Chapter 23
CAN’T WITH THAT
Islide into the booth next to Shy, across from Quinn and Willow.
“Sorry I’m late. Holt was on the phone talking to someone about pouring a basement, but I don’t have any basement pours on my calendar for the week, so I was trying to wait to talk to him about that.
” I wave my hand. “I’ll do that when I get back to the office. ”
Quinn and Willow share a look that really doesn’t make sense considering what I said, so I brush it off as I ask Shy, “How’s your week going?”
“Oh, it’s good. Work. Kids. Man. You know.”
Shy works reception in the Jiu Jitsu studio Elijah inherited from his father when he retired. They do great for themselves, and it keeps Shy fit, so she loves it.
“And Elijah? How’s he?”
“He’s good.” She smiles, slow and conspiratory. “But what we want to know is how you and Holt are doing?”
I blanch. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, come on,” Quinn says. “The two of you are locked away all day in that office, and you’re going to tell me that all the hormones haven’t boiled over by now?”
“Holt is my husband’s brother.”
Willow’s brows pull together. “He’s a lot more than that, Faye, and you know it.”
I shake my head, denying the very tension that’s been surging like a live wire between us, and just as dangerous, since I had him over for chili dinner.
It’s been weeks. But nothing has happened.
Nothing can happen. I’ve made my peace with that, not that I’ve been sleeping any easier since making that peace, but whatever.
“Faye…” Shy says gently.
“I can’t, guys. Okay?”
Quinn shakes her head. “Why not?”
“It feels—wrong.”
“How so?” Again, it’s Shy with the gentle voice. If Andy was here, she’d be sitting on Team Hard Ball across the table.
“It feels—” I shake my head. “I already went from one brother to the other. I’m not sure I can go back now that Tate—” My voice cracks. My nose stings. “I don’t think it’s right to go back to the other now that one is gone.”
“Oh, babe.” Shy shakes her head. “There’s more to it than that.”
“Is there, though?” I don’t wait for them to respond.
“He leaves for hockey in September, just like he left all those years ago. I won’t go with him.
I won’t uproot my life in Rubble Ridge—everything I’ve built here with Tate for our kids—to chase his dreams.” I shrug again.
“We’ll be right back to square one like we were when we were teens.
” I thank the waitress when she pours me a coffee.
Then say softly, “It’s better this way.”
“So, you’re just not going to date again?” I look to Shy when she speaks. “Elijah told me Tanner said you rejected him.”
“I don’t feel like I should for Tanner.”
“You mean you don’t feel the same way for Tanner that you feel for Holt, and that scares the crap out of you?” Willow, always the blunt one, points out.
I sigh. “Yeah. That’s what I mean.”
She looks surprised I’ve admitted it. They all look surprised.
I add, “But that doesn’t mean Holt is right either. Our lives are different. We’re moving in different directions. There’s no altering that course. I’ve accepted it.”
“Babe,” Quinn starts, but I hold up a hand to stop her.
“Can we not? Please.”
She purses her lips. Willow narrows her eyes.
Shy asks, “Please tell me you’re throwing your spring barbecue at the end of the month?”
I didn’t do it last year. Mom threw it for me instead, but it wasn’t the same.
Owen had asked me just this morning if I was planning on doing it this year. When I said I wasn’t sure, he’d told me he wanted the barbecue. Then he told me Holt would man the barbecue if I just asked him, as I was liable to singe off my eyebrows.
As though he hadn’t just parroted Tate’s words to me, he pressed on to remind me to invite Colt and Addy and their brood.
I hadn’t brought it up to Holt.
I shrug. “I’m thinking about it.”
“Well, you better think faster.” Quinn slides a fry from her tray when the food is delivered. “The end of the month is coming up quickly.”
I swipe a fry through the glob of mayo I’ve ordered on the side and pop it into my mouth. “Thank you captain obvious.”
Quinn smirks. Willow chuckles.
Shy sighs.
I roll my eyes. Then, because I seem to like making my life all kinds of difficult, I mutter, “Plan for the barbecue. I’ll figure it out.”
Shy claps.
Willow grins slow and wickedly triumphant.
Quinn looks like the cat who caught the canary.
I sink in my seat as I shove another mayo-covered fry into my mouth.
I lean into the door at the mouth of Herman’s—Holt’s office. He’s done a remarkable job of organizing the space. It’s surprising. Having seen the chaos of his room as a teenager, I figured he’d work like Herman. Which was in absolute disorder.
“What basement were you talking about pouring?” Holt’s eyes flick up from the blueprints he’s looking at on his desk, to me.
Like always, they make me feel things they shouldn’t make me feel.
I ignore those things as I hold the to-go box toward him. I cross the space. “I got you a burger.”
He raises one brow but takes the container. “You did?”
“Yeah, you’re always grabbing me coffee.”
His lips twitch, but no smile.
Dang. I like his smiles.
I clear my throat. “I, um, don’t have a basement pour on my calendar.”
Holt opens the container, lifts the burger from inside, and takes a big bite. He settles back in the chair and watches me as he eats.
I don’t know why it suddenly feels like flames are flickering under my skin, but it does.
I decide to ignore them and tell him instead, “We do a big barbecue every year at the end of June.” His eyes don’t leave me as he nods once.
Then he takes another bite. I figure I’m to continue, so I do.
“Mom hosted it last year for obvious reasons, but it wasn’t the same. ”
He swallows and grunts a rough, “Owen told me about your June barbecue, Faye.”
I blink. “He did?”
Holt nods, but he doesn’t give me anything else.
I stammer, “Wh—what did he say?”
“That he wanted you to have it this year.” He takes another bite. Seriously, the man has taken three bites, and the burger is near finished. I should have gotten him two or even three.
Why does he do everything so massively?
“Oh.”
“Faye,” Holt calls, and I blink up at him again.
“Hmm?”
The amusement that flashes in his dark eyes can’t be missed. “Are you hosting this year?”
“Oh—uh—that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Again, that brow raises. “I’m listening.”
“Well, I don’t man the barbecue. I’ve tried. I always end up burning everything.” I don’t mention my eyebrows as I laugh nervously. I don’t know why I’m nervous. “Not even a hot dog is safe from me on the grill. I strictly boil hot dogs.”
Holt grimaces. “That’s a crime.”
I shrug.
“You feed boiled hot dogs to your kids?”
My spine straightens. “It’s not that bad.”
“I should report you.” He tosses the container into the trash next to his desk. I can’t believe he inhaled that burger like that. It wasn’t small.
I spin on my heel to leave, waving. “Forget it, Holt.”
I hear movement, and then I’m caught by a giant hand around my waist. He palms my belly, tugging my back into his chest as a rumbled, laughing, “Hey,” falls between us.
I forget why I was incensed. Those flames that licked under my skin are now a full-on, out-of-control, raging fire.
My breath snags. I catch his wrist with my hands, holding him to me. Or maybe I’m trying to hold myself steady. He hasn’t touched me like this in—since—oh, God.
He drops his lips to my ear. His pitch is wholly darker and rougher than it was when he sat behind his desk. “I’d happily eat a boiled hot dog for you.”
I don’t know what the hell is happening right now. My body is going haywire. Between my legs, there’s an ache.
I think my panties might be wet.
Holy hell…
“Holt,” his name comes out like a moan. I wince.
He inhales. I think he’s smelling me.
He growls a low and rumbly thing in his chest. It’s as threatening as it is delicious.
Yep. My panties are one thousand percent wet.
“Ask me, Faye.”
What? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
My brain is short circuiting. Thoughts fizzling.
“Ask me to man the grill.”
“Oh.” Where are my words? My tongue isn’t working.
“Ask me,” he dares darkly.
“Will you?” I’m so breathless, the words come out choppy. Heat flushes under my skin and I just know I’m scarlet red in the face.
“I’ll man the grill, Faye.” His body shudders with a laugh even as his voice is thick and rough with a need I am so not ready to face.
When I attempt to shove his hand from where it palms my belly, he twists his fingers into the silk of my blouse, trapping me in the cage of him.
“Holt…”
Oh, Lord, what’s happening?
“Faye.” He dips his head into the nook between my neck and shoulder. Fireflies erupt into a tizzy inside me. At my belly, his hand knots tighter into the silk of my shirt, and then his other clamps tightly on my hip. His hand is so big, his fingertips tease over my hipbone and lower…
His heat stings me beneath the fabric of my skirt. I’m momentarily lost to the sensation of feeling like a woman again. A woman desired by a man.
Desire swims in my mind, making me dizzy and thoughtless. I can’t help myself as I push back into him—needing to feel him. He’s hard. Everywhere.
I gasp. He growls.
His lips are hot on the side of my neck, and I do moan this time.
The bells on the door jingle and we freeze. Holt’s hand is still twisted in my shirt, but when I shove it away with a totally freaked out, “Oh God, no,” he releases me.
I don’t dare look back at him as I scurry from his office. My mind is firing on all cylinders. Or maybe it’s not firing at all. Thoughts are coming at me fast, but I’m not processing a single one.
I’m totally freaking out.
Mrs. Kepler smiles at me, because she has no idea I’ve just been canoodling with my ex-lover slash brother-in-law.
I’m a terrible person.
She wouldn’t smile at me like that if she knew just how awful I am.
I want to cry.
“Sweetie, are you okay?”
“What?” Can she see it? The burn he left behind when he brushed his lips over my neck?
I can still feel it.
Mrs. Kepler points a finger at me, waving it over the whole of my face. “You’re all blotchy and your eyes are watery, dear.” She moves in closer, a quick little thing even in her age. At least, quick when she wants to be. “Have you been crying?”
“Oh, no.” I’m crap at lying. “Allergies.”
Her face twists into dry disbelief.
See? Crap at lying.
I force a smile I’m confident trembles. Mrs. Kepler raises a brow.
I blow out a breath and ask, “How’s the new flooring?”
“Oh, yes. That’s why I’m here.” She leans in, the deconstruction of all that I am momentarily forgotten. “You see, the flooring is so lovely, now I’m noticing some other imperfections.”
“Oh?”
“I’d like to start with my bathroom, dear. It’s horrendous.”
“Really?” Color me surprised! “What are you thinking?”
Mrs. Kepler has a lot of thoughts about her bathroom. None of them fit cohesively together. I’m all too happy to offer to pack up my samples and meet her at her house ASAP. She is all too happy to take me up on the offer.
I’m pretty sure I’m going to call in sick tomorrow. It’s Friday. I don’t think we have anything pressing happening that I need to be in the office for, anyway.
And the idea of seeing Holt…
Yeah, I just can’t with that right now.