“You pick.” I nudged Bailey.
“Huh?” She snapped out of her daze, glancing over at the bottles on display: mango, pink lemonade, strawberry, watermelon. “Um…strawberry?” she squeaked, cheeks turning pink. Adorable.
The salesclerk tossed a tiny sample bottle into the bag and slid it across the counter. Bailey grabbed it, which I took as a massive win.
“Next time, I’ll pack sunglasses and a hat for you,” I said, throwing an arm over her shoulders and kissing the top of her head as we headed for the door. “You can go incognito.”
“Oh my god, no.” She glanced up at me. “Next time we’re ordering online.”
“So you’re open to expanding your toy collection down the road?”
Bailey laughed. “Never change, Carter.”
“You wanna swing by the handcuffs on the way out, or…?”
“I’m good,” she said. “Maybe next time.”
Wait, what?
I turned to look at her. “Really?”
“I said maybe.”
Pushing the door open, I held it for her, and we headed back outside into the chilly fall air. The weather had taken a turn, reminding us that winter was imminent.
“Food time?” My truck beeped from afar as I hit the remote start, the engine roaring to life.
“Yeah,” she said. “I’m starving.”
I guided her to the passenger-side door and backed her up against it. My hands found her waist and I leaned in, kissing her quickly. Had to keep it brief because I was already too worked up for my own good. Plus, she smelled delicious, like vanilla and Bailey. Good enough to eat. Literally.
Hmm. Maybe we could skip that meal.
We pulled apart and I studied her face. “What are you in the mood for?”
“I’m not sure.” She shrugged, lips quirking. “What about you?”
Opening that box and test driving the toy, but I wasn’t going to push my luck. She could take it home, and we’d see how that went. Fingers crossed.
“You,” I said. “Sitting on my face.”
Her eyes widened, and she looked over my shoulder, then back at me. “Carter.” She gave me a look. “We’re in public.”
“Technically, we’re in a parking lot. And I didn’t mean here. Just, you know, later.”
I opened the door and shut it behind her before walking around to the driver’s side.
“What’s the over/under on the timeline for opening that box?” I put the truck into reverse and backed out.
“I don’t know,” Bailey said evasively. “Depends on lots of things.”
I stole a glance at her. “I give it four days, max.”
My real bet was two, but I was being conservative.
“Aren’t you optimistic?”
“Always,” I said. “Gonna tell me when you do?”
Her expression shifted, a mixture of self-conscious and mischievous. “You want me to?”
“Hell, yeah.”
Ideally, I wanted a play-by-play, pictures, video. A highly detailed review. But I’d settle for knowing. My imagination could do the rest.
She grinned. “We’ll see.”
OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER 35
OceanofPDF.com
AN EXCUSE
Chase
On the drive to dinner, I managed to pull my mind out of the gutter enough to be out in public without risking arrest. As long as I didn’t let my thoughts circle back to the errand we just completed.
That part took some self-control.
I ordered for both of us and handed the server the menus. We’d gotten a whack load of appetizers instead of meals—chicken wings, spinach-artichoke dip, pulled pork sliders, the works. Bailey was the opposite of picky, which complemented my less adventurous palate nicely. A.k.a., she let me pick all the food. She was the best.
“I meant to ask,” I said. “Are you going home for Thanksgiving?”
“Still have to decide with Derek and my parents.” Bailey pursed her lips. Her black sweater slid off her shoulder a little, revealing a glimpse of black bra strap underneath. I had to consciously clamp down on the thought spiral as she adjusted her neckline. “But I’ll probably wait until Christmas. It’s too expensive to fly home for both holidays.”
“My mom’s place is only an hour away. If you don’t leave, I’m dragging you home with me. Just FYI.”
“Really?” Her face brightened. “You’d want me to come?”
“Of course. I’d never let you spend a holiday alone.” Was that even a question? “Plus, then you can meet my dysfunctional family.”
Kidding not kidding on the dysfunctional part.
“I’m sure they’re not that bad.”
I grimaced. “You might want to temper those expectations. My mom’s fine, and my younger sister, Seraphina, is cool. But in the interest of full disclosure, my stepdad, Rick, is kind of a douche. Neither my sister nor I get along with him.”
Rick didn’t respect professional sports as a valid career path and made no attempt to hide it. I guess it wasn’t fancy enough for his snotty CPA ass. Too bad I would rather fucking die than stare at spreadsheets behind a desk all day.
Similarly, Rick thought Seraphina was a bit of an airhead and treated her accordingly, which pushed Sera’s buttons, as well as mine.
Then there was my mom, who ran around like a chicken with her head cut off, trying to referee between all three parties. She was too soft-spoken to have much impact in that regard. Her quiet tsks and pleas to “be nice” did little.
Though having Bailey there as a buffer might be a good thing. Rick was probably less inclined to make his snide, passive-aggressive comments in the presence of outside company.
“Why don’t you two get along?” Bailey took a sip of her ice water, studying my face.
Too many reasons to list.
“It’s a long story.”
“We have time,” she said, raising her blond eyebrows. “If you want to tell me.”
I shifted my weight in the booth, suddenly uncomfortable on every level. My big mouth strikes again. I’d brought it up in the first place. Might as well clear the air about some of those family skeletons.
The server returned, setting down our plates of food. I waited for her to finish before continuing.
“It goes back to when my dad died, ten years ago.”
“Oh, gosh. You were so young.” Bailey’s hazel eyes brimmed with sympathy. “I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for all of you.”
Breaking eye contact, I grabbed a slider and set it on my plate, giving myself a moment. While her intentions were pure, this was why I had dragged my feet on bringing this up—I hated the way people reacted. Being on the receiving end of pity never sat well with me. Although it shouldn’t, it made me feel weak.
“Yeah, well …” I kept my gaze fixed on my pint of beer. “It was a helicopter crash. I meant to tell you about it sooner. Just hard to slip that one into casual conversation.”
A sudden wave of guilt hit me. In addition to avoiding my dad as a topic of conversation, I avoided memories associated with him too. I had tons of his photos and NHL memorabilia at my mom’s house. They should have been displayed in my bedroom, but it was too hard to look at it all every day.
Maybe I was weak.
Bailey reached across the table, taking my hand in hers. Being comforted by someone felt unfamiliar, but surprisingly, I didn’t hate it. Probably because it was different with her. Everything was different with her.
“He was in Jersey, trying to make it back for my hockey game in Connecticut with his friend’s private helicopter,” I added. “His friend had an experienced pilot, but they hit an unexpected storm, and that was it. Chopper went down, and all that was left was the black box.”
Followed by a swarm of predatory reporters climbing all over the crash site. I still hated the fucking press. That would probably become an issue someday when I had to actually talk to them.