Bad Cruz(62)

He kissed my hair, but he didn’t answer.

I took that as a yes.





The next six days were unexpected bliss, full of quality time with Bear during the days and scorching hot nights with Cruz.

Our families did a lot of things together, but I managed to bail out of most of them, citing the fact that I wasn’t the one the Costellos truly needed to get to know and I had a teenage son who didn’t find bridge and golf too entertaining.

(That part was a lie. I mean, it wasn’t, Bear didn’t find bridge and golf entertaining. But he was with Landon most days, leaving me to work on my tan and read whatever books Trinity had brought along with her.)

Since Bear was still rooming with Mamaw and Papaw, I had the stateroom all to myself. I still made sure to always visit Cruz for our sexcapades.

Our families blindly trusted Cruz’s virtue (and sanity) to not want to touch me, so no one could have guessed how much time we were spending together. Especially when they still all thought he was with the perfect Gabby. Not even when it became apparent neither of us ever went to any of the meetups for after-dinner drinks.

I did suspect Catherine had an inkling.

She tried to corner me one time after dinner and casually asked me if I knew Gabriella, whom she referred to as her future daughter-in-law, even though any sane person could tell you the name Gabriella Costello simply had too many L’s in it.

“She’s my sister’s maid of honor,” I’d replied dryly, taking a sip of my iced tea.

“How interesting. One would think Trinity would have chosen you.”

I’d shrugged. “Trinity’s entitled to her decisions. Either way, I’m pretty sure Gabriella and Cruz broke up.”

I’d said that to remind her I wasn’t threatened, even though I really was. Not because I had any ideas about dating Cruz.

“I’m sure they’ll get back together. He cares about her so very deeply.”

“He sure does, ma’am.”

I wanted to tell her that it was not true. That it was me he cared about. That in another world, another time, we could’ve been a couple.

If I hadn’t throat-punched him.

If I hadn’t gone out with his best friend when really, it was him I was pining for, like the rest of the town.

I was such a cliché. Loving Cruz Costello was like having a Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise poster on your wall in the nineties.

Even though I hadn’t packed any of the clothes Cruz had bought for me and insistently dressed in my own stuff, I toned it down for the sake of Bear and gave my hair a break from the spray and my nails a vacation from the acrylic.

Sure, Mom and Dad were their usual selves toward me, and Trinity was a real pain, running after Catherine Costello the entire time, sucking up to her, cooing over every pair of earrings, shoes, or caftan she put on.

But overall, I had a good time. So when our trip came to an end, a big chunk of my happiness stayed on that ship.

As soon as we were poured back to earth and concrete, the two families got into logistics mode.

“Honey, Wyatt and Trinity are renting a car. They can drive you and Bear home. You don’t mind, do you, Wyatt?” My dad turned to him.

Wyatt, who had a bratty, almost childish pout, a dashing face but none of the charm and charisma his brother possessed, kicked a stone in the parking lot. “It’s a bit of a detour, but anything for my sis-in-law and Bear.”

Yeah. He definitely lacked something in the magnetism department.

“I’ll give them a ride,” Cruz volunteered.

“Oh, Cruzy, there is really no need.” Catherine put her hand on his arm. “We can drive them back. I’m sure you want to stop at the clinic before you get home.”

“Multitasking is my forte.” Cruz walked over to Bear and me, and my heart leaped like a fish out of water.

Every time he’d been nice and sweet to me publicly, butterflies wreaked havoc inside me. I didn’t know why. He was nice and sweet to everyone.

Probably because he was nice and sweet to everyone.

Cruz picked up my suitcase, carrying it toward his Audi.

Mrs. Costello said noooooo in slow-mo.

“Shotgun!” Bear fist-bumped the air.

Cruz chuckled. “Maybe next time, son.”

Son.

The idea of anyone calling Bear that made me want to cry. Then again, everything made me want to cry when I was next to Cruz.

This is good, I told myself. That means you don’t truly like him. No love story starts with ‘she couldn’t help but want to bawl every time he was in the same room…’

“That’s nice of you.” I offered Cruz a polite smile, like we hadn’t ridden each other’s genitals and faces three times a night every night for the past seven days.

I couldn’t quite bring myself to thank him.

I didn’t know why.

It just felt crucial to me to come off as a woman who didn’t need him and didn’t take much interest in him, either. None of the needy, overenthusiastic variety he was used to dealing with.

The drive back to the bungalow passed pleasantly, with Cruz and Bear talking about video games and me staring out the window, watching the landscape slide by, and forcing myself not to pretend we were a small but happy family unit.

I’d spent so many years not allowing myself to fantasize, that starting to do so with someone who was both within reach and so far away was a bulletproof recipe for a mental breakdown.