Every Sweet Regret (Orchid Valley 2)

My phone buzzes, and I practically feel the endorphins hitting my system when I see Stella’s name on the screen. This girl is addictive.

Stella: Okay, old man. I’ll give you this nugget of wisdom for free. When a girl catches you gawking at her tits and tells you she’s THIRSTY, she means she’s hard up.I freeze and reread the text three times. Well, fuck me. This information won’t help me get my mind out of the gutter. I bite back a smile as I reply.

Me: Hard up? Like, for money?I’m totally fucking with her now, but it’s worth it.

Stella: Like for DICK, Kace. Oh my God. Do you need a tutor? Here’s another piece of knowledge that might come in handy . . . the eggplant emoji has nothing to do with a balanced diet.I grunt out a laugh and wait for Smithy to finish with the girls’ martinis. “I’ll take them,” I tell him as he pours the pale yellow drink into frosted glasses.

“It’s not busy,” he says. “I can do it.”

“Let me.” I take the drinks before he can object again. Honestly, I need to prove to Stella and to myself that I’m not going to get all weird now that I know she’s “thirsty.” That’s all this is about. Nothing else.

Stella’s eyes go wide when I slide the cold martini glasses onto the table. “Seriously?”

“Thanks, Kace,” Abbi says. “You’re the best.”

“Right?” Stella says. “Is it any wonder I want to have his babies?”

I grunt. “No one can claim you’re hard to please.”

She looks at the ceiling and screws her mouth up in a thoughtful grimace. “I mean, I guess that depends on the context.”

“Eww,” Abbi says. “Stop.”

I bark out a laugh. “I walked right into that one.”

Abbi mimes puking.

“You’re too easy, Mr. Matthews,” Stella says. She lifts the martini to her lips and flicks her tongue across the sugared rim.

I swallow. Hard. Don’t be a creep, Kace. “No more trouble from that asshole from earlier, I hope?”

“Nah, he’s history.” She sips her martini, sighs, and mutters, “The dry spell continues.”

Abbi scoffs. “She thinks she knows what a dry spell is. Meanwhile, I’m living in the Sahara over here.”

I clear my throat and step back, grappling for a subject change. I do not want to talk sex with my baby sister. But fuck, maybe I should blame that red dress, because tonight I really want to talk about it with Stella. Well, maybe not talk . . .

“Thanks for this,” Stella says, wiggling her glass.

“You’re welcome. Wouldn’t want you to get thirsty.”

Her eyes go wide and her lips part. For the first time in my life, I think I’ve thrown Stella Jacob off guard and not the other way around. I like it way more than I should, so I make myself head back to my seat. I feel her eyes on me every step of the way.

My smile falls from my face when I see Amy leaning her elbows on the bar right by my beer. Fuck.

“What was that about?” Amy asks, turning to me as I sit.

Grabbing my beer, I punch down the feeling that I was doing something wrong by flirting with another woman in my wife’s presence. Not your wife. Your ex. “What?”

“Is Stella playing her usual games? Trying to get your attention by any means necessary?”

I sigh. “No games. She’s just hanging with Abbi.”

“Then why are you being so defensive?”

“I’m not.” But the words come out sharp, undercutting my claim. I hate how Amy talks about Stella. Maybe Stella deserves it after the stunts she pulled when she and Amy worked together, but I have no interest being in the middle. “Stop looking for drama, Ames.”

Amy arches a brow and looks me over. “Jesus, you need to get laid.”

Beer in the windpipe. I sputter and choke. From anyone else, these words might not faze me. But from the woman I planned to grow old with? The mother of my child? Yeah. There’s a damn reason Amy’s declaration sends me into a coughing fit.

“What? I speak the truth,” she says, throwing up her hands. “How long’s it been?”

“We’re not having this conversation,” I wheeze between coughs. I’d rather play hacky sack with my nuts than talk about my sex life with her. Especially since she’s the one on a date right now, and from the way she’s been hanging on to him, I’d bet they’re going home together.

She tucks a platinum curl behind her ear in a futile attempt to get the new short layers out of her face. It’ll come loose before I can count to ten, like it does every time. She’s never had it this short in all the years I’ve known her, and I miss the way she used to wear it—just past her shoulders and naturally curly. I miss a lot of things. Including, yes, sex, though I’m not going to rewrite history and pretend I wasn’t missing that long before she moved out. “Come on, Kace. We’re friends, right?”