Chapter 16
GO ROUTE: RECEIVER SPRINTS STRAIGHT DOWNFIELD.
My girls are at work when I try to call them, but the texts fly back and forth once I summarize what almost happened at the castle ruins.
Emery:
And you didn’t kiss him, why?
Me:
Because I was engaged up until a few months ago?
Christin:
Was. Was and to a douche.
Me:
Fair point.
Christin:
Thanks.
Amy:
I agree with Emery. You should have kissed him.
Me:
HE’S THE ONE WHO PULLED AWAY!
Little dots appear. Then Amy’s message causes me to spit water all over my bed.
Amy:
Listen, you’re at a castle with a hot guy. If you want him, pull your thong between your ass crack and act like the queen we know you are.
Apparently, it did the same to the others.
Emery:
Ow.
Me:
What happened?
Emery:
I just fell out of my chair laughing.
Me:
Serves you right!
Emery:
My ass hurts from landing on the carpet.
Me:
My sympathy is locked away in Troy’s castle.
Emery:
Hmm, now there’s an idea. Ask him to lock you up…
Me:
Kiss my ass, Emery.
Emery:
Or you could ask him to do that.
Me:
Me:
Chris, you’re being awfully quiet.
Christin:
I hate Amy.
Amy:
Wait, what did I do?
Christin:
Because I was laughing at your ass crack comment, I now have to go to IT.
Christin:
I upended my coffee onto my laptop. I was in the middle of a call.
Amy:
Sorry, not sorry.
Me:
Serves you right for laughing at my pain.
Amy:
Maya, it’s simple. Do you like him?
Me:
I’ve always liked him.
Christin:
Maya…
Me:
Isn’t there some sort of rule? Like I’m supposed to be alone for one month for every year I was with someone?
Emery:
I think cheating and betrayal accelerate the timeline by a factor of ten.
Amy:
At the very least, by a factor of two.
Christin:
Especially when it’s someone you know.
Amy:
So, I’ll ask again—do you like him?
Me:
Yes.
Christin:
Then whose permission are you waiting for?
Me:
His?
Emery:
Only one way to find out if you have it.
Me:
So help me God, if you mention my thong again…
A bunch of laughing emoji texts come in our group chat. But just when I think they’ve gone back to their lives, I receive a message straight from Amy to me.
Amy:
If you’re ready to open yourself up again, embrace the feeling. Some of us may never be ready.
I flop back on the bed with too many thoughts swirling through my head. Overriding all the reasons I shouldn’t have wanted that kiss is one major argument.
Troy himself.
Entering the kitchen, I’m assaulted by the scents of rosemary and wine. It’s the kind of attack I welcome as it feels like comfort—a much-needed hug after I spent the afternoon soaking in the clawfoot tub trying to determine if I should pass on the chance or run straight into Troy’s embrace.
An hour later, I’m just as confused. Maybe more so.
Troy’s been cordial but distant since he sat down across from me.
Each movement has been precise, including when he rolled his sleeves up as he started cooking to reveal his tanned muscular arms. Much to my disappointment, he’s been completely unreadable, as if he’s trying to file away what happened.
He pours some more wine into my glass. “I’m glad you’re enjoying this one. It’s from last season’s reserve.”
I offer him a wan smile before lifting the stemmed glass to my lips. “It’s delicious.”
He doesn’t fill the silence between us. Instead it causes my mind to swirl. Am I overthinking things? I wonder. The almost kiss, a moment that evaporated in the cool Piedmont air. I try to find a safe topic. “As usual, everything was incredible.”
“My mother’s recipe.” A smile finally crosses his face. There’s a flicker of humor in his eyes before he shares, “As an only child, I was spoiled rotten by her cooking. Eventually, as I got older, I cooked alongside her.”
“And your father?”
He laughs with genuine humor. “To quote my mama, ‘He knows how to make coffee and Irish soda bread, Troy. If he attempted anything else, it might cause an inferno.’”
We both laugh at his mother’s appreciation of his father’s limitation of kitchen skills. I poke at the remaining food on my plate. “I wish my parents were like that.” The words escape my lips without warning.
“Your relationship isn’t a good one?”
I draw my fork through my perfectly cooked paella, choosing my words carefully. “I don’t think they understand me.” My lips quirk in a smile. “Few do.”
“You mean your desire to jump out of planes?” An edge slides into his voice.
I nod, but just as quickly shake my head. “No, it’s more complicated than that. If I was just an adrenaline junkie, they’d understand.” With a rueful grin, I admit, “They’re my parents. They know I’m not above a good game of chicken on the back of a horse.”
“I’m ignoring the chicken racing.”
I correct him. “Horse racing.”
“You say tomato…” He gives me a disparaging look that makes me smile. “Honestly, what do you think it is?”
I think back to the relationship I maintained with my family before my life changed in the last few months. “I’d love to lay the blame completely at Bryce’s feet, but I have to accept some of it as mine.” Disgust fills my voice because I was so wrapped up in pleasing Bryce.
“That happens in relationships,” Troy points out gently.
I let my fork clatter against the side of my plate. “The worst part is they understood. They love me, so they took a step back.” I sigh with regret. “I kept the toxic player in the game and benched some of the best members of my team.”
“Look at you with the sports lingo,” Troy teases. “Next thing you’ll be telling me is you’re going to trade in your telephoto lens for a mic next to the chains.”
“I can see myself now. It’s fourth and ten. Time to send in our special teams for a rescue.”
His eyes meet mine. “Special teams is always game for rescuing the team.”
The air shifts between us, softer yet more charged than it was earlier when Troy offers, “If you want to bring your family here, you know you’re welcome to.”
“That’s a generous offer.” And reminds me of something I’ve been meaning to ask him. “I haven’t seen other guests around. Do you not normally serve them dinner?”
He looks uncomfortable for a moment before admitting, “We don’t usually accept guests at this time of year.”
Say what?