Chapter 11
Cecilia
Trena waves at me from her poolside lounge chair.
I plop my bag down next to her, unfold my oversized towel, and cover the weathered strapping of the chair she’s pulled under the umbrella for me.
Removing my cover-up, I’m conscious of Trena’s stare. I adjust my bikini, which seems to be fine. “What’s up?”
She hands me a canned virgin mimosa from the mini cooler.We take a selfie. I don’t have to remember to smile, it’s all I’ve done since I met Lennox and Blake. She’s about to post the photo when I steal her phone and add #HiddenCreekHotties.
She’s shaking her head, knowing what I’ve done. It’s not the first time. But her gaze rests on me a little too long.
“Are you going to tell me why you’re looking at me like that?” I can’t take the visual inquisition.
“I was hoping you’d just tell me.”
Not a surprise that she sees right through my attempt to act chill. My face hurts from all the smiling. Memories of last night have locked down how happy they make me. Blake’s oddly timed, suspicious migraine aside, I’ve ventured into uncharted territory in so many ways with the two of them.
Unsure of where to start, I say, “It’s Lennox and Blake.”
“As I assumed.” She draws out her leading statement.
“Everything’s amazing.”
Trena says, “You know you don’t have to hide anything from me. Did something happen last night when you were walking your parade route?” She puts air quotes around parade route.
How do I explain what I’m feeling when there are so many emotions swirling inside of me? The most surprising of all—I rub a hand over my belly—wanting to have babies with these guys. I cannot trust myself to start talking.
“I really did walk the parade route. At least part of it.”
She rolls onto her side and removes her sunglasses. Her stare intensifies. “Ceci? What aren’t you telling me?”
I swing my legs over the side of my chair and sit so fast I knock my drink over. When I bend to pick up the can, Trena grabs my arm.
“Did you have sex?” she whispers excitedly as she sits and leans close.
I grab her hands in hopes of tying myself down to earth.
I’ve felt so floaty since they gave me those orgasms. “We haven’t had sex exactly, but we have been very intimate.
I think I’m—” I cut myself off when worry settles in that Trena will tell me I’m overreacting.
But it’s Trena. She’s the only one I can tell.
“I think I’m getting serious about them. ”
“Go ahead and say it. You’re in love.”
“Do you really think so? Can it happen that fast?” It’s so strange to have the tables turned.
“Everything happens that fast for you. And truthfully…” She squeezes my hands.
“I’ve never seen you like this. Not when you snuck me out of my house for the midnight showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show that my parents explicitly said I couldn’t attend, or when you suggested eating nothing but desserts for three days, and definitely not with Henry. ”
My insides light up. “The dessert debacle… I almost forgot how badly that ended.”
Trena belly laughs. “Thinking about it is almost enough to put me in a sugar coma.”
“So you don’t think I’m crazy this time?”
“I always think you’re crazy.”
Flopping back onto my lounger, I take a deep breath.
“I really thought this was your way of getting back at Henry, but two whole days into your breakup and you’re not done with them.”
Not done. That was a weird way of putting it. I address the timeline elephant. “Since you’re politely not asking, I think they feel the same. It’s so easy to be myself with them. And they’re totally in. We’ve got this teacher-student roleplay thing—”
Trena throws a hand up. “I would point out that roleplaying inherently means you’re not being yourself, but that whole thing about not hiding anything from me… I lied.”
Regrouping, I tease her. “You won’t be the only one of us to make the honor roll for long.”
“Nope! Not gonna fight you for two older dudes. I don’t know what you see in them—ugh, parents, teachers, nosy neighbors—I’ve had my fill. But seriously, with only two days to spare, you’re spending your time here with me. I’m flattered.”
“Blake didn’t feel well last night.”
“Is this your way of asking for more days?”
“No, but do you think I’ll seem too needy if I text to see if he’s okay?”
“If you’re all falling for each other the way you say you are, you should be able to text whenever you want.”
“Right.” I grab my phone and text Blake.
Seconds later, he responds: All good. You free later?
“Bye.” Trena waves.
“What? I’m not…”
Last night when Lennox insisted on driving me home, we passed their house. I suppose I could pay them a surprise visit. Help Lennox get over his worry that their house isn’t organized yet. Not like I care.
“You’re texting them and they’re texting back right away. Go.”
“You sure you don’t mind?”
“Take my car.” She opens the mini-cooler and pulls out a fudge bomb popsicle. “If you leave, I won’t have to share the ice cream.”
Slipping back into my cover-up, I say goodbye to Trena and rush to Trena’s car.
I’m standing on their doorstep when it occurs to me that all I’m prepared for is lounging with a friend—messy hair and no makeup. I shrug it off as I knock on the door. I’m not sure they’re home. Their truck isn’t out front. Could be in the garage.
This will be a pop quiz on whether they like the real me as opposed to the cleaned up version. I sure as hell am not one of those chicks that never lets a guy see me before I put my face on.
I cringe at the thought of being that controlled—even if I’m the one doing the controlling.
Blake answers the door. Does he cringe? Are we both cringing? That’s weird. Not the greeting I was hoping for. He clutches the door.
His athletic shorts and bedhead slowly register. No shirt. Muscles, contours, v-cut… those should be happy sights.
“Cecilia? You’re here.”
There are a couple of ways that statement can come out of someone’s mouth and Blake just failed the pop quiz. Or am I failing? Did I read this whole thing wrong?
My stomach knots. I step backward. The urge to apologize for showing up unexpectedly is only trumped by the urge to run.
“Who’s…” Lennox steps behind Blake, not needing to finish the question.
If there was any chance I misread Blake, Lennox confirms the lack of happiness. Lennox’s bare shoulder is visible past Blake. Their state of undress is too much to accept.
My foot lifts. I’m ready to bolt. I’ll do exactly what Trena accuses me of doing, running from my problems. Fuck.
But if I run, I could pretend that they’d track me down and tell me that they are lovers and the only woman they want in their bed is me. Leaving would only prolong me finding out the truth.
I’ve never wanted something as badly as I thought I wanted a life with Lennox and Blake.
“I’m sorry. I thought it would be fun to surprise you. I shouldn’t have—”
“Now’s not a good time,” Lennox says. Nervousness hangs on his words. “We’re working.”
“You work a lot.” My gaze drifts over their decidedly non-work attire.
What would I find if I pried Blake’s fingers from the door?
A woman? Another group project? Or if I want to be less dramatic, maybe they’re on a video call for work, and it’s Sleep-in Saturday—show up as you are.
The lesser known counterpart to Dress-Down Friday.
Or they’ve used a wall to map out a master plan for our future and they’re not ready for me to see it.
There’s only one way to find out, and if I walk away, I’ll never know. My heart hurts. My stomach hurts. My head hurts. Existence is pain. Running away would be so much easier.
But Trena’s right. Life can’t just be all good. She pointed out that if someone only likes your ‘good’ parts, eventually they’ll see the least good part of you and not like it.
The only way through will be to Red Rover them. Lunging toward the door, I catch them by surprise. Blake stumbles backward, losing hold of the door, causing Lennox to lose his balance.
“Let’s get the big secret out of the way. Where is she?”
Blake grabs my arm. Lennox steps firmly in front of me and says, “She? We don’t have a woman here.”
“Why did you both block the door like you’re guarding national secrets?” I try to maneuver past them but they sandwich me.
Why the fuck does my traitorous body like this so much? I’m going to have to beg Trena to teach me to think first. I can’t go on like this.
Blake mumbles, “That’s a lot closer to the truth.” Fortifying his voice, he adds, “I swear there’s no one here but us.”
A laugh busts out of me. National secrets. I handed them that gem. “Then you won’t mind if I come inside.”
Lennox goes pale. His eyes seem to meet Blake’s behind me. They don’t move.
I can take a hint. If this is a ‘like father, like son’ scenario, I’m prepared to learn where Henry got it. I try to harness logical thoughts. Seeing a woman in their bed? Actually running might be the wise option.
But I have to know. Ducking and wiggling out from between them, I rush to the hallway. There are three doors and the center one is clearly the bathroom.
Checking the room on the left, I stare at the bed. A thick, black vest labeled ‘Police’ staggers me—a potential different roleplay?
I step forward. My hand settles on the handcuffs sitting beside the vest. They’re not the fun, fuzzy, or flimsy versions. Hooking a finger into the cold metal, I confirm the weight and shiver.
My heart stops.
Who are they? I back up and bump into one of them.
“I can explain,” Lennox says. His hands grip my arms, pulling me into his chest.
I want to stay. I want to turn back time. I want to believe that we had something real.
Tears well in my eyes. I jerk away, turn past the bathroom, going straight for the other bedroom.
It’s a mess.
My gaze drifts over the t-shirts and sweatpants and jeans strewn everywhere. Haven’t they only been here a few days? Is that a lie too?
I’m no longer looking for anything in particular. The idea of a woman being here has been replaced by something worse. They lied about who they are.
“You’re not developers.” A deeper lie hits me. “Are you even Henry’s father?”
The answers don’t matter. The fact that the questions have to be asked is the problem. And Trena worried I wouldn’t be myself with them. I blink back tears. As I turn to leave, my gaze sweeps over the rest of the room.
Lennox wraps his arms around me. I’m too shocked to resist.
“We’re undercover. You can’t tell anyone.” His hot forceful voice is less exciting in this scenario.
Stopping my gaze is a badge sitting on the dresser. I should have known better than to think I could find fun in Whispering Pines.
Rushing down the hallway, I turn toward the front door but photographs and papers strewn over the dining room table lure me closer. Who are they?
Blake and Lennox flank me on either side, trying to stop me.
“Don’t touch me.” I shrug them both off and step closer.
They rush forward, shuffling everything into messy stacks. It’s too late. I recognize the locations in the photos, some taken from where they were parked last night when I found them on the side of the road.
The ones with my reclusive customer Ofelia going into her barbershop puzzle me. “You were on surveillance? “You think she’s a criminal?”
A phone on the table rings then switches to voice ID. “Call from The Boss.”
Using their preoccupation, I run out the front door, straight into my car, and in two minutes I’m at Trena’s apartment complex.
Rushing from the car to her unit, I yell toward her spot by the pool. “Trena!”
By the time she catches up, I’m in her bedroom, shoving her clothes into a suitcase.
She stops in the doorway. “What are you doing?”
“Helping you pack for Eggplant Canyon.”
Wrestling me for her clothes, she gets me to stop. I drop onto her bed.
She sits beside me. “What happened? We need to bury a body or two?”
A sad laugh is the best I can do. “Not advisable. They’re cops.”
“What?” She wraps an arm around me. “I don’t get it. Are they here for work? To arrest someone? You?”
This laugh is a little brighter. “No handcuffs for me. I think they’re here for the loner chick who says she’s going to renovate the old barbershop.”
“The one we assume makes her money from Only Fans?”
“That’s the one.”
“She’s a criminal?” Trena’s as stunned as I am.
“They have surveillance pictures of her at the barbershop.”
Trena backs up to her headboard and pats the pillow beside her. I follow. She says, “Back up a second. How do you know they’re cops?”
I catch her up with everything I know, repeating the claim that they’re undercover. If I remove the shock value, it’s not entirely impossible.
They hung out in weird places. They couldn’t have me over to their house.
They’re only in town a short time. Geez, I should have known better than to think a developer would be interested in Whispering Pines.
I see how reactive I was. Not totally unwarranted, but Trena will one hundred percent call me out. “Go ahead,” I say.
“What?”
“Tell me I overreacted. Tell me I have a right to be mad. I don’t know. I’m so confused.”
“Do you think they’re really undercover cops?” Trena kindly gives me credibility.
“If they are, they wouldn’t be able to tell me, right?”
“Unless you saw too much. There’s a point where denial only makes things worse. Or maybe because they care about you.”
Sitting uncomfortably with my possible wrongness, I whine, “They lied to me. They used me during a stakeout. They—”
“Make you happier than I’ve ever seen you.”
We share a laugh.
She adds, “I think we have to grant them some leeway for lying.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”
“I am. That’s why I’m not letting you run away from this.”