Borrowing Bentley (Wishing Well Texas Book 9) Page 5

  “I’m fine, sis.” I kissed her on the top of her head. “We’d better get to it. If we’re late you know Mama will blame you and not me,” I teased.

  It was a running joke that I was my mama’s favorite. The twins were Daddy’s favorite. As for Brady, he was no one’s favorite.

  Liv slapped my stomach and I exaggerated my reaction, like she’d really hurt me. She laughed and I knew that, even if it was temporary, I’d put her mind at ease.

  It was clear that she was worried about me. I wanted to tell her that I was seeing Dr. Marsh. I knew that she would feel better if I did. But for some reason, I kept my mouth shut. I wanted to keep that to myself.

  Soon, things would be back to normal. I’d be back on the job, and she wouldn’t have anything to worry about.

  If I survived the next few weeks with Maisy, anyway. And that was a big if.

  Chapter 7

  Maisy

  “Ya know you’ve found the right one when ya want to rip his clothes off and don’t mind doin’ his laundry afterwards.”

  ~ Granny Turner

  My vision blurred as I reread the spreadsheet on my screen. I’d been staring at these numbers for the past few hours and I still couldn’t make heads or tails of them.

  I was doing my level best to understand, but it felt like trying to read another language–one that I didn’t know and wasn’t sure who could interpret. I’d been a straight A honor student, and most of the time school had come easy for me. But I’d always struggled when it came to numbers.

  Finding out that Bentley had a degree in forensic accounting should’ve had me jumping for joy, but since he cheated off me in every class we’d ever had together (except P.E.), I was less than enthusiastic about what he’d bring to our team of two.

  I had a sneaking suspicion that this was going to be Home Ec all over again.

  In a sick twist of fate, we’d been paired up during the “baby assignment” during our senior year of high school, where we were given a robotic doll that we had to care for. It was about a month after the hallway incident and I’d assumed that karma was paying me back for my momentary weakness. I’d not only done the heavy lifting during that so-called “partner” project; I’d done the only lifting.

  Bentley had initially offered to take “our child” home with him, but after one night, he’d said he couldn’t do it anymore. In fact, he’d barely spoken to me for the rest of the assignment. I’d basically been a single mom.

  And now, I was here, at the office, and he was nowhere to be found. Yes, in his defense, it was well past regular work hours—but this wasn’t a regular project! We had a very definite timeline.

  A yawn snuck up on me at the same time my phone buzzed. I looked down and saw it was a call from Madison.

  “Hey,” I answered.

  “Where are you, wombie?”

  “I’m at work. Today was crazy—”

  “I knew you were still at work!” she interrupted. I could barely make out what she was saying because there was so much noise behind her.

  “Where are you?” I asked.

  “I’m on our date.”

  “Our what?”

  “Our double date. With the guys from Dallas, remember?”

  Oh, crap. A conversation we’d had a few weeks ago came back to me. She’d guilted me into agreeing to see some guy she’d met at a yoga retreat that was “perfect” for me, and I’d caved. If there was one person that could get me to do things that were outside my comfort zone, it was Madi. Technically, she was the oldest, but it was only by seven minutes. Still, she’d been playing the older sister card since we were able to speak.

  “Sorry, things have been crazy today. Can Melody go?”

  One nice thing about being a triplet was that there was always a spare. There was also our younger sister, Delilah, but she was happily married to a mountain of a man, Sawyer Briggs, so she was out of the question.

  “No. She’s on duty tonight.”

  Melody was a labor and delivery nurse, so her schedule was not nine-to-five.

  “Oh.” I sighed. “Can you just make up some excuse for me? I really am busy.”

  “No. I won’t do it. What if he’s the one?” she lowered her voice.

  I loved Madi with all my heart, but for as long as I could remember, she’d been talking about the one. Some people called her hopelessly romantic, I saw her as hopelessly delusional.

  As much as I wanted to believe the sort of love my parents had still existed, my faith in that idea had taken a beating. Things were so different now than when my parents had met and fallen in love close to forty years ago.

  With the invention of technology, people were technically more connected than ever—but somehow it felt like we were more isolated.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d met someone organically. Nowadays people ‘slid into your DMs’ or ‘hit you up on text’.

  As romantic as that might sound (insert: sarcastic tone), it was actually very impersonal. In my opinion, the flip side of social media as a conduit for connection was that it robbed people of truly getting to know one another. When compared with looking at a real, live face, there was a distinct lack of intimacy to seeing one behind a screen.

  Where was the sort of love my mom and dad shared? Where was the romance? It seemed like everything anyone did these days was for likes, or in hopes that it would go viral. “Pics or it didn’t happen.” The one phrase that perfectly summed up my generation.

  Delilah and Sawyer had given me some hope, but that small glimmer had been quickly dashed by the long string of total losers I’d dated.

  “Shut off your computer and get down here,” Madi commanded.

  I sighed again. As much as I wanted to flake on my sister, I knew that I couldn’t do that. I’d made a commitment, and I needed to keep my word.

  “I have to go home and change.”

  “Just come down here. I have a change of clothes in my trunk.”

  Madi always kept a change of clothes in her trunk because she never knew when she might spend the night with “the one.” Which, roughly translated, meant she was tired of doing the walk of shame when she had one-night stands.

  “Text me when you get here, and I’ll meet you in the bathroom so you can change.”

  “Fine.”

  I hung up and closed down my computer. As I walked out of my office, I noticed that I was the only one left in the building. I looked down at my watch and saw that it was ten till nine. Where had the time gone? I’d been so lost in my work, the afternoon and evening had passed in a blur.

  When I stepped out into the lobby, I saw that I was wrong. I wasn’t the only person in the building. Pete Peterson, who owned Dust to Shine janitorial service, was wrapping up the cord on his vacuum.

  “Goodnight,” I said.

  He didn’t respond but jumped an inch into the air when I passed by him.

  “Oh, didn’t see ya there,” he said loudly as he removed earbuds I hadn’t noticed he had on.

  “Oh, sorry. I said goodnight, but I guess you didn’t hear me.”

  “I didn’t know anyone was still working.”

  “Neither did I,” I smiled.

  “You’re gettin’ out just in time.” He held the door open for me and then rolled his cart out.

  “What do you mean?”

  “This building locks down at nine o’clock.”

  “It locks down?”

  “Yep. If any door opens, even from the inside, it sets off the alarm.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. If it’s an anti-theft measure, I don’t think it worked.” He chuckled.

  I smiled, figuring it was better not to comment on the situation. This was a small town, and anything I said could be twisted or misinterpreted.

  As I walked to my car, I was tempted to get in and just drive home. The exhaustion of the weekend was catching up to me. I’d been stressed about my new position, and whenever I was stressed and my head hit the pillow, thanks to one tiny
moment of weakness, I knew I was going to be transported back to that dark hallway.

  I still didn’t understand why I’d let him kiss me. It baffled me. I also didn’t understand why he had to be such a good kisser.

  It wasn’t just his technique, although that had been on point. It was so much more than that. That kiss had made me understand why so many songs were written about the act. That kiss had transported me. That kiss still haunted me twelve years later.

  So why did that kiss have to be with Bentley Calhoun? Why couldn’t it have been with someone I could actually stand being around for more than a minute at a time? Why couldn’t it have been with “the one”?

  My phone buzzed and I looked down to see that Madi had sent me a picture of the guy I was going to meet. She had covertly snapped it while he was talking to a guy beside him, who I assumed was her date. I couldn’t really make out his features because it was dim in the bar, but he looked like he had a nice smile and a strong jaw. The next message that came through was a row of fire emojis. Obviously, she thought he was hot.

  The very last thing I wanted to do was go meet yet another guy that my sister had set me up with. As well-meaning as she was, she also had no clue what my type was. In fairness, why would she? I didn’t really have a type.

  A couple of years ago, right after Granny Turner’d passed away, I’d been determined to put myself out there. She’d told me that I reminded her of herself, and her only regret was letting pride get in the way of true love. She’d told me not to make the same mistake she had.

  At the time, I’d had a chip on my shoulder about dating apps, so I figured that must be what she was talking about. Against my better judgement, I’d created accounts on Bumble, Tinder, Match, eharmony, and Zoosk. Over the next two years, I’d dated—I used that term loosely, since most of the time I didn’t even make it through a single cup of coffee or one drink—guys ranging in height from five foot six to six foot five. I’d dated CEOs to struggling artists. I’d dated single dads and men that told me they had low sperm counts and would probably never be able to father children. I’d dated guys of every ethnicity under the sun. I’d even dated a man who was born a woman.

  In total, I’d “dated” one hundred and twenty-two men. But I hadn’t felt anything with any of them. Some of them were nice and we connected on a friendship level. Heck, I’d been to two of their weddings. But I hadn’t felt a spark with any of them.

  I’d been attracted to some of them, but there were none that filled me with an overwhelming desire to rip their clothes off, or that inspired any interest whatsoever in doing their laundry after—which, according to Granny Turner, was the bar I needed to reach.

  It had been one year since I’d disabled all of my dating profiles, and I knew I needed to get back out there. Granny’d also said, “You’re never gonna win the lottery if ya don’t buy a ticket.”

  So this was me buying a ticket. Again. As I drove to the bar, I repeated one of my weekly mantras.

  I am ready to give and receive healthy love.

  If only wishing made it so.

  Chapter 8

  Bentley

  “If a man can dance with his clothes on, just imagine what he can do with them off.”

  ~ Granny Turner

  She still hadn’t acknowledged my presence. Maisy had been at the bar for over an hour now, and the two times she’d been looking in my direction, she may as well have been looking straight through me. Although she’d always denied it, I knew for a fact that it was something she did on purpose to frustrate me. And the shitty part was, it worked.

  Were we friends? Hell, no. So why did I care if she said hi to me? I didn’t even like the girl. But there was something about being actively ignored by her that I didn’t like even more.

  I had one more song before I was officially off duty. Usually, I reserved my last dance for the woman I had my eye on when it came to the horizontal tango. But tonight, I was going to choose the last girl I’d ever do that with. In real life, anyway. I’d done it with her in my fantasies more times than I could count.

  The only upshot of the evening was that I wasn’t the only man that Maisy was actively ignoring. She wasn’t paying attention to the guy that had been talking non-stop in her ear the entire night, either. At the moment, in fact, she just was staring down at the drink she’d been nursing for the past hour as she swirled her straw in a slow circle.

  “For this last dance, we need a volunteer.” Liv spoke into the mic beside me.

  Maisy looked up when she heard Liv’s voice come through the speaker and I caught her attention. I used the opportunity to motion to my armpit.

  A crease formed between her brows as she lifted her arm and looked under it at the same time my sister said, “Who would like the last dance with Bentley?”

  “I think we have someone.” I pointed to Maisy, whose arm was still in the air.

  “Maisy Turner!” Liv announced.

  The crowd cheered.

  “What?” Confusion swam on Maisy’s face as she looked back up. Her eyes widened when she realized what was going on and she dropped her arm. “No! I didn’t…I don’t want to.”

  The cheering continued as I walked across the dance floor and held out my hand. I could see the fury in her eyes as she reluctantly placed her hand in mine.

  Had it been wrong of me to use the fact that I knew she was self-conscious about pit stains against her? Not to mention that I knew she’d back down to peer pressure and accept the dance? Perhaps. But I’d been given the green light, and even though it hadn’t been from the person directing traffic, I’d take it.

  “What do you think you’re you doing?” Maisy asked between clenched teeth. I tugged at her arm so she stood, then spun her around so she was facing me.

  “Did you go to Movies in the Park last night?” I asked as I led us around the dance floor, already knowing the answer. Hell, I’d made a withdrawal of my memory of her there from my spank bank just that morning.

  “Yes. What does that have to do with this?”

  Instead of answering right away, I lifted her right arm above her head, gripped her left hip, planted my thigh between her legs and lowered her back in a half circle dip.

  When I pulled her back up straight, I could see that she was fighting a smile. Even women that hated me loved dancing with me. When we were kids, Brady’d always complained about spending our afternoons and weekends at the dance studio. But not me. I’d loved it.

  I remembered that, even as young as three or four, I’d enjoyed being around all the girls who took classes there. I’d never gone through a stage where I thought girls were icky when I was a kid. That stage had happened much later, after I’d been in a very serious relationship. But before that, I’d always loved how they looked and smelled. I’d loved making them smile. It had always filled me with a sense of pride and accomplishment.

  Never more so than when I saw Maisy’s lips curl up as she gripped my shoulders now.

  “Do you remember what movie was showing?” I asked.

  “Something to Talk About. What does that have to do with—”

  I cut her off by spinning her out once more and then pulling her back in. “Do you remember the party after the show, where Dennis Quaid and Julia Roberts dance?”

  “You realize in that movie, Dennis and Julia were married and he cheated on her. With all of her friends.”

  Her comment might seem like an innocent observation, but I knew that it was more than that. When my ex and I broke up, everyone assumed that I’d cheated on her. There’d even been a half-page ad in the Gazette.

  Not addressing her statement, I explained, “No one thinks that we’re going to be able to work together. There’s even a pool going around about how long we’ll be able to last. I figure, let’s show ’em that we can work together and get along just fine. The last thing we need is the whole town speculating about who’s going to snap and kill the other one first.”

  She stared into my eyes with the same level o
f scrutiny she always did, but this time there was something else that accompanied it. There was something else behind that power of ocular lie detection she was constantly trying to use on me. There was a spark. A glimmer of something that might be just curiosity, but could also be interest.

  “If you don’t think you can handle it, we don’t have to—” I started to drop my arms.

  “Fine.” She moved closer to me, rising to the challenge.

  Once she agreed to the plan, her entire body relaxed and she stopped fighting against my lead. Instead, we moved together fluidly. I dipped her, spun her, and even flipped her around my forearm. That move really caught her off guard, but she’d gone with it.

  She was actually pretty good. I’d never seen her dance before, at least not for fun. She’d taken ballet with her sisters at the studio, but she’d been so serious. During school or town dances, she’d only ever slow danced. Never with me, at least not until now. The fast tempo song faded into a slow melody. “When You Say Nothing At All” by Alison Krauss & Union Station began playing.

  I was sure she was going to walk off the dance floor, but to my surprise, she didn’t.

  My hand spread on her lower back, which was bare. I’d put money on the dress she was wearing tonight not being hers. She didn’t normally wear things that revealed as much skin as this one did. It was a light purple, that complimented her sun-kissed skin, and tied around her neck and her mid-back. The neckline hit just below her collarbone and covered her torso completely. Since it was backless, I knew that she wasn’t wearing a bra. The thought of her bare breasts under just the thin sheath of fabric made my jeans uncomfortably tight.

  “I like this dress.” I was careful not to give her a direct compliment since I did want to have kids someday and her knee was so close to my baby batter factory.

  Her body stiffened. “You would. It’s Madi’s.”

  It might just be my imagination, but I got the feeling that it being Madison’s was significant. Could it be because that was what I’d called her after our kiss?

  No. That was crazy. I doubted she ever even thought about the kiss. And if she did, she must remember how relieved she’d been when I called her that.