All of You, page 5
She freezes, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. “Oh, I didn’t think about that. Do you think we need to call her?”
We never talked about her family—what or if she’s told any of them about the panic attack. Judging from her reaction, my guess is no.
“Ah, Matt…if it’s okay with you, I’d like to wait on telling Pippa I’m here.”
I nod, casually smiling and hopefully conveying it doesn’t matter to me. She visibly relaxes.
“Sure. Whatever. You stay, relax. I’ll clean up.”
“No, let me help. If we’re going to be housemates for the next few days, the least I can do is help.”
We clean up the little that’s left from our meal prep, working well together, and I smile like a goof throughout the chore.
I may have wanted to be alone this week. I still have a lot of thinking to do and a big decision at the end of it all. Not to mention dealing with my father.
But unlike my friend and assistant’s unexpected drop-in, Claire’s arrival is a welcome surprise. Suddenly this week got a whole lot more promising.
The next morning, I’m halfway down the stairs when the aroma of freshly brewed coffee hits my nostrils and I quicken my pace. Britney’s bedroom door is shut so Claire must be the coffee fairy.
Last night, after we cleaned up, she read in the nook on one side of the fireplace and I watched an old football game. At ten, she called it a night, and I went up shortly after that.
Britney never resurfaced, not even for dinner, and while it made for a peaceful night, I felt compelled to check in on her before bed. She was fast asleep, which is so strange since she’s a night owl.
At the threshold to the kitchen, I almost trip over my feet. Claire’s at the sink, her back to me, washing dishes. She’s muttering, and it’s unclear if she’s singing or talking to herself.
It doesn’t matter. My heart thumps, violently knocking against my ribcage, and my cock strains against my jeans. Thank fuck I didn’t waltz down here in my boxers like I almost did. Otherwise, there’d be no hiding my boner.
I can’t tell if she’s wearing anything but underwear and a slinky peach-colored tank top with the thinnest straps ever resting atop her shoulders. Every curve of her banging body is on display.
After several blinks, I notice her tiny shorts, the tiniest shorts I’ve ever seen, peeking from under the hem of her tank. They might as well be panties.
She’s of average height, five feet six or so, well shorter than my six feet three, but her legs go on for miles. In those shorts, she’s damn near lethal. She could give a man a heart attack with one look at her sweet ass, lean toned thighs, and calves.
When she turns to look at me, with her hair up in a messy bun and random locks softly falling around her pretty face, my breath hitches. Shamelessly, I survey her body from head to toe, unable to take my eyes off her plump tits. The way the thin slip of a top clings to her perky mounds makes me envious. Oh, to be that silky fabric.
“Matt. Morning.” Soapy suds drip from her wet hands, some of it soaking into her top, making it almost translucent.
The points of her dusky-pink nipples emerge, pebbling against the now damp material.
Sweet mother of God. Help me.
As if I’m touching her, my hand glides across my bare chest and the slightest graze of my thumb across my nipple causes my cock to twitch. I should look away. It isn’t right to eye fuck her like this, but how can I not? She’s fucking exquisite, and I can’t help myself.
My tongue licks along my bottom lip, imagining how sweet her hard buds would taste. Before I do something I’ll regret, my top teeth cut into my lower lip as if it’s her flesh and the sensation brings a small amount of pain and sanity.
She clears her throat, slanting her head to one side, puzzled. Dammit. The most attractive thing about her is how oblivious she is to her beauty, or the effect she has on me.
“Morning.” My voice croaks like a frog, and I force my gaze to my feet.
The cool dampness must hit her flesh because she jumps, causing my eyes to gravitate toward her once more. Her head snaps down to her shirt and her wet predicament, and her arm flies across her body, covering her boobs.
I’m once again forced to look at anything but her until she opens her mouth to speak.
“Shit.” Face free of makeup, a rose-red blush colors her cheeks, and she mashes her lips together.
“Ah, sorry.” I turn to the coffee maker. “Is it okay if I make a cup? Do you want one?”
“No. I’ll make my own,” she snaps, busying herself with wiping down the counter.
I must take too long with the coffee because her foot taps impatiently as she waits for me. Once I’m out of the way, she fixes a mug.
“Did you sleep okay?” I cautiously take a sip, welcoming the nutty bitterness of the dark brew.
“Fine.” The spoon clanks onto the counter. “The kitchen was a mess when I came down this morning.”
“What? It was spotless when I went to bed.”
Only one word, or more like one person, comes to mind. Britney. She must have come down in the middle of the night, hungry, and didn’t clean up after herself.
“Shit, it must have been—”
“Britney.” Her head bobs violently, and my neck hurts from the force of it.
Before I can reassure her that I’ll talk to Brit, Claire’s out of the kitchen. “Tell your girlfriend this isn’t the Ritz, and I’m not housekeeping.”
“Um, she isn’t—” I stride after her, trying to catch up and set her straight, tell her that Brit and I are only friends. But Claire’s gone.
7
Matt
For most of the day, Claire keeps to herself, only making an appearance around dinner time. While I start the grill for the baked potatoes and steaks, she works alongside me, making a salad and fresh bread.
She wasn’t kidding. This woman really does like to cook and bake. The warm homey scent of rising yeast fills the house, bringing Britney down well before dinner is ready—not to help, but to make sure she’s the first to snag a piece of the bread.
Dinner is good, and the three of us do little talking, all of us hungry.
“I’m full.” Claire swipes the napkin across her mouth. “That was good.”
“Glad you liked it and thank you for your help. The bread was amazing.” I stare at the crumbs left in the basket before raising my glass of water toward her. “We make a good team.”
She picks up hers and our glasses clink while Britney huffs beside me. “Please tell me there’s something more to do around here than watch movies.”
“You know what we could do—” I place my knife onto the plate, done with my meal.
“No.” My friend points a finger at me, narrowing her gaze. “We’re not watching Landing You. I hate K-drama.” The face she makes is near comical, and I press my lips together to contain my laughter.
“First of all, it’s Crash Landing On You.” I can’t help but enjoy correcting her. She does it deliberately—gets the name wrong—to annoy me. “And since there’s three of us, the majority rules. Claire should have a say.”
It might be unfair to put her on the spot like this, and the jagged edges of guilt poke at my chest as her blonde hair falls forward with the slight tilt of her head. Claire massages the back of her neck. She’s uncomfortable, and it isn’t clear what’s causing her discomfort—the conversation or us?
“What? I’m not—” Her expression’s puzzled.
“Do you like K-drama?” Britney pushes her almost full plate of food into the middle of the table.
“K what?” Claire’s brow furrows, and we might as well be speaking a foreign language.
“Korean drama.” I stand from the table, our plates stacked in one hand. “They’re like a limited TV series in Korean and highly addictive.”
Britney rolls her eyes and scrunches her face again, this time in disgust. “Addictive? Well, I guess, if you like waterboarding or sticking bamboo under your fingernails. More like painful to watch.”
“Sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have a lot of time for much, definitely not TV or movies.” Claire brushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “The last movie I saw was The Hunger Games in the theaters.”
“What?” Britney gawks. “Wow. You really are sheltered.”
Claire flinches at the insult, and a deep growl releases from my mouth while I glare at the insensitive woman. Sometimes I wonder why Brit and I are friends.
Refusing to look at me, Britney tunnels ahead, “As much as you’ve got a lot of catching up to do, I just can’t stay in and watch another movie. And I’m not doing K-drama. Nuh-uh.”
“Says the one who’s been on the couch all day, watching movies.” I’m not passing on the opportunity to point out her hypocrisy.
With the plates now in the dishwasher, I close the door and lean against the appliance, crossing my arms over my chest.
My friend ignores me, focusing on Claire. “Is there some place we could go? Like is there nightlife around here?”
“There’s a lot to do if you like the outdoors. Usually, our days here are filled with activities like skating, snowshoeing, you name it. At night, well, in the winter, it’s great to sit and relax by the fire.”
Britney scoffs, shaking her head at every word out of Claire’s mouth.
“That sounds amazing to me,” I say, nodding in approval.
“Um, I guess instead of staying in, there’s The Boathouse.” Claire looks from me to Britney. “It’s a local bar, but I’m not sure it’s open.”
“Yes.” Britney’s halfway out of the kitchen when she pauses. “I’m going to get ready. We’re leaving in an hour.” And she’s gone.
Claire glances from the empty doorway to me, and it’s clear she’s still lost. “Is she always like this?”
“What? Only thinks about what she wants and expects everyone to fall in line?” I study Claire and she pushes a hand through her hair, nodding. “Yup, I’d say so.”
The Boathouse isn’t far and after Claire confirms it’s open, we get ready. I’m fine with staying in, but it’ll be a nice change to get out. When we get there a while later, we snag a table in the middle of the well-worn space.
It isn’t really a boathouse, just a bar, but it has a warm and easygoing atmosphere with kayaks and paddles hanging on the wooden walls. A small counter, waist high, juts out from the walls and runs along the perimeter of the room. There are about a dozen tables on one side of the room and a small dance floor and stage—if you can even call it that—on the other side.
According to Claire, tonight isn’t busy. At this time of year, its patrons are locals, mainly men, with the city folk only invading the town during the warmer, summer months.
I return to our table with drinks. None of us opted for alcohol, and I did a double take when Britney asked for water. She’s a party girl, and it’s so unlike her.
“How come you’re here alone?” The question is for Claire and while Brit asked it, she stares at her phone like a mirror more interested in her image than a response.
Her fingers fluff and play with her blonde hair until she’s satisfied—I can’t tell the difference—and she angles the phone just so, making sure to capture the tables of men behind her.
Britney plasters on a big fake smile as if she’s having the time of her life and click, she takes a selfie. I wonder if it’s all for Kai in case he’s checking her Instagram feed. I doubt the guy has ever looked at her account, but I’m not telling her that.
“Did you know people are five times more likely to be killed taking a selfie than by being attacked by a shark?” Claire deadpans, wearing a concerned expression without any hint of malice.
I chuckle, loving the random fact. “Wow. I didn’t know that. Is it because people do dumbass things like backing up toward a frozen lake when trying to get a shot?”
My specific example is real. Britney did that very thing the first day she arrived. I had to haul her away from the edge before she fell onto the ice and who knows what would have happened.
Brit scoffs, mouth agape and horrified. “Why would you say that?” She waves her hand at both of us as if she has neither the time nor patience for us and slams her phone onto the table. “Like I asked, why are you here alone?”
Her sharp gaze pins Claire, and this time the question is more vicious, laced with retaliation. But for what? I just don’t get it. I stiffen, at the ready if I need to stop whatever this is.
“What do you mean?” Claire sips her cranberry and soda, and I’m unsure if she’s oblivious to Britney’s intent or if she doesn’t care. I’m hoping it’s the latter.
Brit rolls her eyes, annoyed she has to explain. “Why didn’t you come with your boyfriend?”
“I don’t have a boyfriend,”—the glass clanks onto the table despite the Kings of Leon wailing in the background—“and this isn’t a vacation.” She’s defensive and because I’m aware of her situation, it’s clear she’s hiding something.
“Ooh. No boyfriend. Excellent.” A sly grin eats at Britney’s face, and she vaults from the table as if she has a destination in mind.
Claire swivels in her chair, tracking the woman across the room. “What’s she doing?”
We watch as Britney strikes up a conversation with a man our age or maybe a bit older. Nursing a beer, the guy’s tall and lanky with light brown hair and a day’s worth of stubble. He’s wearing a Roots sweatshirt and jeans and at first is not interested in listening to my persistent friend.
“I’ve long since stopped trying to figure her out.”
Britney’s pointing at us, and the guy’s shaking his head then he stops, gaze fixed on Claire. Instantly, a knot of unease forms in my gut. What the hell is she up to?
“How long have you two known each other?” Her question pulls my attention away from my friend.
“Um, since we were kids.” Elbows on the table, I stare at her, enraptured by the cool invitation of her sky-blue eyes. Her gaze deepens and warms as the indigo flecks, near purple, bloom and twinkle. “She’s my sister’s best friend.”
“And how long have you two—”
“Hey, Claire, this is Seth.” Britney motions to the guy next to her, the very one she approached not too long ago, and he extends his hand in greeting. He’s grinning like the cat who ate the canary.
My friend smiles smugly, like her work is done, flicking her hair off her shoulder before scooting her chair closer to me. Glowering, I will her to look at me. She doesn’t. Brit knows better. I have little to no tolerance for her games and that’s exactly what this is.
“Um, hi?” It’s a question when it should be a statement, and a pink flush creeps along Claire’s creamy cheeks as she timidly shakes his hand.
“Hi. Nice to meet you.” Seth doesn’t sit, still clutching Claire’s hand firmly in his grasp. “Do you want to dance?”
Big eyes dart from the man to the dance floor, barely touching on me before her gaze stops on their joined hands.
“Well, I…” Light brown lashes flutter and her plump lips quiver. “Um, sure.” Despite agreement, her expression is anything but certain as she stands.
Britney squeals, piercing my eardrums, and I growl while she claps her hands together. I stare hard at Claire and Seth while they make their way to the dance floor. “What the hell was that?” I lean toward her, ensuring she can’t miss my foul mood.
“Oh, relax. She needs to loosen up and have some fun. That’s all I was doing, finding her some fun.”
“Ever think that isn’t her idea of fun?” Reluctantly, I glance to where Claire’s in the arms of a stranger.
“Crimson and Clover” fills the bar, and I suddenly hate this song. Why couldn’t the song be something faster so they weren’t so close to each other? Like the last one they played, “Blister in the Sun.”
The music is all over the place in this joint, and my fists curl while I contemplate going over there and breaking them up.
Brit pats my cheek and sighs like she’s letting me down easy. “Matty, she isn’t your type.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I don’t bother to look at her.
My insides are a mess, and I’m failing to quiet the unsettled sensation churning in my gut. Claire isn’t mine. Never has been and never will be. Yet it kills me to see her in the arms of another man.
“Matty, don’t deny it. You’re sweet on her and I get it.” Her grin irks me and I snarl in response, only eliciting a giggle from the far too bubbly blonde beside me.
Britney continues to yammer, and my attention slides across the room to the couple dancing as the song finally ends. I’m too far away to even guess at their conversation, but considering Claire’s body language, she’s trying to remove herself from the man’s arms.
She clearly no longer wants to dance, but the knucklehead suddenly needs a class in nonverbal communication. Do I need to teach Seth the meaning of the word no?
“Screw this.” Standing, I grab my jacket and stride toward the dance floor, deliberately ignoring Britney’s calls.
8
Claire
Seth keeps a fair distance from me, and while I’d prefer to not be dancing, I didn’t have the heart to turn him down. Not in front of Matt and Britney.
Most guys assume all the risk when it comes to dating and the like, making the first move with a fifty-fifty chance of getting shot down. It can be a hit to the ego. I couldn’t be the one to deliver the blow.
Although, this little outing makes me the one taking a hit to the ego. Britney wanted to get rid of me. Fair enough.
Nobody likes a third wheel, least of all me for being said third wheel. I should have stayed at the cottage and let them go out alone. A quiet night to myself is what I need. It’s why I came here in the first place—to figure out what to do.
I spent all day in my head, walking the woods, ignoring texts from Ellis and others in the residency program, all of them asking me where I was. But I’m no more decided on what to do than when I got here a day ago.
