Make Me Yours: The Bellamy Creek Series Page 8

“Don’t say anything,” I said quietly, terrified he was going to apologize.

  “I need a minute, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  My mind raced as I yanked my panties and T-shirt back on. What were we going to say to each other? Had we just ruined our friendship? How would we get past this?

  A moment later, he was back. “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  “So . . . that was a surprise.”

  “Um. Yes. It was.”

  Silence stretched out between us.

  “I’ve never done that before,” he said.

  I relaxed a little. “Me neither.”

  “I feel like I should apologize, but . . . I’m not sorry.”

  Relief rushed through me. “I’m not sorry either. Embarrassed, but not sorry.”

  “Why are you embarrassed?”

  “Because you were not supposed to see that text,” I whispered as fiercely as I could. “I was never really going to send it.”

  He laughed gently. “I’m glad you did.”

  “You are?”

  “Yes. I was lying here thinking about you in all sorts of inappropriate ways, and feeling terrible about it, and then I saw your message. It made me feel better.”

  “You were thinking about me?” I snuggled down beneath the covers again, happy right down to my toes.

  “Yes.” He paused. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.”

  “Well, as you now know, I’ve been thinking about you a lot since I was thirteen.”

  He laughed again. “Stop.”

  “I’m serious. I’m going to take it as a compliment that I hid it so well you never knew.”

  “I promise you, I never knew. But I wasn’t all that observant back then.”

  “Neither was Griffin, and I think even he knew.”

  “Speaking of your brother . . .”

  “What about him?”

  “I don’t know. I feel weird about—what just happened. Because he’s my best friend. And you’re his sister.”

  “Well, don’t. It’s none of his business.”

  “But back in high school, he made us all promise we’d never touch you.” He must have realized how ridiculous that sounded, because he laughed after he said it.

  “Oh my God.” Shaking my head, I laughed too. “I’m a big girl, Cole. I don’t need Griffin to protect me. And frankly, you were just as protective of me growing up as he was. You were nicer, too.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Cole said, loyal to his best friend.

  “I do. Don’t get me wrong, Griffin is a great guy and I love him to death, but as a kid he used to torment me endlessly. You were always sweet to me.”

  “I thought Griffin was lucky to have a little sister. All I had was a smelly older brother who used to kick the shit out of me.”

  “Same,” I said. “I can’t say Griffin was physically abusive, but he did used to do that thing where he’d pin me down and let drool hang from his mouth over my face and then suck it back in again at the last second. He made armpit noises while I’d practice piano. And he’d leave dead bugs where I’d find them in the bathroom we shared—in the sink, the shower, on the counter by my toothbrush.”

  “What an asshole.”

  “I know. It’s amazing he turned into a decent human being. And for what it’s worth, I don’t really think he’d care about . . . what just happened. It’s not like he’d think you were taking advantage of me or something. For heaven’s sake, I started it.”

  He laughed a little. “You did. But I took it to the next level.”

  “True. But Cole . . .” I took a deep breath and said what needed to be said. “This doesn’t have to change anything. I know we’re just friends.”

  He exhaled. “You have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say that.”

  “It’s the truth. Teenage crush aside, I think what happened tonight was just . . . letting off steam or something.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it was close enough. “We just got carried away.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Maybe it’s the wedding that has us all worked up,” I said, even though I’d been worked up over him my entire life.

  “Maybe.”

  “And the holidays,” I said. “Nothing makes you feel lonelier than pumpkin spice lattés and sweater weather. And wasn’t there a full moon tonight? No wonder we’re acting crazy.”

  There it was again—that low, sexy laugh I wanted to wrap around me like a thick, cozy robe. “It was fun, though.”

  “It was,” I agreed.

  “So we’re okay?”

  “We’re okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  We hung up, and I set my phone on the charger. Curling into a ball beneath the blankets, I lay awake wondering if he was still thinking about me, what it would be like to see him tomorrow, and if it would truly be possible to remain just friends after what we’d done.

  Part of me hoped it would be . . . and part of me hoped it wouldn’t.

  * * *

  My alarm went off at seven.

  For a moment, I was so groggy and disoriented I forgot what day it was, but then I remembered—Thanksgiving. I had to go downstairs and get the pies in the oven.

  I sat up and stretched, my feet hanging off the side of the bed, my arms overhead. And then I remembered something else—Cole. What we’d done. The things we’d said.

  My stomach whooshed, and I put both hands over it. Had it all been real? For a moment, I was scared it had been a dream. I grabbed my phone off the charger and checked my texts.

  And there it was, right there on the screen. The entire night, from my first I’m ready before we’d gone to dinner, to my frantic I won’t be able to type and all the messages in between.

  It had been real.

  In a pleasant, sleepy haze, I tugged on some sweats, put my hair up, and wandered down to the kitchen. My mother, always an early riser, had already made a pot of coffee.

  “Morning,” she said from where she sat at the kitchen table, wrapped in her robe, a Bellamy Creek Garage mug in her hand, a newspaper open in front of her.

  “Morning.” I took a mug from the cupboard that said WAKE UP, TEACH KIDS, BE AWESOME on it and filled it up.

  “How was dinner last night?”

  “Fine.” I took the creamer from the fridge and added a little to my cup.

  “Where’d you go?” She was trying to keep her tone casual, but her eyes had lit up like torches yesterday when I’d come home from the Mitchells’ house and told her Cole and I were going out for dinner. I’d tried to downplay it, even while my heart had done its best to ram right through my rib cage, but I could tell I’d set her wheels spinning.

  “DiFiore’s,” I answered.

  She glanced over at me, her eyes assessing me above the lenses of her reading glasses. “Fancy.”

  “We were in the mood for Italian, that’s all.” I sipped my coffee. “It was very casual, just like I said it would be.”

  “So, not a date?”

  “Not a date.” Just dinner, drinks, and phone sex.

  My mother returned her attention to the newspaper, picking up her mug. “See anyone you knew?”

  “Nope.”

  “How was the food?”

  “Good.”

  “Did Cole pay for dinner?” She didn’t even look at me, as if she wasn’t desperate for my answer. As if it wouldn’t, in her mind, tell her absolutely everything she needed to know.

  “Yes, he did.”

  “So it was a date, then.” Her tone was smug.

  I sighed. “No, Mom. It wasn’t. I told you last night—Cole doesn’t date.”

  She glanced at the ceiling, and I knew what was coming. She did that when she spoke to my late father. “You hear that, Hank? She says it wasn’t a date.” Then she looked at me again. “In our day, you see, we called it a date when a gentleman took a lady out for dinner.” She cocked her head, pretending to be confused. “What does your generation call it?”

  I took anot
her sip and set my cup on the counter. “We call it being friends,” I said, pulling my pie crusts and a brick of cream cheese from the refrigerator. “The end. I think I’m going to make the carrot cupcakes with brown butter icing too.”

  My attempt to change the subject failed. “Don’t be so closed-minded, Cheyenne.” My mother got up from her chair to refill her mug from the pot. “You two could be just right for each other. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. Cole might come with a little bit of baggage, but who doesn’t?”

  “I’m not worried about his baggage, Mom.” I grabbed the bowl from beneath the aqua blue KitchenAid stand mixer, a luxury purchase of mine that pretty much summed up why I struggled to pay off my credit cards every month. The red one had been on sale, but I didn’t want the red one. I wanted the aqua blue.

  “Then what are you worried about?”

  “I’m not worried about anything,” I said, annoyed that she was ruining my good mood. I grabbed the whisk attachment from a drawer and shut it angrily with my hip.

  “Then I don’t understand why you’re not even giving him a chance.”

  Inhaling and exhaling, I felt my nostrils flare as I turned to face her. Maybe the stark truth would shut her up. “If he wanted a chance with me, Mom, I’d give it to him. He doesn’t.”

  “Nonsense,” she said, shooing the idea from the air between us like it was a fly. “Why wouldn’t he?”

  “Because he’s not interested in a relationship.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s a single dad who works twelve-hour days, and every minute of his spare time is for his daughter. She’s his number one priority.” I went over to the fridge and took out the butter and eggs. “He just wants to be friends, and I’m okay with that, so you’ll have to be okay with that too.”

  She sighed heavily. “I know he’s a single father. But he’s still a man.”

  “Drop it, Mom.” I went to the pantry and took out a can of pumpkin.

  “And you’re sure you gave him all the right signals?”

  “I said drop it.”

  “Well, I’m just wondering if maybe he doesn’t know you’re interested. Your romantic history suggests that successful flirtation might not be in your skill set.”

  I had to laugh as I started unwrapping the dough. “And what would your idea of successful flirtation be? Bat my lashes above my handheld fan? Swoon on my fainting couch? Drop my hanky and see if he picks it up?”

  My mother clucked her tongue. “Go on and make fun of my old-fashioned ideas. All I’m saying is that sometimes it takes a little extra effort to get someone to see you differently.”

  “We see each other just fine, Mom.” I gave her a pointed look over one shoulder. “So I don’t want any nonsense today. Are we clear?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she sniffed, looking away from me and sipping her coffee.

  “Yes, you do. And I am being one hundred percent serious about this. Do not make things uncomfortable for me or for Cole. No meddling allowed.”

  She faked a hurt expression. “How could you even think it of me?”

  “Because meddling is your favorite sport.”

  “It is not! Perhaps I do occasionally get involved when I can see things so much clearer from my side of the fence, but that’s not the same thing as meddling.”

  “That is exactly the same thing.” I pulled a rolling pin from a kitchen drawer.

  “Well, I wouldn’t have to do it if I could trust my kids to run their lives as well as I can,” she huffed, setting her empty mug in the sink and breezing past me. “I’m going up to get dressed. And since you’re so busy down here, why don’t you let me choose an outfit for you today?”

  “No. I am perfectly capable of dressing myself, thank you.”

  “Fine.” She gave me one final harrumph before leaving the room. Five seconds later, she poked her head back in again. “But no jeans.”

  “Mom!” I brandished the rolling pin like I might whack her with it.

  “You say no meddling, I say no jeans!” she yelled, disappearing from view once more.

  Alone again, I took a deep breath, set down my rolling pin, and took out my phone.

  Me: Is it too early for whiskey in my coffee?

  Blair: LOL probably. What’s up?

  Me: Come over a little early if you can. I have a story for you.

  Blair: Does it have a happy ending?

  That made me laugh. Actually, yes, I typed. It has two.

  * * *

  “Wait a minute. You did what?” Blair, looking shocked beyond belief, sank onto my bed.

  “I accidentally sexted him after we had dinner last night,” I said, putting on my second gold earring and checking my reflection in the mirror. In the glass, I saw Blair shake her head.

  “I don’t understand how that happens.”

  “I was typing out this fantasy where he arrests me and then things get hot and heavy in the back seat of his cop car, and I hit send by mistake.” I turned sideways, checking to see if my black sweater dress was too short. It was a chunky, off-the-shoulder style that didn’t cling to my curves or anything, but it did show some thigh.

  “Oh my God! Why would you even type it if you weren’t going to send it?”

  “For kicks. I was pretending I was going to send it. It was supposed to be a game.”

  “So he texted back?”

  “Yes. And then he called me.” I didn’t bother swearing her to secrecy—with us, it was understood. Turning to face her, I gestured at my burgundy suede thigh-high boots. “Too sexy for Thanksgiving?”

  “Not at all. Now stop getting ready for a minute and tell me everything before he gets here!”

  Laughing, I leaned back against my dresser and folded my arms. “Let’s just say he was glad I hit send and things ended up getting hot and heavy even though we weren’t in the same room.”

  “Eeeek!” She bounced up and down on my bed. “You and Cole had phone sex!”

  “Shhhhhh!” I glanced at my bedroom door, making sure it was shut. “Be quiet. I don’t want my mother to hear you. She’s been insufferable since I told her Cole paid for dinner last night. Apparently, that makes it a date in her book.”

  “It kind of does. I mean, what else do you call it?”

  “Dinner with a friend.”

  “Even after the phone sex?”

  “Yes. We talked about it afterward, and we agreed—just friends.”

  “And you’re okay with that?”

  I shrugged. “I have to be.”

  Blair pouted as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t love this journey for you.”

  “It’s not really a journey, Blair. It was more of a quick and dirty road trip.”

  “Why’s he being so stubborn?”

  “Because he doesn’t have room in his life for a relationship. His heart belongs to his daughter. He likes being single.”

  “But . . . forever?”

  “I didn’t push him on the timeline. But he told me he’s not interested in getting remarried and he hates the way his mother and his friends get on him about it, or act like they know what’s best for him or for his daughter. I’m not going to be like that.”

  “No, but maybe you could—”

  I cut her off. “Look, don’t feel bad for me. Last night was a dream come true. I spent the evening alone with him, we did the thing on the phone, and I feel closer to him than I ever have before. We talk. We understand each other. It’s enough.”

  She eyeballed me the way only a bestie can. “Is it?”

  I sighed. “Of course not, but at this point in my life, I’m a realist, Blair. I’m thirty, not thirteen. And there’s no point in sitting around mooning over what I can’t have. I’ve been that girl, and it’s no fun.”

  From downstairs, we heard the front doorbell ring.

  “He’s here!” Heart racing, I turned and checked out my reflection one last time.

  Blair laughed as she rose from t
he foot of my bed. “You sure you’re not thirteen?”

  I laughed too, pulling open my bedroom door. “When it comes to Cole, sometimes I wonder.”

  My stomach felt like it was full of bouncing ping-pong balls as I made my way down the steps. Cole’s family was standing in the front hall at the base of the staircase, so first I saw his legs, then his torso, then finally, his face.

  Our eyes met.

  I don’t know what I expected—an awkward moment, I guess—but I was pleasantly surprised by the smile he gave me. It was warm and private, like we shared a new secret.

  Which we did, of course.

  The heat of his gaze and the memory of his voice in my ear rendered me motionless, and I stopped before reaching the bottom.

  Blair promptly bumped into me from behind, and I heard her laugh, whispering quietly. “Just friends. Right.”

  Seven

  Cole

  My eyes about popped out of my head as she came down the stairs.

  Her hair was all tucked up into some kind of nest on the top of her head, with loose strands falling around her face. Like a ballerina fresh from a hurricane. Her shoulders were bare, and her eyes captivated mine with the secret we shared. Her full lips were colored scarlet again, and those boots—those boots should have been illegal.

  I felt tongue-tied as I greeted her, and I’m pretty sure everyone noticed the way I couldn’t stop staring.

  Just friends, I reminded myself as she gave me a hug and I inhaled the scent of her perfume.

  Just friends, I reminded myself as I sipped bourbon and mentally undressed her in the living room over hors d’oeuvres.

  Just friends, I reminded myself as Mariah excitedly showed us to our places at the table and I discovered Cheyenne would be seated right next to me.

  Everyone sat down in the dining room, and Cheyenne poured wine for those who wanted it. Griffin carried the platter of turkey to the table, which was already laden with vegetables, rolls, sauces, and condiments. Mrs. Dempsey removed her apron and dimmed the overhead lights. Candles in tall holders flickered on the table.

  “This looks incredible, Darlene,” said my mother from one end of the table. “Thank you so much for having us.”