Dirty Little Mistake (Dirty #2) Page 12

  “Cookies n’ Cream Cupcakes. I’m in search of the perfect recipe. Or my boss is. He gave me a mission, and I chose to accept it,” Ridley explained with a wink, then paused when he caught the look on my face. “What’s the matter?”

  “I have it,” I said.

  “You have what?”

  “The perfect recipe for Cookies n’ Cream Cupcakes.”

  “And…You hate them? Because you look a little like you might puke. Again.”

  I ignored his joke. “No. I love them. As much as – no maybe more than - I love the Strawberry Turnovers. It was the one thing my mom could always get right.”

  Ridley’s arm immediately cocooned my once more.

  “Every birthday,” I murmured into his chest. “After every long, drawn-out bout with alcohol or drugs, she’d have an apologetic sober moment and I’d find a tray of the damned things waiting.”

  “I’ll tell my boss I can’t do it then.”

  I swivelled my head up to look at Ridley’s face. His strong jaw was set and his grey eyes were concerned.

  My heart swelled. “Don’t be silly.”

  “It’s not like I could have an item on my dessert menu that would make you make that face every time you saw it.”

  “What face?”

  “The trying-not-to-cry face.”

  “It’s okay. I swear it’s a bittersweet memory with more sweet than bitter. Really. I mean, I wanted to hate them. Sometimes I wanted to say no, just to punish her. Once I tried to not eat them, but I just ended up sneaking some in the middle of the night. And I always forgave her. They were that good…Or they meant that much to me.”

  “Still making the face,” Ridley told me softly.

  “I just hadn’t thought about the cupcakes in years. My mom…The recipe was in with my things when she sent me packing. For a long time, I thought maybe it was an accident, that she’d shoved it in there by mistake with my books and papers and stuff. But I think that’s just because I couldn’t admit she might’ve done it on purpose.”

  “Because then you might forgive her again,” Ridley filled in.

  I nodded. “Exactly.”

  “And have you?”

  I was stalling and I knew it. “Have I what?”

  Ridley put his fingers overtop of mine in a backwards handhold.

  “Have you forgiven her?” he prodded patiently.

  “Mm hmm,” I hedged.

  “But?”

  I took a deep breath and spat out the words in a rush, like I was ripping back a bandage and the wound underneath wasn’t quite healed. “But what if she put it in there so I would come back? I know she was mad enough to send me away, but maybe it was an olive branch. One she was investing in the future. Or maybe she thought it would make me angry and I’d come home because of it. I’ll never know why she stuck it in there because I never bothered to ask.”

  Ridley ran his thumb down my cheeks and wiped away the tears I didn’t even know I was crying. “Maybe she just wanted you to know she loved you.”

  “Maybe,” I whispered.

  “Hey, Brenna?” he hesitated. “I believe you when you say you’ve forgiven your mom. You’re too determined and too strong and I think your heart’s too big for it to be any other way. But have you taken the time to forgive yourself?”

  Ridley’s words floored me. Maybe they shouldn’t have because the question was such an obvious one, one I should’ve considered long ago. But I was still stunned into silence. Had I forgave myself? Had I even taken the time to think about the guilt that was there, always under the surface? Or had I just been avoiding it – not just since my mom’s death, but since our separation four years earlier?

  “Do you want me to call in sick to work?” Ridley asked. “Maybe you’ve got an extra pair of pajamas with – what are those, owls? – on them?”

  I was tempted by his offer.

  But I had my date with Ian in a few hours.

  Of course, at that moment it didn’t appeal to me at all.

  So tempted.

  Ridley was looking at me expectantly. And his open face made me damned sure it was a bad idea for us to spend a whole day together. Especially a day which started with an emotional revelation. In my bed.

  “They’re pandas, not owls,” I corrected, and with a smile, I added, “And I only have the one pair.”

  “All right, Pancake. I can take a hint. But I’m gonna tell Ronaldo I couldn’t find a recipe. We’ll do Deep-Fried Apple Rings instead.”

  Ridley jumped to his feet, and for a second, I thought he was just going to leave. But at the last moment he swooped down and brushed his lips over mine.

  It was a brief, tender gesture, and even though it wasn’t overtly sexual, it still made me tingle. Only this sensation…it was rooted far deeper than something physical. Something far scarier.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ridley

  “Tell me what your friend’s intentions are with my friend.”

  Brenna’s fiery little roommate glared at me from her spot in the center of the coffee table.

  “Uhhh.”

  She raised both of her penciled-in eyebrows simultaneously. “Really? You’re just going to make a caveman noise? I thought you were the smart one.”

  “Uhhh,” I repeated, and took a brain-freezing slurp of my drink while I tried to think of something appropriate to say.

  How the hell did I wind up here, stuck on a couch, pinned in place by this angry girl’s menacing stare?

  I knew the answer. It had started with the purse and the glasses.

  It wasn’t until I made my way out of my bedroom that morning – bitter, restless, and late for work – that I’d spotted the two items. The glasses were on the floor and her purse was sticking out from under the bathroom door.

  I’d grabbed them immediately and dragged them with me all morning as I carried out my boss’s special request. They’d glared at me from the passenger seat, mocking me and my pride.

  When my break came, I’d driven as fast as I fucking could to Brenna’s house.

  I didn’t know what I was going to do with them, if I was going to toss them in her face and confront her or if I was going to leave them on her doorstep and pretend last night had never happened.

  In the end, I’d done neither. Or maybe it was a combo of the two.

  I’d knocked politely. Then barged in. I’d waited patiently. Then taken the steps to her bedroom two at a time.

  Her face, though.

  It knocked me on my ass.

  Blotchy and sad and all kinds of needy.

  I’d become weak once more, falling all over myself to apologize to her.

  I must’ve stayed that way all day, because when Brenna’s roommate had unexpectedly accosted me in my driveway at the end of my day, I’d gone along with her demand for me to come inside.

  Now I was somehow sitting across from the crazy-looking girl with a second icy cold margarita in my hand and a nervous tick wreaking havoc on my forehead.

  “Listen,” I said slowly. “I don’t think Ian is much on intentions. He’s more the spontaneous type.”

  “So what does he want with Brenna?” she retorted. “Her whole life is an intention.”

  “Yeah, I’m getting that.”

  “So…”

  “So what?”

  “Guys like Ian are all fuck n’ chuck. Why hasn’t his radar picked up that Brenna isn’t like that? Why is he still interested? Especially after she bit him?”

  I choked on my drink. “She what?”

  “He tried to kiss her, and she bit him. It was an accident, but still…Stuff like that usually turns your typical womanizer off.”

  “Does it?” I replied innocently, then I downed the last bit of margarita. “Could I get a refill?”

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “That’s not going to get you out of answering me.”

  “No shit,” I muttered.

  She still jumped up and exited to the kitchen, giving me a few moments to gather my thoughts
.

  The bite was news to me. What else had Brenna told her roommate? Had she mentioned last night’s extracurricular activities and their distinct lack of unwanted biting?

  Then again…Maybe she hadn’t needed to. Breaking and entering seemed like this girl’s M.O. way more than it seemed like Brenna’s. Too bad I couldn’t just ask her.

  She reappeared, pitcher in hand, and announced, “Something happened last night. I’m sure of it. She won’t tell me what, but I know it was big. And for some reason, I’m pretty sure you have an idea.”

  “What did you say you did for a living?” I replied.

  “I didn’t. And not that it’s any of your business, but I’m a waitress.”

  “Have you thought about going into interrogation instead?”

  For the first time, she cracked a smile. “I’d only be good at it where Brenna’s concerned.”

  “I know what you mean,” I said before I could stop myself.

  I thought she might argue, but she just nodded. “Maybe you do. And that probably brings me to my second point.”

  “Did you make a first point?”

  She rolled her eyes. “My first point was that it’s weird that Ian is so interested in Brenna. My second is that you should stay away from her.”

  Ah. That explains the hostility.

  “Brenna and I are friends,” I stated, careful to keep my voice neutral. “And she and Ian have been on two dates. They’re not getting married.”

  “Yet,” she interjected.

  My jaw tightened. “You realize she’s the one pursuing him.”

  “Yes.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “I love that girl to death, and I know she’s self-sufficient as hell…But for some reason, I’m always waiting for her to break anyway. I have a feeling this is it.” She looked a little deflated. “I just hoped you might be able to tell me if my instincts are right.”

  I looked down at my drink. It was already half-gone, and I was getting there myself. Which I was sure was the girl’s intention.

  “I won’t let him hurt her,” I assured her.

  “What if you can’t stop it?”

  I met her eyes. I was sure she knew more than she was saying.

  Then again. So did I.

  The buzz of her cell phone cut through the heavy silence between us.

  “Shit,” she grumbled. “That’s work. I forgot I picked up a night shift.”

  I started to stand, but she waved at me to stay sitting as a she grabbed her purse.

  “Finish the drink,” she commanded. “No reason to waste perfectly good tequila. Just lock the backdoor when you go.”

  Then she was gone, and I was alone.

  I topped up my drink and toasted silently to the empty room, wondering just what the hell was going on and what the hell I was going to do about it.

  Chapter Twenty

  Ridley

  The pitcher was empty. An hour had gone by and I hadn’t moved and I was past the point of no return.

  And Brenna was home.

  I’d heard the key turn in the knob, and then her lushly curved body appeared in the doorway.

  “How was your date?”

  She shrieked.

  “Whoops! Didn’t mean to scare you,” I slurred.

  Brenna jumped back. “Ridley?”

  “The one! The only!” I lifted my glass with a flourish and mimicked the roar of a crowd.

  “What are you doing in my house?”

  “Well. I was having a drink with your friend. But then she left. So I guess I’m just waiting for you, Pancake.”

  She hesitated just long enough to give me hope. Then dashed it with a word.

  “Why?”

  “Fuck.”

  Whoops.

  I hadn’t meant to say that out loud. She stared at me and it was hard to say if her expression was wary, or if it was just plain scared.

  “How was your date?” I repeated, trying to make it sound polite.

  “Okay,” Brenna replied cautiously.

  “Just okay? Not shitty, not fantastic? Just plain old okay?”

  Her eyes flicked to the mostly empty margarita pitcher on the table.

  “Are you drunk?” she asked.

  “No sense in trying to hide it. So. Yep.”

  “I think you should go home and go to bed.”

  “I think you should sit down and have a drink with me.”

  “That’s not a good idea.”

  “It’s the best idea around,” I said.

  “No.”

  “Please, Pancake?”

  She took a breath, and very, very gingerly, like she thought she might break it, Brenna positioned herself on the edge of the couch.

  Or maybe she thinks I might break her, I reasoned drunkenly. Hadn’t her friend said something about breaking?

  There was a foot between us and I didn’t want there to be. In what I hoped was a smooth move, but which was really likely not, I slid my cup across the table and inched closer to her.

  “Drink up,” I suggested.

  “No, thanks.”

  “A few sips.”

  “I don’t drink alcohol, Ridley. Not anymore.”

  My wobbly gaze sought her face. I couldn’t quite tell if she was lying, or if she was hedging. Maybe somewhere in the middle.

  “Me neither,” I told her, then burst out laughing.

  A tiny smiled tugged at her pretty little mouth. “Is that right?”

  “I get out of control.”

  “Me too.”

  “Hmm. I bet I’m a worse drunk than you are.”

  “I bet you’re not.”

  I leaned back and after a second, she did too. Our shoulders touched and she didn’t move away.

  “What’s the dumbest drunk move you’ve ever made?” I wanted to know.

  “I’m not telling you that.”

  “Why not? You said we were friends.”

  “It’s too personal to share.”

  My curiosity was immediately piqued. “Too personal but not too embarrassing?”

  “Both.”

  “Now you have to tell me.”

  She shook her head, making her hair bounce and sending a waft of her signature perfume my way. “Not happening.”

  “Oh, c’mon. I’m not gonna remember what you tell me anyway.”

  “Judging from how bad you stink like booze, I’m going to say that might be true,” she replied. “But I’m still not telling you.”

  I tapped my chin with exaggerated thoughtfulness. “If I guess it, will you tell me if I’m right?”

  “No.”

  “Did you get arrested?”

  “Ridley…”

  I could tell she was wavering and I grinned. “Did I, or did I not, already get you two of the promised three dates with a sex stud?”

  “Yes. You successfully pimped me out,” she agreed.

  “Do you, or do you not, owe me a favor?”

  “Sure. I’ll mow your lawn for you. Or do your dishes.”

  “That’s not what I want, Pancake.”

  “What do you want, Ridley?”

  The question hung between us, changing the air, filling it with electricity and promise. Brenna shifted on the couch, tilting herself toward me.

  It was at that moment I noticed the dark smudge of dirt under her cheekbone. It forced me to notice other things too. Like the tear in the shoulder of her shirt and the scrape on her forearm. My eyes travelled down the rest of her body and found her skinned knees, dotted with gravel.

  That protective urge – the same one I had whenever she was concerned – overtook me immediately.

  “What the fuck happened, Brenna?” I growled.

  “It’s nothing. I fell.”

  “When you were with Ian?”

  Her mouth opened slightly, then hung there like she wasn’t quite sure what to say.

  Fuck.

  I’d never known my cousin to hurt someone before. Not a girl, and certainly never unprovo
ked.

  But how many times had I heard those words from my mother?

  I fell, Ridley. I bumped my head on the cabinet, Ridley. It was an accident, Ridley.

  If Ian did this to Brenna, he wouldn’t live to see another day.

  “Tell me how it happened,” I commanded, suddenly sober.

  “We were going to Rider’s Point for a picnic dinner,” she started. “But we didn’t even make it out of the car.”

  Her face flamed, and I had to unclench my fist once more. I could easily imagine what kept them from getting out of the vehicle. And it looked like it ended unpleasantly.

  She glanced down at my twitching hand. “It’s not what you think.”

  “It sure as hell better not be,” I said through clenched teeth.

  “It’s not,” she assured me quickly. “We ran out of gas, just shy of the Point. So we hiked down the mountain, then back up again. It took three hours. By the time we were done, we were both too tired to do anything but come home.”

  I studied her face carefully. It was open and honest and I believed she was telling the truth. It didn’t change that she was hurt, or that Ian was responsible for it, but it was a hundred times less rage-inducing than my initial assumption.

  Slowly, giving her enough time to pull away if she wanted to, I brought my hand up to wipe away the dirt from her cheek. She didn’t move. I slid my hand down her throat, marvelling at the softness of it. I ran my thumb along her chin. I dragged it up to one of her ears and rubbed the sensitive spot just behind it. Her pulse jumped, but other than that, she was still.

  Her liquid chocolate eyes were on me. They held fear and desire. They held worry and want. They held me.

  Jesus.

  I’d never seen a look so full of longing. Did my face hold the same one?

  I should stop.

  I couldn’t, though.

  My free hand came up to the other side of her face and traced the same pattern as the first. I leaned forward, still waiting for her to protest. My mouth grazed hers so lightly it was barely a kiss at all and she took a tiny, almost imperceptible breath. It wasn’t enough. I wanted to make her gasp, to make her ache, to make her mine.

  Thrum, thrum, thrum.

  Her heart beat unevenly under my palms.

  I left one hand on the back of her neck and brought the other to her collarbone. I ran the balls of my fingers over it, then down to the swell of her full breasts. I cupped one, and through the thin fabric of her shirt and the lace of her bra, I ran my thumb over her already taut nipple. She inhaled and exhaled quickly.