Promise Me

Too late. My gaze goes rogue and settles on her tank top. “Did I mention how much I like your PJs?”

“Are you still drunk?” She crosses her arms over her chest, blocking Pooh from my view.

So much for cleaning up nicely. Apparently I’m not going to qualify for nice guy status that easily, but even so, the accusation leaves me a little defensive. “I’m not the least bit impaired this morning, angel.” She’s the one lounging around in a tank top and sleep shorts at nearly noon. Is it my fault I notice? I also noticed her checking me out in return a second ago, so I’m not the only one aware of the electricity crackling between us. I take slow and deliberate stock of her this time, letting my gaze linger on her bare legs, the V of her shorts, and the way her crossed arms plump her breasts over the neckline of her top. “But if you want to put me to a test, I’m game.”

Her chin goes up a notch, but not before I catch a flicker of uncertainty in her expression. She moves to the other side of the breakfast bar like she wants some extra protection, and I immediately feel like a dick.

“You know what?” She opens a nearby drawer and digs out my keys. “I’ll take your word for it. But here’s the thing. Next time party central gets out of control, I might not be available to do my famous flying tackle and magic disappearing car key trick. I’ve got different plans for this summer, and I need to focus on them, so, sorry, but—” She tosses the keys across the counter.

I snag them before they sail off the edge of the granite. “No sorry due to me, angel. We’ve got this backward.” I’m supposed to be here apologizing and thanking her, not getting bent out of shape because she’s not offering to share her bed with me like Dixie, or getting so tongue-tied she forgets her name like Amber. I’m very used to both of those reactions, but it seems Kendall’s not like her sisters. I look away for a moment to gather my thoughts, and when I look back at her she’s not exactly reserving judgment—it’s too late for that—but this is my chance to do the right thing. I take it. Placing the gift on the counter between us I say, “I’m sorry about last night.”

She blinks at the bag and then slings a questioning glance at me. I shrug and pocket my keys but don’t miss how she tracks the movement. Suddenly, I’m hyper-aware of my hand sliding into my jeans.

I can tell by the way she swallows that she is, too, but she shifts her attention to my face and points at the bag. “What’s this?”

“My way of thanking you for coming to my rescue last night. A lot of people would have chosen not to get involved and just let whatever was going to happen, happen. Others would have called the cops. You did neither. You saved me from some really bad decisions that could have caused a fuck-ton of consequences, and I want you to know I appreciate it.”

For one unguarded moment her face just…lights. There’s no other way to describe it. It’s not just her tentative smile or the glow of pleasure in her cheeks. It’s not even the thrill of the gift. No, it’s like what I’ve said really matters to her. Then, all of a sudden the glow shuts off. She straightens and pushes the bag toward me, and I know she’s about to reject the gift. “Forget—”

“It smells really good in here.” I cut her off by blurting the first thing that springs to mind. Whatever she’s baking smells fantastic.

“Shit!” She rushes over to the counter, grabs the potholder next to the stovetop, and pulls something out of the oven. Something browned to perfection as far as I can tell, but Kendall makes a worried sound and inspects it closely.

“That looks amazing,” I say. “You like to cook?”

“Mostly I like to eat,” she replies with absolutely no shame, a rarity among the usual crowd I’m surrounded by. It’s refreshing.

I can’t stop my smile as I come up behind her and lean over to inhale the scent of steaming peppers, onions…I don’t know what all, but it’s making my mouth water. Then I get more than I bargained for, because I also inhale a sweet, earthy scent, equal parts bubble bath and sex. It clings to her skin and makes me fantasize about her soaking in a steamy tub, getting herself off. That affects me in other ways. The moment she stills, I know her focus has shifted, too. She’s staring at the pan, but her thoughts are on me.

“What’s on the menu?” I ask, shamelessly fishing for an invitation to today’s brunch.

“Back it up, mister, you’re crowding the cook.”

I guess I am, and I half anticipate an elbow to my gut, but instead she looks up and slays me with an unguarded grin. She wasn’t expecting a playful moment.

“Can we start over?” It’s an impulsive request. I know I can’t get a complete do-

over, but if she’ll give me a chance, I can definitely do better. “Like, I’ll say ‘Hi Kendall, I’m Vaughn’ and you’ll say…?”

The shine of amusement fades. She slides out of my grasp and steps away. “I’ll say, ‘Hi Vaughn. It’s nice to meet you, but I think it’s best if we stay on our sides of the fence. I’m only house-sitting until August, then I’ll be gone, and our paths will never cross again. By fall I’ll be a vague memory of a crazy night you had over the summer. Take care of yourself and have a great life.’”

Her breezy tone doesn’t quite match her expression. She’s politely insisting there’s no point in us getting beyond “Hello neighbor.” I’d really like to know why she feels that way, so I settle myself on one of the barstools at the counter and prop my chin on my hand. “You honestly think you’re so easy to forget?”

“For drunks, yes.”

Seriously? I mean, seriously? Last night was me in full fuckup mode. I won’t deny it. Hell, I’m not trying to deny it. But I came here this morning for more than my stupid keys. I came to apologize for pulling her into my drama, and rather than accept it, she calls me a drunk? That’s some serious shade to throw at someone she barely knows. For several seconds we stare at each other. I wait for her to blink, look away. Give an inch. But she doesn’t. I’m not getting anything close to a do-over. Fine. I still know my manners. She’s entitled to the thank-you and apology.

I push the blue bag toward her and stand. “This is for you. I’m sorry about last night. Thanks for keeping me safe.”

Then I walk out, because there’s nothing left to say.

Chapter Five

Kendall

Those three sentences are not what I expected to come out of Vaughn’s mouth after calling him a drunk. I say each sentence over in my head. Bringing me a gift is a thoughtful gesture. And it’s the blue bag. I glance at it, wondering what kind of jewelry he thinks I’ll like, considering I’m not wearing any.

He’s remorseful. His apology—twice—proves as much.