“That’s terrifying.”
“Get ready to celebrate, Eve. The party starts in our pants.”
“I hate you right now. That is so lame.”
Griffin steps out from the back of the store and pats Reid on the shoulder. “Party in your pants, bro? That’s lame.”
Reid shrugs him off. “No one asked you. This is a conversation between me and Eve.”
“Listen to your brother,” I call out when I reach the door. “And think of some better lines.” I give him a quick wave and then head outside, the bell ringing above me as I tuck the fudge under my arm.
This shift at the Inn is going to be the longest of my life. Even though the whole legs spread thing is kind of weird, I can’t deny the excitement that’s bubbling up inside of me at the thought of seeing Reid naked in my bed when I get home.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and without looking at the screen, I know exactly who it is.
Reid: No kiss?
Smiling, I text him back.
Eve: You did enough kissing in there. I’ll be shocked if there isn’t a write-up about us tomorrow morning.
Reid: Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, especially since I’m suffering now, being deprived of your lips.
Eve: Pretty sure you’ll survive.
Reid: No way I’ll be able to wait until tonight. You looked so fucking good.
On a whim, I turn back to the shop and text him back.
Eve: Trying to get on my good side?
I open the shop door and spot Reid leaning on the counter, looking down at his phone. When he glances up, pure joy spreads across his face. He rounds the counter and quickly pulls me into an embrace. Lifting my chin up, he presses his lips against mine, his hold strong, his mouth desperate, but before we get too lost in the moment, I pull away.
“You’re a fucking tease.”
“You said you wanted a kiss, so there you go, Knightly. I’ll see you tonight, and for the love of God, keep your legs closed. You didn’t lose the key I gave you?”
“Never, babe. You’re getting the full show when you get home.”
Why is that terrifying and thrilling all at the same time?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
REID
“There you are.”
I shut the fridge, and my dad appears on the other side, wearing his classic black-and-red buffalo plaid flannel shirt tucked into a pair of dark-washed Wranglers. Seeing him in anything other than plaid and Wranglers means either someone’s getting married or someone passed away.
Guess I should be glad he’s wearing plaid and Wranglers right now, especially with the irritated look on his face.
I take the Tupperware of chili to the counter and start serving myself a decent bowl to heat up. “What’s up, Dad?” I place a paper towel over the bowl and nuke it for two minutes.
“Did you get my text the other day? That I want to talk to you?”
“Yeah, I did.” I put the Tupperware back in the fridge, carefully avoiding eye contact.
“Were you going to respond?”
“I was, but I’ve been a little busy.”
Dad crosses his arms over his bulky chest, his posture as familiar as my own. Tall and broad, my brothers and I all inherited the Knightly physique, but we’re not nearly as sensitive as my dad. Intimidating as he is on the outside, once you get to know Clint Knightly, you soon realize you could make him cry at just the mention of his grandchildren or children. He’s a giant teddy bear who spends his days coming up with fudge flavors and spoiling everyone he loves—me included.
It’s why when he crosses those arms I don’t cower. I know it’s just a front.
“Heard you and Eve Roberts have become close.”
Of course he has.
“Who told you?” I ask as the microwave beeps. I reach in, grab my bowl, and take it to the dining table, where Dad joins me with a basket of cornbread and a bowl of tortilla chips.
“Doesn’t matter who told me.”
“Dad . . .”
Chuckling, he leans back in his chair and drums his knuckles on the table. “It was Brig.”
“Fucking idiot,” I mutter and take a bite of the chili. “I swear he can’t keep anything to himself.”
“In his defense, he was so excited that he had to tell someone.”
“Oh, I’m sure he did. He doesn’t have any self-control.”
“He’s just a romantic like your father.” Dad plucks a chip from the bowl, scoops some of my chili, and pops it in his mouth.
“At least you know when to keep a secret.”
“That I do.” He clears his throat. “So, think you can carve out some time to talk to your old man?”
“What’s it about?”
“Your future.”
Those two words make my entire nutsac shrivel up. Your future. How many times has my dad had this conversation with me? More than I can count, and every time it consists of him trying to get me out of my “rut,” as he likes to say. I know he’s worried, and for a good reason—I’m not the same guy that I was a few years ago. My drive is gone, and I just can’t bring myself to look for more in my life. But all his “talks,” all his worries . . . all they do is push me further and further away from my old dreams.
“Spare me the lecture, Dad. I’m not interested.”
“This isn’t a lecture.”
“No, it’s you expressing your concerns. I get it. I’m not like my brothers—I don’t have a thriving business to call my own. I’m not like Jen—I don’t have a family to come home to. I’m a fuckup who lives on a houseboat with nothing to his name besides a few hundred in the bank account. We can’t all be perfect, Dad.”
“I’m not asking you to be perfect.”
“Not outright, but I can see it in your eyes. I’m an embarrassment to the family. The black sheep, the one child who has literally nothing going for him except a girl who seems to have lost her mind and decided to date him. But trust me, I’m sure I’ll fuck that up too.” What is she even doing with me in the first place? The girl is so goddamn ambitious. For the past seven years she’s been earning her college degree in business, on top of working full time and everything else she’s gone through. Isn’t she afraid I’ll hold her back? Because I am.
It wasn’t until she told me about going to school that I really saw the vast difference between our lives. She’s thriving and I’m stagnant. Will she realize I’m not good enough for her?
I’m the Knightly who’s not going anywhere. Why would anyone want to attach themselves to that?
“Now listen here.” My dad’s voice grows angry, but I don’t give him time to finish.
My spoon clanks against my bowl as I push back from the table and make my way down the hall to the front door.
“Thanks for the chili, Dad, but I’ve lost my appetite.”
“Reid, I’m trying to talk to you,” his voice booms from behind me.
“How many times have I told you that I don’t want to have that conversation?” I yell back. “Just let me be. Let me be the family fuckup. I’m fine with that as long as everyone just stays out of my goddamn business.”
“Reid.”