Chapter 27
27
[Vale]
A ttending book club has been a bit rare for me as the Haven Hitters’ season seems to take up most of my evenings and weekends.
Thankfully, I finally have a Thursday night free.
I’m running late and miss the weekly pre-game established at Milton Roadhouse, but as soon as I enter Meredith Mulligan’s second floor, a wine glass is in my hand, and a strange sense of calm I hadn’t known I needed settles over me.
Not that the room is calm.
The collection of select women from Milton County is like standing in the middle of a gaggle of geese.
Chatter and squeaks, excitement and gasps.
These are my girls.
As the only sister in a family of brothers, I appreciate these times with women and I’ve missed being somewhere that doesn’t involve baseball, laundry, and rushed dinners.
“Hey, lady.” Enya smiles softly.
“Welcome back. ”
“I could say the same to you.” Enya has struggled just as much as me to consistently make it to our ‘book club’ with the new baby, although Sebastian practically pushes her out the door, claiming he wants alone time with his girls.
The younger set at least. He’s turned into a huge cinnamon roll for his babies.
With a hand on my forearm, Enya leads me to a couch Meredith pushes up against a wall to provide more space in her apartment.
We collapse in giggles as the couch is a bit lower than either of us anticipated.
“So . . .” Enya takes a sip of the wine in her hand.
“How are things?” She gives me a pointed look, like she knows I have a secret.
When she knows a few of them already.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tease, bringing my own glass to my lips to disguise a smile.
“Vale,” she admonishes.
“Enya,” I tease before looking over at her.
Her eyes search my face, seeing signs I’m certain are confusing.
But I can’t help my smile, brought about by thoughts of Cort which constantly creep into my head.
“Who is he?” she asks, no preamble.
The family knows I went on a date a few weeks back, and a second one more recently.
My brothers are a nosy bunch and gossip worse than women sometimes, so it doesn’t matter who told whom what.
They all know one date turned into two, plus I’m constantly getting busted glancing at my phone.
“I’m not ready to tell.” The moment I lie, my insides rumble, because I’m desperate to talk about who he is.
I want to tell everyone how happy I am and how I’m finally getting good orgasms from something other than my own hands.
But I can’t. Not because that’s an overshare but because of who he is .
No one in my family is going to understand.
“We’re just having fun.” Not a total lie the second time, but it’s more than just fun.
More than fucking around fun.
Cort listens to me, and he talks to me.
We laugh. He makes me smile, like the goofy grin I can’t seem to fight right now.
He makes me feel sexy, but more so, he makes me feel appreciated and special.
Enya continues to watch me, looking for signs of who he is, but instead only seeing evidence of what he does for me.
“You look happy.”
“I am.” The first full whisper of truth coming from my lips.
I really am happy. Maybe I’m still in the this-is-new phase but I’m not rushing for it to be more.
New . . . is nice and I’m content to linger in this feeling for a while longer, however much longer we can keep up the secret.
Suddenly, a blonde storm flings herself onto the couch beside me, wedging herself into the barely-there space between me and the corner.
“I’m getting the Cliterature Stick tonight,” Trinity announces, like she isn’t interrupting anything.
Spinning her head in my direction, she adds, “It actually comes with a book.” She giggles, suggesting she’s already had a few glasses of wine tonight.
“I need a new book boyfriend.”
Enya laughs and I smile at the curvy girl beside me who has an infectious spirit about her.
Her ex-husband is an idiot for letting this bubble of energy go.
She goes on to describe some book I might need to check out as well, especially if it comes with a built-in sidekick, AKA, the Cliterature Stick.
“It’s all clit stick instead of chic lit,” Trinity guffaws at her own joke.
“Oh,” she suddenly shifts, sitting up straighter.
“And get this. I think my brother Cort is dating someone.”
My breath hitches before I catch it and hold.
I can’t breathe. Since the Trinity-Vale truce, we don’t typically discuss our brothers and their lives.
At least not something personal like this.
Enya stiffens on my other side.
“Really? Who? ”
“I don’t know yet. He’s being his typical mysterious self, but over the weekend, he was at my mom’s for dinner, and he was constantly on his phone. Typing messages and then smiling to himself.” Trinity makes a face like she’s horrified by the thought.
“I mean . . . oh my God, my older brother is dating again, and I’m here purchasing another personal pleasure plaything.”
The double whammy in Trinity’s confession hits hard.
Her brother is dating someone and the upsetting part to Trin is that he has a person in his life.
She’s fine being an individualist, like I’ve been for years, but we both know, having a man handle our intimate parts adds something extra to sexual endeavors.
Someone who reads our body and knows the nuances is a game changer.
And I can only hope I’m the someone Cort is dating because we haven’t discussed exclusivity.
Not that I think he has time for anyone else, we just haven’t confirmed anything.
Should we confirm our status?
What exactly are we?
Secret lovers? Friends with benefits?
“Sending text messages, huh?” Enya says to Trinity, but the heat of her gaze is on the side of my face.
“Think it’s something new?
“It must be new.
Like in the last few weeks because two months ago he was still his grumpy old self.
”
Cort isn’t grumpy, just quiet, reserved even.
He has an air of don’t mess with me because he’s been messed with in the past. Also, in a small community, our hearts forgive but our minds never forget.
Despite the time that has passed since the fallout between Stone and Cort, people still bring it up on occasion.
“Interesting,” Enya purrs beside me, lifting her glass for another sip of wine.
Her gaze isn’t leaving the side of my head, though, so I don’t dare look at her.
“Remember when we were kids, and I wanted us to be sisters?” Trinity continues, the ramble of this conversation difficult to follow.
“Um, actually, I don’t recall that,” I admit, having never known she thought such a thing.
Trinity is older than me.
Somewhere in between Knox and Ford area.
“Of course, I wanted a sister,” she says a little louder.
“Brothers are the worst.”
She knows I don’t really agree with that sentiment.
“And I always thought one of us would marry into the other’s family and then we’d be linked together forever.” Trinity lifts her wineglass, like she’s toasting the room.
What would she think of that scenario now?
If it were to happen?
The thought is a gut punch to my belly because it could never happen.
Never be a possibility.
While Cort and I might be intersecting, our paths will eventually diverge again.
They must.
Because my oldest brother isn’t the worst. He’s the best. And he’d never forgive me for my recent behavior.
“Whoa, girl. How much wine have you had tonight?” Enya teases our friend.
Trinity lowers the glass and stares absentmindedly into it.
“Not enough.” Her voice softens and I think back to weeks ago when she was staring at her phone, a scowl on her face, thinking about her ex.
“What’d he do now?” I lower my voice as well, gently nudging her arm with my elbow.
“Nothing.” She sighs.
“And isn’t that the point.” Lifting her glass, she finishes the rest of her wine in one swallow and stands.
Or attempts to, using the couch armrest and my thigh to force herself upward before taking a staggering step forward, then righting herself, and heading to the help-yourself-bar in Meredith’s kitchen.
“Oh my,” I whisper, watching Trinity stumble away.
“Valentine Sylver.” Enya hisses beside me .
“What?” I turn toward my sister-in-law, hoping for an innocent expression, but certain guilt is written in every line on my face.
“What are you doing?” she whispers, knowing without asking.
“I don’t know,” I admit with a heavy exhale.
Playing with fire feels too crass of a comeback.
I’m not a twenty-something girl anymore.
I’m not looking to tempt fate or be reckless or push boundaries.
This is more than sneaking off behind a tree and making out with a cute boy for an hour.
Hearts are on the line.
Mine. Cort’s. And Stone’s.
“I really don’t know.”