Chapter 5 #2
She laughed and shook her head. “Maybe they just really miss their husbands, you know? I sometimes have to remind myself that my parents were really happy together and I’m sure she wants the same for her kids. She probably can’t conceive of what her life would have been like without my dad.”
“I think you’re right about that.”
“And my mom cannot stop crowing about Griffin and Blair, how she was right about them all along, even when he was adamant that there was nothing going on with them and he was not interested in a relationship.”
“Yeah,” I said, recalling how stubbornly Griffin had insisted he was not going to fall for his soon-to-be wife. “He was a fucking idiot for a while, wasn’t he?”
“He was,” she agreed. “And I hope you remind everyone of that when you give the toast at their wedding reception.”
I groaned, picking up my beer again. It was my second one and just about gone, although I’d been trying to pace myself. “Don’t remind me about that. I’m dreading it.”
“Why?”
“Because public service is my thing, not public speaking.”
She waved a hand in a dismissive gesture.
“You’ll be great. Just tell a cute but embarrassing story about when he was young, remind everyone how he swore up and down he was never going to get married, especially not to a Tennessee debutante who didn’t know a carburetor from a camshaft, and wish them well.
Then ask us all to raise a glass and do the same.
” She picked up her wine glass, which was nearly empty. “Cheers.”
I tapped my bottle against her glass. “Can you please give the toast?”
Smiling, she shook her head and finished her wine. “It’s all you, my friend. But you’ve got this. Just say the thing about love being worth the wait that you said to me the other night.”
I squinted at her. “What?”
“The other night when you walked me home, you said love isn’t easy to find, but it’s worth the wait.”
“I said that?”
She laughed. “Yes, you did.”
“Huh. That’s not bad.” I tossed back the rest of my Belgian ale and grinned. “I think I read that in a fortune cookie.”
“What?” She wadded up a cocktail napkin and threw it at me. “A fortune cookie! I totally took that to heart. Now you’re telling me it was some mass-produced, factory-generated BS?”
We were still laughing when the server appeared at the edge of our table and asked if we’d like another round.
“Not for me, I’m driving,” I said, although I wished I could have a third beer, or maybe a shot of whiskey—anything to numb her effects on me. “I’ll take a cup of coffee though.”
“Sounds good. And for you?” the server asked Cheyenne.
Cheyenne bit her lip. “I probably shouldn’t. I have to get up early tomorrow.”
“Oh, go ahead,” I said, nudging her foot beneath the table. “It’s my treat.”
“Cole, no—you are not paying for all this.”
“She’ll have one more,” I told the server, whose name tag said Lara. She looked vaguely familiar to me, but I couldn’t place her.
“Great! And would you like to see the dessert menu?”
I looked across the table. “Would you?”
She sighed. “Of course I would. But considering the amount of pasta I just ate and the number of calories I’m going to consume tomorrow, I’m going to say no.”
I looked up at Lara. “We’re all set. Just the coffee and wine, and then the bill.”
When we were alone again, Cheyenne reached forward and put her hand over mine. “You do not have to treat me, Cole.”
“Quiet,” I told her gruffly. “I asked you to dinner, so I’m paying for it.”
“Well, thank you. I appreciate it, even if you did give me made-up advice.” She left her hand on mine as she smiled. “This is actually the best night out I’ve had in a really long time.”
“Yeah?” It made me happy to hear it.
She nodded, her gorgeous lips curving into a smile. “When you spend all your days with a bunch of five and six-year-olds, and all your evenings with a meddlesome mother, you forget how nice it can be to spend time alone with someone closer to your own age.”
I looked down at our hands. My wedding band peeked through our fingers. “It is nice. I haven’t been out like this in a long time either.”
“Then we should do it again sometime. And I’ll treat.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I heard myself saying, even though making a habit of having dinner out with her sounded suspiciously like dating.
But she was right—it was nice to spend time alone with someone your own age.
I loved Mariah to the moon and back, and I had the greatest group of guy friends on the fucking planet, but this was different.
I’d forgotten how good it could feel to sit across from someone pretty and talk quietly and make her laugh and admire the way the candlelight on the table put those warm, golden flecks in her eyes.
Except that I knew what she was waiting for, and I couldn’t give it to her.
The snow had continued to fall while we were at dinner, and a couple more inches had accumulated. Cheyenne was delighted, tossing handfuls of it over our heads as we made our way to my car.
“Are you drunk?” I teased, worried she was going to slip in those high-heeled boots she was wearing.
“Yes. Which is your fault.” She tipped her head back and opened her mouth to catch snowflakes on her tongue. A second later, she stumbled over an uneven sidewalk slab, and I instinctively reached for her.
“Jeez, I can’t take you anywhere, Miss Dempsey,” I scolded, holding her by the elbow as we walked down the street.
She giggled again. “You sound like my students. Did I tell you one of them asked me the other day why I wasn’t called Mrs. Dempsey?”
“No. What did you say?”
“I said it was because I’m not married. Then the kid asked why I wasn’t married, and the girl next to him elbowed him and said, ‘You shouldn’t ask her that. It will make her feel old.’ And the kid goes, ‘She is old.’”
“Little shit,” I said.
“Oh, it gets better. The girl tried to defend me.”
“Yeah?” We reached my SUV, and I unlocked the passenger door.
“Yeah.” She hiccupped before going on. “She said, ‘I know she’s old, but she’s still pretty . . . for an old lady.’”
I laughed as I opened the door for her. “Get in, Miss Dempsey. Or should I call you Miss Tipsy?”
She climbed in, but leaned over and poked my chest. “Jerk.”
Grinning, I walked around to the driver’s side and got in. “Well, she was right,” I said, starting the engine and turning up the heat. “You’re very pretty for an old lady.”
She batted her lashes at me and hiccupped. “Why, thank you. And you’re quite attractive for an old man.”
“There are definitely days when I feel like an old man,” I admitted as I started the drive home. “And then there are days I feel exactly like I did at eighteen.”
“Believe me, I hear you.”
I drove in silence for a few minutes, one hand rubbing over the stubble on my jaw, wondering what eighteen-year-old me—or even thirty-three-year-old me—would have done with a tipsy, flirty Cheyenne Dempsey on a night like tonight, if my life had taken a different path.
But immediately I felt guilty for thinking it, so I shut my imagination down. If my life had taken a different path, I wouldn’t have Mariah, and that was unthinkable.
Still, the woman next to me with the perfect lips and snow melting in her hair was right here right now, and something told me if I leaned over at this red light and kissed her, she’d let me.
As my SUV came to a stop, I looked over at her and thought about it. She met my eyes and went still.
But the light changed to green before I could make up my mind, and I focused my attention out the windshield again. Put my foot on the accelerator and left the moment behind.
We didn’t talk the rest of the way home.
Out of habit, I pulled into my own garage. “Oh shit,” I said. “I meant to pull in your driveway and forgot.”
“I can walk,” she said, unbuckling her seatbelt. “The cold air will be good for me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.” She got out, and I followed suit, meeting up with her outside on the driveway. The snow still fell in thick, heavy flakes.
Once more, she tipped her face to the sky, although this time she just smiled. “I really love snow.”
“I can tell. Come on, I’ll walk you home.”
She lowered her chin and opened her eyes. “Cole, you don’t have to.”
“I know,” I said, taking her arm again, “but the driveway is slippery and I feel responsible for making sure you get home safe since I made you drink that last glass of wine.”
“That’s true, you did.”
“See? What kind of monster would I be if I left you to stumble home alone through a foot of snow in the dark?”
“The worst kind,” she agreed as we turned up the front walk to her house. “An inconsiderate cad.”
“Exactly.”
“Instead, as always, you are the perfect gentleman, Officer Mitchell,” she said as we climbed the porch steps. “And I am very grateful.”
“I don’t know that I’m the perfect gentleman, but—”
“I do,” she interrupted, turning to face me. “You’ve always been one of the good guys, Cole. It’s just who you are.”
God, she was beautiful. And warm and sweet and close, and I really just wanted to fucking make out with her right here on the porch. Taste her lips once and for all.
That’s it. I’m doing it.
But just as I made up my mind, she placed a hand on my chest, rose up on her toes, and kissed my cheek. “Thanks again for dinner. I had a great time.”
“No problem.” As the scent from her hair—something lush that reminded me of a summer day—filled my head, I shoved my hands in my pockets. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She pulled her keys from her purse and unlocked the door. After stepping inside, she turned and gave me one last smile. “Goodnight.”
“‘Night.” I watched her shut the door, listened to the lock click, and exhaled.
Breathing in gulps of bitter cold air, I walked back home and let myself in the back door. My mother and Mariah had already gone up to bed, but my mom had left a light on for me in the kitchen. I turned it off, made sure the house was locked up, and went upstairs.
Inside my room, I stripped out of my clothes, alternately glad nothing had happened and cursing myself for not making a move when I had the chance.
If only, I thought, stretching out beneath the covers in my boxer briefs.
If only she wasn’t my best friend’s little sister.
If only I didn’t always have to do the right thing.
If only she didn’t think I was such a perfect gentleman.
If only I knew what was going on in her head.
If only I could be sure that she wanted me like I wanted her, with no strings attached, no promises required, maybe I could forget everything else and just make her feel good—make us both feel good—without worrying about the past or the future or anything but right here, right now.
And I could make her feel good. I knew I could. With my hands and my mouth and my cock.
My hand was already sliding down my abdomen when I heard my phone pulse with a text, and I realized I must have forgotten to silence it.
Grabbing it off my nightstand, I checked the screen, half expecting to see a message from God warning me to stop being such a perv and get my mind out of the gutter.
Instead, I saw a text from Cheyenne.
Cheyenne: Thank you again for a perfect evening. It was exactly what I needed.
Me: You’re welcome.
Cheyenne: Well, I’m already in bed, so goodnight!
Me: Night.
For a few minutes, I lay there with the phone in my hand, picturing her lying in bed, wondering if she ever touched herself and what she thought about when she did. My erection grew even thicker and harder, begging for attention.
Suddenly my phone pulsed again, and I looked at the screen.
It was a long message from Cheyenne—and what I saw made my jaw drop.
Something in me snapped.