, and a smirk on her face that tells me she knows exactly where I was looking.
“Yep.” I clear my throat, heat creeping up my neck. “All good.”
Real smooth, Eddie.
I gesture toward the kitchen. “You, uh… need help with anything?”
She frowns down at her jeans, the same ones encasing her luscious ass. “Would you mind terribly if I changed into sweats?”
Maybe I could help you with that.
There goes my brain again, egging me on with an enticing and entirely unhelpful suggestion, which damn near makes it past my lips before I rein it in.
I slug back my beer, buying myself a few moments and hoping I can blame the flush in my face on the heat wafting off the stove.
“Is that a no?”
It’s then I realize I haven’t bothered answering her and she’s still watching me intently.
“Obviously. Comfort wins.” I slip past her into the kitchen and grab the wine. “I’ll open this while you get changed.”
By the time Kiki reappears five minutes later, I’m calm. Calmer, anyway.
Until my eyes drift over her frame.
She’s wearing a pair of black sweats that hang low on her hips, topped with a long-sleeved shirt that just barely covers her waist. Her dark hair is up now, wound into a loose bun, exposing the smooth lines of her throat.
Now, I’m holding back from tackling her onto the couch and stripping every stitch of clothing from her body.
Does she look comfortable? Absolutely. But if her dressing down is supposed to be a turn off, it backfired spectacularly.
Because her in sweats? Indelibly more delicious than her in jeans.
And I didn’t think that was fucking possible.
She’s usually polished, even when she’s dressed casually for pizza or a movie, her makeup and hair fixed just right, everything in place.
But now, she’s relaxed. Unguarded. And beautifully real.
This is how she’d look in the morning after snuggling against her all night.
By far, the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, which is posing a huge problem.
She’s my friend. She’s going through a whole bunch of crap right now, including a divorce. Not once has she mentioned anything about feelings toward me that extended beyond basic.
Plus, she’s older than me, and I’m guessing it’s more than a few years. Not that I give a shit, but I know from her reaction to finding out my age, that she does.
A litany of reasons why we’re a bad idea, but if I got the inkling she felt anything, I’d bust out of this friend zone so fast.
But for now… it’s business as usual.
Kiki joins me in the kitchen, offering a smile as she lifts the lid on the saucepan and gives it a stir. “Full disclosure, I made spaghetti and meatballs for Theo, but I can fix something else if you’d rather.”
“That’s fine. Nothing like paschetti and meatballs, although I’m letting Theo know he missed his favorite meal. That’s punishment for ditching us tonight.”
Kiki winks, giving me a gentle hip check. “You know I’m sending you home with leftovers for Theo, right?”
“Of course you are.”
Meanwhile, I’ll ignore how nice her body felt brushing against mine.
Jesus, I’m never surviving this dinner without saying or doing something stupid.
So, I shift my focus to her cabin. After all, that’s a big part of what she needs me around for, right? Not that I mind. She’s offered to pay me handsomely for every light bulb and screw placed, but I’ve never taken a dime.
I know from my sister that Kiki is strapped for cash. She had ample savings and investments but most of them were frozen following Drake’s arrest. She moved from a sprawling colonial in the glitziest part of Sparkwood to a small cabin in the hills.
It’s got great bones but damn, it needs some love.
The sheetrock is cracked in spots, the paint chipping, the floors uneven and dull from years of wear.
But over the last few weeks, she’s really warmed the place up with her homey touches.
Splashes of her personality daring to emerge from the armor she erected to protect her heart from the onslaught of ill will.
She’s got a hell of an eye, playing off the rustic bones of the cabin and tempering them with soft touches of lace and flowers. One piece in particular captures my attention—a landscape painted in vivid oil, resting in an ornate gilded frame, hung against the rough-hewn wall of the dining space.
It absolutely should not work, but it does.
“She doesn’t match anything in here, does she?” Kiki asks from her spot at the kitchen table. “Doesn’t matter, I love her. One of the few things I was allowed to bring with me from my… former life.”
I drop into a chair at the table as she sets a plate in front of me. “That’s Sparkwood, isn’t it?”
Kiki nods, piling my plate high with pasta. “He’s a local artist. Discovered his work at the annual art fair and knew I needed that piece as a reminder of how gorgeous my hometown is. Want to hear something ironic?”
“Absolutely.” I sample a bite of sauce. “Damn, this is good.”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” she says, pulling one leg up and tucking it under her. “I have talents.”
I’m sure you have many of them.
I bite my lip, literally press my mouth shut to keep from spewing that observation onto the dinner table.
“It’s delicious and much appreciated. Now back to what you were saying about irony.” Look, I need to get this conversation back on track before my libido gets any more of a foothold.
She sips her wine, her conversation thread momentarily forgotten. “What was I saying? Shit, don’t get old, Eddie. Your memory goes to hell, along with everything else.”
I rest my chin on my hand, eyes locked on her face. “From where I’m sitting, seems things only get better with age.”
That lands. A hint of color crawls up her cheeks and she hides behind her hand. “That was good.”
“True, too.” Even though she doesn’t believe me.
“My ancestors were accused of witchcraft.”
I choke on my beer, shocked by the sudden segue. “What?”