Reckless(24)

My sister motions to me. “Ethan added a whole addition. Did a ton of work himself. Well, him and his brother. The east side of the house, I think.”

Pregnancy has made her spacey, because she was there when Beverly told us that Ethan had done those renovations. “Yeah, I’ve heard those Carter boys are good with their hands.”

I’m looking forward to something breaking around the house so I can watch Ethan fix it. Hopefully while shirtless.

She glances at me. “Don’t keep me in suspense. How are things going? Is Ethan still getting on your nerves?”

My sister knows I can be a snarky bitch sometimes.

“No, Ethan’s a great guy.” Too great maybe. I fill my lungs with a deep breath and decide to come clean. “Actually, I’m trying not to like him.”

“Oh.” A beat passes. “Oh! Well, what’s wrong with that? He’s single and has his act together.”

Unlike me.

She looks thrilled at this prospect.

“No, he’s not single. He’s in the middle of a divorce. His words, not mine.” I fiddle with a loose thread on my tank top. “Plus, he has ‘rebound’ stamped all over him.”

If that experience with Jamie taught me anything, it’s that guys like Ethan don’t settle down with girls like me. I’m a fun fuck. A good time. A way to burn off steam or sow some wild oats. Not a forever girl. Not someone you keep.

Regret weighs in my heart. How I wish I hadn’t invested so much of myself in that relationship.

Ripping off the loose thread, I suddenly wish I could go back to Austin. “Ethan needs to play the field, get laid, get over his wife, and I don’t want to be just a hookup. I’m not in the mood to be the rebound.”

It doesn’t escape me that Ethan has photos of his wife everywhere. I wish I could say Allison is ugly, but she’s not. She has a button nose and one of those cute pixie haircuts, which makes her gorgeous blonde hair look feather-soft. I toy with the ends of my hair, lamenting the split ends, but a haircut requires money I don’t have.

Kat rubs her belly. “I think all those rosaries Mom says for you are paying off. Listen to you, wanting something more substantial.”

I roll my eyes as she laughs, but I’m glad she doesn’t pick up on my glum mood. I’m here to soak up her happiness. I’m here to mask the fact that I wish I were at dinner with Ethan and his kids. I’m here because I don’t want to think about how he looked at me in the barn when we were standing so close or the fact that Miss Prissy Pants earlier is probably riding him in his free time.

It’s easy for me to think Ethan looked disappointed when I told him I wasn’t joining him and the kids this evening.

Except I know that’s my head playing tricks on me.

Because guys like him don’t do long-term with girls like me.

I might as well get used to that idea.





13





Ethan





Every day, I listen to the delighted sounds of my children playing in the backyard, squealing and laughing as they buzz around Tori. Her laugh carries too, a note or two below theirs, but just as dazzling.

But the moment I’m cleaned up after work and head into the kitchen, Tori quiets and scurries off to her room, leaving me with a piping-hot dinner on the stove and the table set for three.

And my kids? All they do is talk about Tori. How fun she is. How she colors with them and plays pretend. How she gives them little tasks while she’s cooking so they stay busy. Snap the peas. Wash the carrots. Organize the Tupperware. And they love it. They love feeling useful. Mila tells me that Cody attaches himself to Tori’s leg half the time while she’s in the kitchen, and she lets him. Talks to him. Explains what she’s doing, and the kid listens—or tries to. It’s like she’s a goddamn baby whisperer.

Don’t get me started about her meals. They’re delicious.

I feel guilty as hell for enjoying them without her.

It’s maddening. It shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t care what she does with her evenings. In fact, I told her she was free to do as she pleased when I was done working each day, but it bothers me that she seems to be going out of her way to avoid me.

We haven’t had lunch together again either. Just that first day. Now she packs the food and sends Mila in with the picnic basket to drop it off while she waits at the entrance of the barn with Cody. Or the kids come to eat with me while she starts dinner.

All week. She avoids me all week.

By Friday, I’ve had enough. After I get the kids to bed, I knock on her bedroom door.

“Come in.”

She’s sprawled across the bed with her arm over her face. Her hair is wet and she’s wearing those tiny sleep shorts and another tank top. She does one of those cat-like stretches, and I ignore the throb in my groin when the fabric of her shirt pulls up to display the taut skin on her smooth stomach.

You’re not here to ogle her, douchebag. I make a point to focus on her face.

“Hey. Wanted to thank you for dinner. Best brisket I’ve had in ages, but don’t tell my mom your food is better than hers.”

Tori sits up slowly and gives me a hesitant smile. “No prob.”

Those bright eyes study me. At least she’s not looking away.

Say something.