Chapter 12
Charlie
Kayla is sighing as soon as she comes into the apartment. I watch from my spot on the couch as she shrugs out of her coat.
Sigh.
Kicks off her boots.
Sigh.
Drops onto the other end of the couch.
Biggest sigh yet.
My mouth twitches as I put my bookmark into place and close my book, looking at her as I ask, “So, how was dinner?”
My cousin groans, slumping against the cushions. “Your mom spent the whole night interrogating me,” she complains. “I wish I was exaggerating, but Aunt Aggie is relentless.”
I grimace, fingers going tight around the spine of my book. “You know she hates it when you call her Aggie,” I remind her, and Kayla snorts.
“Well, I’m not calling her Aunt Agatha. Do I look like the cast of Downton Abbey?” Kayla snarks, sending me a sour look.
I roll my eyes. “What did you tell her?”
She shrugs. “That you were taking some time to get over your breakup before you re-entered polite society.”
My brows knit together. “Polite society?” I ask incredulously. “Now you do sound like you’re from Downton Abbey, except you’re describing a period of mourning.”
“Am I wrong?”
I think about it before shrugging. “Guess not. What did she say?” Kayla presses her lips together, looking away. That’s answer enough. “Well…thanks for keeping her off my back.”
“She might hunt you down if you don’t go next month,” Kayla warns. “Mom finished almost a whole bottle of wine, and even she was getting annoyed by it all. Have you had any luck finding an apartment?”
It takes a beat for me to flow with the change in subject, but I’m used to the way Kayla’s mind works—always firing in several different directions at once. It’s what makes her a good journalist, even if it makes conversations with her as confusing as walking in a forest at night with no compass.
“Not in my price range,” I admit.
She hums. “Well, just keep me posted. I have a friend who is thinking of moving to Boston, and it would be nice for her to come here. We roomed together in college, so it’ll be like old times.”
This is the first I’m hearing about it, and pressure slithers down my spine. “Oh…okay. When’s she coming?”
“I don’t know.” Kayla stands up, heading for the kitchen, calling back over her shoulder, “She just said she was thinking about it.”
I pick at a thread on the blanket resting over my legs, anxiety swirling through me. I have boxes of things here, and even more stored against one wall of Barrett’s place.
It’s been hard enough feeling like I don’t have a home, but now…
My mind muddles through this new obstacle, trying to decide if it’s something I should be stressed about or not. Kayla comes back into the room with a glass and a sly look that warns me it’s not water.
“What’s that?” I ask as she sits back down.
She beams at me. “Vanilla vodka.”
I blink. “And…?”
“Just vodka.” Kayla shrugs, sipping at her drink. “I deserve it after sitting through that dinner. What are your plans tonight?”
“Barrett’s going to a poker night at a friend’s place and invited me. I don’t think I’m going.”
Her eyes brighten as she leans toward me. “We have to go. I love poker, and Barrett is—”
“Don’t!” I barely stop myself from clapping my hands over my ears because I know exactly what’s coming. Kayla never really noticed Barrett until about four years ago. Now, any chance she gets to flirt with him, she takes.
I’ve got no idea if he feels the same way about her, but I told him I don’t care—as long as I never have to hear about it.
Blergh.
Kayla laughs at my expression, shaking her head before she downs the entire glass of vodka.
“Come on! You can’t tell me you really planned to spend the night on the couch, reading.
” She gives my book a derisive look right before her eyes flare.
“Is he wearing a kilt—you know what? Not important. What time should we turn up?”
I don’t move an inch, even when she raises her eyebrows at me. “It’s at his friend’s place,” I say reasonably. “We can’t just show up, especially when you weren’t invited.”
Kayla clucks her tongue. “Sure we can. Live a little, Charlotte.”
The way she says my name—a perfect imitation of my mother—makes me scowl. She doesn’t notice, already looking down at her outfit with a thoughtful look.
“I’ll need to change. I look like I’m about to go to church.” She’s not wrong. Her skirt is loose and beige, with a black blouse tucked into the waistband. Kayla puts her empty glass down on the side table, marching off to her bedroom. “Ten minutes, Charlie, and then we party!”
“It’s poker,” I correct on a mumble, setting my book down with no small amount of regret. “We’ll finish this later, Laird Lachlan.”
“You don’t look like you’re having a good time.”
I look over as Alec steps into my side, his smile crooked and gray eyes locked on mine. He’s wearing a shirt that shows off the dark ink swirling down his arms, and there’s a glass of bourbon in his hand.
I glance back at the round dining room table, covered in green felt, cards, and chips. Barrett and Kayla are playing with four other guys who all work at Alec’s security company.
“Poker isn’t really my thing,” I confess, looking back at him, his eyes creasing as his smile widens into a grin.
“No kidding,” he says dryly. “I don’t think a single person here would have guessed.”
I duck my head with a chuckle. I played one hand and then bowed out, sliding all my chips to Barrett and parking myself on a barstool against one wall.
“I’m also not a great actress,” I tell Alec.
He rests his shoulders against the wall, crossing one foot over the other. “So why did you come?”
“Kayla likes poker.” I look at where she’s sitting, her chair pushed so closely against Barrett that they’re practically fused from shoulder to hip.
Alec makes a low noise of amusement. “Does she?” One dark brow flicks up, and I can’t help the giggle that escapes.
“I have no idea.” I shrug, looking back over just as she reaches up to whisper something in Barrett’s ear. He turns to look down at her, a smile playing on his lips as he nods, saying something back. “She’s having a good time.”
“But you’re not,” Alec says, no doubt in his voice.
I don’t bother denying it, shrugging. “What about you? You’re not playing.”
“My bluff is too good for these jokers. I’d clean them all out in just a few rounds.
” The words are cocky, but the confidence is attractive.
There’s a knowing look in his gray eyes, and then Alec’s arm brushes against mine as he leans closer, his musky cologne filling my nose.
My breath catches, a shiver racing through me when his lips touch the shell of my ear.
“I don’t need to play poker to have fun.
” It’s a husky whisper, and heat unfurls in my stomach.
The sound that leaves me is high-pitched and crazed.
“You know what? I need another drink. Do you need a drink? I’ll be right back.
” I practically fall off the barstool and stumble toward the kitchen.
My cheeks are flaming so hot that it feels as if I’m about to combust, especially when I feel Alec’s eyes following me.
In the kitchen, I go through every single cupboard before finding the glasses, because of course, it’s the absolute last one I look in. I fill one with water and drink the entire thing at once, trying to cool my nerves and settle my scattered brain.
Alec is attractive, and he’s flirting with me.
I would have to be blind to miss it, but there’s still a voice of doubt in my head, positive that he is playing a game with me. I couldn’t bear it if he was acting interested in me just because he felt sorry for me, especially after seeing me at one of my lowest points.
Not that I want to do anything with him. It wouldn’t be fair to me or him. Not when I’m still so screwed up over Dillon. It’s only been a couple of weeks since we crashed and burned, but it’s nice to feel wanted and desirable…especially after hearing a group of people discuss how unattractive I am.
“Charlie?” Barrett comes into the kitchen, eyes searching for me. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I give him a small smile, and his brows lift disbelievingly.
“You hate poker,” he observes.
I waggle a hand between us. “I’m ambivalent about poker,” I counter, and he rolls his eyes.
“Sorry. You’re ambivalent about poker. I invited you tonight so you would have options other than…you know, books. I didn’t actually think you would come.”
I chew on my lip. “Kayla wanted to come.” A dull flush creeps into Barrett’s cheeks. “Are you guys…?” I grimace, not wanting to finish the question, and he can’t quite meet my stare.
“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “Scout’s honor, I will not discuss it with you.”
“Pfft, you were never a Boy Scout.”
“I could’ve been if I wanted to be.”
“Doubt it,” I argue. “They don’t do badges for nose pickers.”
Barrett throws his head back with a groan. “Why are you such a pain in my ass?”
“Why are you such a gorilla?” I counter, fighting back a smile. The bickering is interrupted when my phone rings. I pick it up, curiously glancing at the number and frowning when I don’t recognize it. “Hello?”
“Charlie?” a feminine voice whispers, the sound of music and talking filtering down the line and almost drowning her out. “It’s Marisa. I need your help.”
“This is a bad idea,” Barrett grunts, staring at the house through the windshield, watching as several people spill down the front steps, clearly drunk. “Why doesn’t she just call one of her friends?”
I twist my hands in my lap, not disagreeing with him, but not ready to tell him to turn us around and drive away either. Kayla didn’t want to come with us, choosing to have Barrett drop her off at a local bar to meet her friends. I probably shouldn’t have come either, but…
Marisa was upset on the phone, her voice choked and nasally. She wouldn’t say what had happened, but it had to have been bad to get her that upset.