Shaking my head, leaning against the railing, looking out toward the ocean, I try to find the right words. “A part of me has been thinking about what it would be like to have something with her.” Hell, every single night that she’d spent at my place, that she’d spent in my arms, in my bed, I’d wondered about it. “But you and I both know…”
“That’s a cop-out.” Mac’s tone is firm. “You know that, deep down. You need to let go of what happened out there in that fucking desert. It’s past time to move on, Fos.”
I let out a mirthless laugh at his words. “I want to let it go, man.” Turning to face him, my eyes meet his. “It’s the shit that won’t let go of me.”
“Maybe you need to … talk to someone?” His tone is tentative, and I know why. Even though he’s one of my closest friends, not to mention someone who understands what I’ve been through, I hate the idea of talking to a psychiatrist—hate the idea of someone poking and prodding into my mind.
But maybe it’s time I come to the realization that I need something to help me finally leave the past behind.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Noelle
It sounds crazy, but I swear I sense the moment Foster arrives, know the moment he stepped out onto the deck.
Okay, so it may have helped to have his sister hiss, singsong style, in my ear, “My brother’s heeeeerrrrreee. And he’s eye fucking the hell out of you.”
Dear God. I don’t even want to know what must go on in her and Zach’s bedroom because this woman is the biggest horndog this side of the Mason-Dixon line.
“Laney,” Raine scolds with a short laugh. “Good grief. Leave her alone.”
My eyes drift over to where he’s standing talking with Mac, and I wonder what they’re discussing, what topic of conversation has them looking so serious.
“I know that look.” Laney’s eyeing me with a knowing expression. “You did the deed with him.”
My eyes widen. I thought we’d been pretty good at flying under the radar. Wrinkling my nose, I attempt a quick, covert glance to assure Foster is still across the deck with Mac before answering slowly, “Noooo.”
“Which means yes.” Laney pumps her fist in the air. “I knew it.”
Raine gives her a look before turning back to me. “What happens now?”
“She becomes my sister-in-law is what happens next.”
I gawk at Laney. “Seriously, Laney. You need to chill. I don’t see that happening. Like, at all.”
“Why not?” Raine’s green eyes peer at me curiously.
My lips part, then shut because I’m unsure of how to answer. Finally, I let out a long sigh, my voice subdued. “I know how it is with him. He’s not interested in anything permanent. We all know that.”
My eyes flicker over each woman’s expression, coming to rest on Raine. She gives me pause because she’s always one to give the more thoughtful responses whenever one of us brings up a serious topic.
“Just remember,” she says softly, her long, dark hair falling over her shoulder as her head tips to the side, “you only lose by holding back. Not by loving.”
We all fall silent for a beat before Laney pipes up. “Or you can just sex him up so good he doesn’t think of anything but putting that P on lockdown.”
Slapping my hands over my face, I groan. “Laney.”
“And this next song goes out to a special someone.” Kane’s voice booms from the center of the deck where he and a few of the other men are seated with their guitars. “A little birdie told me it’s a certain someone’s favorite song. But we’re going to need Noelle’s help over here.”
I give Kane my best squinty-eyed look, warning him about screwing with me. Which does nothing, of course. As I move to take the chair they’ve pulled up beside them, it’s all I can do not to pull a Momma K. move and hit Kane upside the head. Because the song they start strumming is one I recognize. An eighties song by Atlantic Starr.
“Secret Lovers.”
Now, don’t get me wrong, I love this song. Kane’s shit-eating grin subsides as he joins me in singing the chorus and I lose myself in the song. Watching as the other couples start slow dancing, I try to avoid catching Foster’s gaze.
And fail miserably.
The moment our eyes meet, it’s like I’m burning on the inside from the intensity of his gaze. When the corners of his lips tip up, I can’t resist returning the tiny smile. And when the song ends, the guys thank me before starting to play another slow one. Before I can return to where I was seated, Foster’s hand stops me, his fingers lightly grasping my wrist.
My eyes raise to his in question and he tips his head in the direction of where the others are swaying.
“Dance with me?” I swear his words have what sounds like a tinge of uncertainty to them.
Nodding, I offer a quick, “Sure,” and allow him to lead me onto the designated dance floor. With the faint ocean breeze washing over us, the soothing sound of the acoustic guitars, as well as Miller and Kane’s voices, I allow myself to relax in Foster’s embrace as we sway to the music.
“Your voice is beautiful. As always.” His voice is low, husky, his lips close to my ear, his breath making me shiver.
“Are you cold?”
“No. Just a chill.”