I pull into Slate’s garage, my heart thumping. After the door closes behind me, my car door opens and he pulls me out, wrapping me in his arms. I inhale the best scent in the entire universe, and all my doubts fizzle away. His lips seize mine, diffusing my anger like he just doused it with water. How is it possible I’ve forgotten how amazing his lips are? He releases me, and I try to regain my bearings.
Stay strong, Kaley. Remember where his lips were last night.
“This looks like a little more than a tune-up,” he says, leaning back to admire the Chevelle.
I groan. “Um, yeah. It was a surprise.”
“From your dad?”
“Not exactly. I mean, he was in on it, but it was Tommy,” I say, mumbling Tommy’s name.
“Really . . .” His brows rise. “Hmm.” He presses his lips together, sliding his fingertips over the sleek exterior.
“Yeah,” I say. “His dad owns a shop and he and the crew rebuilt the engine. And painted it, obviously.”
He walks to the front of my car and steps back, leaning on his workbench. “Hmm,” he says, rubbing his jaw.
“It was sort of an apology gift. I guess.”
He crosses his arms, his eyes locked onto the Chevelle. “Interesting.” Heavy silence falls over us as I watch him stare at the car. His voice is careful. “Did you forgive him?”
I shift my stance. “Kind of . . .”
His eyes flick to mine. They feel lethal.
“But uh . . . I-I basically told him that I didn’t love him and that he should move on.”
“Ouch,” he replies, unable to shield a delighted smirk. He walks to the other side of my car, lifting my bag out of the passenger seat. “Let’s start our night, shall we?”
Spit it out, Kaley. Do it now.
“Okay,” I say.
Fool!
I follow him into the house. I’ve missed this place so much; it feels like months since I’ve been here. I still don’t understand how he can decorate so well and be a math teacher. How is he so perfect at everything?
Like a perfect liar?
He leads me down the hall and sets my bag at the foot of his bed while I lean in the doorframe—suddenly, I’m not feeling so bold. He stands facing me in his sensual bedroom, wearing a relaxed pair of jeans and a white button-down shirt—but knowing him, I’m sure the simple ensemble cost a small fortune.
He tilts his head. “You okay?”
I give a tight nod, but can’t muster a smile.
“I wanted to relax in the spa tonight. You interested?”
I realize I’ve never even seen his backyard.
“Sure,” I say quietly.
“Let’s go then.”
“Now?” I consider dashing back out to the garage to the safety of my car.
He gives me a crooked smile, and my knees almost buckle. Why does he have to be so devastatingly handsome?
“Yeah, is that okay?”
I nod.
Confront him!
He kisses me on the side of the head and exits the room.
Exactly where he kissed her last night. Suddenly, all I can think about is the harem of women that must traipse through this house every weekend. Women who he kisses “sweetly” in the same spot. Women who use the pink hairdryer under his sink . . .
Where the hell is my willpower?
I close the bedroom door and try to stay calm. How did this happen? I haven’t even confronted him yet, and he already has me changing into my bikini. I’m putty in his hands . . .
I bet all the girls are.
I toss my hair into a messy bun and give myself a once-over in the mirror. When I wore this suit at Coach Miller’s house, I had purposely chosen a boring one, and I’m surprised Elijah requested an encore. Just as I’m about to leave the room, I realize I didn’t bring a cover-up, or a towel or anything. I check his bathroom, but only see one used towel hanging on a hook. I feel myself start to panic. I didn’t take much care in what I packed because I didn’t really think I’d be getting into my bikini tonight. I pause at the bedroom door.
Just go out there. He’s pretty much seen it all, already.
My mind goes to Blonde Bitch, and my stomach rolls. I cringe at the thought of him comparing my body to hers. I force the air out of my lungs and open the door.
I inch down the hallway and find him leaning against the kitchen counter, staring at his phone, his thumbs moving swiftly across the screen. He has on a pair of swimming shorts, showing off a body that would make even a Greek god jealous, but all I can think about is who he’s texting.
When he lifts his gaze, his eyes greedily soak in my appearance. “Finally, I get that bikini all to myself.”
A shiver runs down my back. A comment like that would’ve flattered me a couple weeks ago, but now it feels like nothing more than a cheap line he uses on every girl—I no longer feel special.
I feel played.
He wraps my hand in his and leads me outside to a serene little oasis. There’s a moderately sized in-ground pool in the corner of his yard, with a spa attached, adorned with beautiful rockery and white oleander flowers. It’s a quaint backyard, with manicured trees providing privacy from the neighbors. There’s even a string of small twinkle lights along the covered porch area, giving off soft lighting.
“It’s really lovely back here,” I say in awe.
He steps into the spa and faces me. “It’s even lovelier now.” He winks at me and holds out his hand. I swallow down the disobedient flutters swarming inside of me, and I place my hand into his, stepping into the warm, silky water.
I wonder if he realizes how kind he is with the small things. Is it just the way he is? Or is it a game? He always carries my bag, opens my doors, and now he’s assisting me into the spa. I’ve never experienced such gallantry with a high school boy. It’s hard not to be captivated by him, but now I’m just curious about why he’s so good at this.
I sink into the relaxing water. “You keep your spa at a nice temperature.”
He chuckles. “Yeah. I don’t like it when it’s blistering hot. I prefer bath water.” He sits across from me and leans back, resting his brawny arms on the ledge. His face becomes serious as he regards me. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
I surrender my hands in the air and groan. “Do I seriously wear my emotions on my sleeve? I feel like everyone can read me like a book.”
He smirks. “You’re a little expressive, yes. But I like it.”
I exhale and look at him. This is the last place I want to bring up Blonde Bitch. I hate the idea of having to storm off in a bikini, sopping wet, but this is it. It’s now or never.
“Where were you last night?” I blurt out.
He cocks his head. “Why?”
Strike one, Mr. Slate.
“I’m just wondering. Am I not allowed to ask that question? Or is that against your rules?”
Careful, Kaley. Play it cool.
“You can ask me anything.” His expression is unreadable. “Mastro’s. In Scottsdale.”
He catches me off guard with the truth, and I play with the jet stream as I ponder what to say next—I don’t want to sound foolish.
I stare at the bubbling water and burst out with it. “I saw you last night with Blonde Bit—er, the blonde girl—woman! Whatever.” I can’t bring myself to look at him, so I keep talking. “The one that came to one of your baseball games. I just want to know the truth, okay? I’m not some ditzy little high school chick who’s cool with getting played. That’s not me.” I feel a sense of release when I’m finished. I wait for him to reply, but he never does, and I finally peer up at him.
He’s grinning at me.
Oh, he’s much too good at this.
“What?” I snap.
“Come here, baby.”
Unsolicited butterflies flitter around in my chest.
“No, Slate,” I say, ignoring his charm. “Just tell me.”
“Okay.” He sighs, and I brace myself for his explanation.
“Her name is Audrey,” he says evenly.
His admission is a blow to my stomach, smashing the butterflies into smithereens, practically knocking the wind out of me, and I drop my gaze.
“Audrey Slate,” he adds.
My head snaps up.
“She’s your wife?”
He belts out a laugh.
“No, Kaley . . . she’s my sister.”
What?
My ears start to pound. If this is true, I look like a moron. If it’s not true, it’s the lamest lie that’s ever been told in the history of the free world. I don’t know which to believe.
“That didn’t look like your sister,” I say.
He stretches an arm out to me. “Come here, baby.”
“No!” I shout.
His eyes widen at my reaction.
“I’m sorry, but you two looked . . .”
“What?”
I shrug my shoulders, unable to meet his eyes.
“I wasn’t even sitting next to her, Kaley, I don’t know why you jumped to that.”
“What do you mean you weren’t sitting next to her?”
“My brother was between us.”
“Your . . .” I blink at him. “I didn’t see your brother.”
“Who did you see then?”
“You! And The Blonde! Your arms were wrapped around each other. You were laughing with the manager. It was just the two of you. And I watched you leave! I saw you open the door for her and get into her Mercedes and . . . leave with her.”