Every Time I Fall (Orchid Valley 3)

At least being around Amy tonight didn’t fuck with my head. Two weeks ago, it would’ve done a number on me. Especially since she needed me for something other than sex or drunken fun. Especially since she thanked me a hundred times and told me she didn’t know what she’d do without me.

She wanted me to stay the night. She wanted me to hold her. And somehow I wasn’t even tempted. All I wanted was to get home and text Abbi—to see her again so I could stop remembering that disappointment on her face. So as soon as Amy fell asleep, I got the hell out of there.

I whistle for Trixie and go out back with her, plunking myself into a chaise in the dark and pulling out my phone to text Abbi.

Dean: Finally home. How was your evening?

I watch the dots bounce for a long time. Long enough that I know she’s rewriting or at least rethinking what she’s trying to say.

Abbi: Fine. Took a long bath and read a new book.

I’m sure she’s censoring her thoughts, but that’s not a terrible mental picture.

Dean: Bubbles? Wine? Orgasms?

Abbi: Two out of three’s not bad.

Dean: I guess that depends which two.

I hold my breath, hoping she’ll let me flirt a little, that we can get back to where we were before my phone rang.

Abbi: How’s Amy?

Apparently not. I squeeze my eyes shut. I don’t want to talk about Amy. But I owe her something.

Dean: She’s better. Her doc called her in some meds for the nausea—that’s what I picked up—so she was doing a lot better once those kicked in.

Abbi: I can’t decide if I failed you as your Sober Sponsor or if you’re just that nice.

Dean: You didn’t fail anything. And I’m sorry our afternoon was ruined. How can I make it up to you?

Those dots start their bounce-and-disappear dance again. And when I’m finally ready to give it up and let her be for the night, another text comes through.

Abbi: You don’t have to make anything up to me. I remember Amy’s migraines and have been the one to run to the pharmacy a couple of times myself when she and Kace were still together. She’s lucky you’re such a good friend.

A heady mix of gratitude and affection warm my chest. Because damn. I’m not sure I deserve to get off the hook that easily.

Dean: Are we still on for Sunday?

Abbi: If you’re still interested.

Dean: As if there’s any doubt.

Chapter Thirteen

Dean

I’ve taken to spending Friday afternoons at the office doing paperwork—writing up quotes, replying to emails, and doing my part to keep up with the mind-numbing administrative tasks that come with running a business. It’s never my favorite part of the workweek, but it makes it a little easier to enjoy my weekend, so I make myself do it anyway.

This Friday drags. All I can think about is seeing Abbi again. Sunday night seems way too far away. I give in to the temptation I’ve been feeling all day and text her.

Dean: I want to take you out on Sunday. What sounds better to you—a chill night at Smithy’s, or a slightly fancier dinner?

She’s at work, so I’m not surprised when it takes her a while to get back to me.

Abbi: Don’t you think people might ask questions if they see us out together—just the two of us?

Disappointment floods me. She’s right. They might, but that doesn’t really bother me. Unfortunately, it seems to bother her.

Dean: I suppose we could handle that in one of two ways. We could just tell them we’re (gasp!) dating. Or we could pretend we’re just hanging out as friends. And, yes, Abbi, it’d be pretend, because I don’t do the things to my friends that I intend to do to you.

There. That’s the best way I can say “This is more than a friendly favor” without risking her running scared if I say what I really want. I can’t change my past or my family, but maybe with time she’ll change how she feels about it.

Abbi: Both of those options result in people gossiping about us.

Dean: Let them gossip. IDGAF.

Abbi: I’m not sure you’re thinking this through. Imagine what would happen if we told Kace and Stella we were dating.

Dean: Well, I’d hope they’d just be happy for us as we are for them and mind their own business.

As if she summoned him, I look up from my phone to see Kace take two steps into my office.

He gets one look at my face and back-pedals toward the door. “Want me to come back at a better time?”

I glance at the clock. “This is fine. Didn’t we plan to meet now?”

He folds his arms. “Yeah, but you look . . . pissed.”

Oh, shit. I guess I am scowling. That’s what happens when you realize you’ve once again fallen for someone who doesn’t want anyone to know she’s dating you. Or fucking you. Or whatever the hell it is we’re doing. This is what happens when you’re me and make the same fucking mistake over and over. It’s not like I didn’t know the rules when we started this.