Chapter 5
Angela
A smile curls my lips when I pull into my driveway.
I love my house. It’s small, but it’s mine, set back off the road, surrounded by trees and palms, with a back patio just a few steps from the ocean.
I have my own dock, though I don’t have a boat.
Probably never will. I just love diving into the water, that rush of bubbles and silence whispering past my body, then sitting out there to watch the sun go down while the salt dries on my skin.
As I climb the steps to the porch, two furry faces poke out from under the bushes, then disappear as I glance their way.
“Hey, little friends,” I coo as I walk past. “It’s not quite dinner time, but what if I promise to fill your bowls extra full tonight?
Would that maybe convince you I’m not so scary? ”
A couple months ago, two kittens showed up out of the blue, stinkin’ cute and utterly feral.
They wouldn’t come near me at first, but I put food out for them every day and we seem to be making progress.
The fluffy, brown and white one is brave enough to hop onto the porch while I fill the bowls, but the orange one still won’t appear until I’m out of sight.
My goal? Get them comfortable enough with me that I can bring them into the house and take care of them properly.
The process is taking longer than I want, but it’ll pay off big in the end because I already love those silly nuggets with my whole heart.
I step inside, toss my keys into a bowl on a table near the door, then kick off my shoes before pulling my phone out of the box and powering it on.
My cousins Micah and Nathan wanted to hang out tonight, and I need to solidify those plans, plus Uncle Wyatt, Aunt Kara, and the rest of the family will want to know Operation Nick went off without a hitch.
As the phone powers up, I pad into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water, then step onto the back porch and curl into the wicker loveseat.
A breeze comes off the water and I sigh in pleasure as the palms dance and the waves crash.
My mind blips to the meeting I have tomorrow, the one that might save The Hut after my disastrous oversight put it at risk, and a tremor of nerves blasts through my body.
I can’t believe I let that happen. I can’t believe we might be staring at the end of a The Hutton Hotel and it’s my fault. The mistake swims in my gut like poison.
Nope.
Not poison.
Rocket fuel.
After everything went down, I did a lot of research and stumbled across a company called Vision Enterprise.
They’ve got a great reputation, though I don’t have a lot of faith they’re much better than the company who set this whole thing in motion.
The guy they’re sending might be perfectly wonderful, but “once bitten, twice shy” is a saying for a reason.
My guard will be up—like all the way up—and I’ll be listening closely to everything he says.
I wouldn’t even have taken the meeting if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.
I will not be the Hutton who set the family business on fire.
The phone comes to life, buzzing like a happy little cricket as multiple messages flash across the screen, one on top of the other. My family is big, weird, and wonderful and we all love each other very much. Maybe a little too much if the plethora of texts coming in has anything to say about it.
I open the message app and tap on the first one without paying attention to who it’s from.
A picture of a man pops up. He’s shirtless, stretched out in bed, staring at whoever took the picture with unadulterated lust blazing in his gaze.
His bare torso is a playground for the eyes, with divine pecs, washboard abs, and the perfect amount of chest hair trailing down to disappear under his waistband.
One arm is tucked behind his head, revealing a meaty bicep that begs me to bite it.
Like, begs me to bite it.
“What the hell?” I murmur, before opening the pic to get a better view.
He’s gorgeous.
He’s intense.
He’s…the grumpy guy from the phone store!
My jaw drops.
How did he get my number and why is he sending me half-naked pics? What kind of creepy nonsense is this?
The caption below the image reads, “Remember this?”
The contact photo catches my eye. A woman I don’t recognize labeled The Future Mrs. Cooper. Confused, I click out of the conversation as another pic comes into a different thread.
Who the hell is sending me pictures?
A selfie of a strange woman with a strange man pops up. She’s sitting in his lap and has his bottom lip caught between her teeth. He stares into her eyes with a look so predatory, so sexual, so animalistic, I blink in shock.
“Jesus,” I whisper before zooming in on his face. “What I wouldn’t do to have someone look at me like that.” I snuggle into the chair, biting my lip as I hold the phone closer.
I’m no pro in the dating department. I’m talkative and not exactly demure, which apparently is a massive turnoff.
Add the fact that I’m not into meaningless relationships and you have the perfect recipe for lots of alone time.
Which is fine. I prefer people who are deep, sensitive, someone seeking real connection—and there aren’t too many of those out there anymore.
I’m no virgin, but I’ve never been in a situation where a man would look at me like this guy.
Which is fine.
Surging hormones aside, I’m perfectly happy alone.
Sure, I may never know the joy of watching my kids on Christmas morning, but that’s what my cousins are for.
If I do end up devoting my life to The Hut and forsaking a family of my own, I’ll live vicariously through them.
There will be plenty of little Huttons to go around.
Though maybe I should open myself to the possibility of casual sexual encounters, I think, zooming in on the picture one more time.
Messages buzz in like crazy.
Charlie
For shit’s sake, Melinda. Really? I mean really????
Connor
Did you actually just text the entire family a pic of you with a guy who ISN’T MY brOTHER?
Brennan
Are you fucking kidding me? This is a joke, right?
Lily
I don’t even know what to say right now
Charlie
He told me today he thought she was cheating. You hear that, Melinda? He knows and he doesn’t care, right Bear?
The Future Mrs. Cooper
OMG. Bear!!!! I am sooooo sorrrrrrry…… I totally didn’t mean to tell you like this…
Charlie
Uh-huh. Like we believe that. You’re about as transparent as the shirt you’re wearing in that pic
The Future Mrs. Cooper
Bear????? You gonna be okay baby????
Mesmerized, I follow the incoming texts like I’m reading fiction, then realize this is someone’s real life drama and close the chat.
I study the list of conversations, all from names I don’t recognize.
One from an unknown number catches my attention and I stare for a long minute before realizing why.
That’s my number.
“What the hell?”
Baffled, I tap the thread and find three increasingly shitty texts from the stranger whose fiancée just announced she’s cheating via group chat. I want to be mad. I mean, why would he assume I’m not responding for the fun of it? Unless that’s something he would do…
He did come off as a self-absorbed jerk at the store…
And we do tend to expect people to treat us the way we treat them…
Though this guy seems to be having a bad day, which might explain how incredibly awful he was earlier. The least I can do is cut him some slack. Shaking my head, I type a response.
Hey! Sorry! I just now powered on the phone. I can’t believe this happened! I mean, actually, considering how rude those guys were at the store, I totally believe this happened. Can you meet tonight to exchange?
No one will believe this story. Not Micah, not Nathan, not Nick. Going home with someone else’s phone? That just doesn’t happen. This Bear guy is probably losing his mind because I made him wait so long.
The phone buzzes with a single word response.
Unknown number
Yes.
So, he’s not the talkative type. That’s perfect. I talk enough for the both of us.
Another message comes in.
Unknown number
Where?
I frown. You’d think he’d want to laugh at this crazy coincidence instead of barking one-word texts, but whatever.
After thinking for a second, I suggest my Uncle Eli’s bar—The Pact.
It’s fun, popular, and I can meet Micah and Nathan there after the exchange.
Boom. Two birds, one stone. I blow imaginary smoke off a pair of finger guns then stand, stretching, before heading into the kitchen to deposit my water glass in the sink.
Another message comes in.
Unknown number
Be there at 7.
Would you look at that. Four words that time. Four, curt, bossy, not at all polite words.
No wonder Melinda is cheating. Sexy or not, this Bear has the emotional range of a robot. I check the time. There’s no way I’m waiting two hours to get my phone back. Not when my entire life is on that thing.
Besides, who does this guy think he is? Demanding I show up on his time without considering what I might want or need?
With a shake of my head and a roll of my eyes, I type back:
Be there at six instead.
That oughta show him who he’s dealing with.
Garrett
One of the perks of devoting myself to my job is that I have a lot of discretionary income.
And the perks of discretionary income include booking a two-hour massage to melt away the stress of flying commercial.
Wouldn’t you know, the redhead finally responds to my texts just as I’m undressing for mine.
Her opening salvo is cute. I respond quickly as I remove my shirt, then my pants, and am sitting down to yank off my socks when I ask her where to meet.
I’m standing mostly naked, staring at my phone and urging her to type faster, when the masseuse knocks and starts to enter.
“Wait,” I bark, and the door pulls closed.
“Just let me know when you’re ready,” the masseuse replies in a sickly-sweet voice, while my phone buzzes with a block of text. I skim for the gist; she wants to meet at a bar, blah blah atmosphere, blah blah is she flirting?
There’s no way I’m missing my massage, so I tell the redhead I’ll meet her at seven, power down the phone, and climb under the sheet.
After the day I’ve had, you better believe I’m ready to relax.