Bait & Switch (Alphas Undone #1)(15)
About five minutes later, she responded: Well, if you really insist . . .
“Huh. That was easy,” I said to Sutton. She still hadn’t been able to bring herself to say yes, but I’d expected a full-blown etiquette arms race.
The bulldog just stared back at me mournfully.
“Sorry, buddy.”
She probably wouldn’t mind if I brought him along—she seemed to love the little gasbag almost as much as I did, and said gasbag loved table scraps. But I wanted some uninterrupted time with Lacey tonight. So I nudged Sutton to the floor, ignoring his grumbles of protest, and coaxed him into my bedroom with a treat.
Then I made the short trip over to her apartment complex and knocked on the door. She answered in cutoff jean shorts and a forest-green T-shirt with a howling wolf on it. Her feet were bare, showing pearly pink toenails, and her long brown hair was corralled in a loose, messy braid. Except for her bright eyes, she looked like she’d just rolled out of bed—and it made me want to roll her right back in.
“Hey, there.” Her smile was a little sheepish. “I told you not to come yet . . . it’s going to be super boring. The pot roast has to cook for three hours.”
She must have just come home from work, washed off what little makeup she wore, and put on her house clothes. Had she wanted to change into a nicer outfit for me? To open the door looking prim and polished, with dinner already on the table? That shyness was kind of cute. But she didn’t need to try to impress me. She had my full and undivided attention without even trying.
I shook my head, smiling back. “I don’t mind hanging out for a while. I’ve got nothing better to do today.” And I could think of worse ways to spend an afternoon. Lacey looked adorable, her hair mussed and her cheeks flushed in the Texas heat.
“In that case,” Lacey’s smile turned crooked, “I’ll have to put you to work.”
I followed her into the kitchen. Her place was small, but tidy, with cute feminine touches. She slid a chef’s knife from her knife block, handed it to me, and pulled a small mesh bag of white onions out of the fridge.
“Can you cut all these into big chunks for me?”
“Sure, I’d be happy to.”
I pulled the cutting board close and started on the pile of onions.
As I chopped onions and peeled garlic cloves, she washed and quartered the carrots, potatoes, and celery. This atmosphere felt different from when Daniella and I did household chores together. Preparing ingredients with Lacey felt warmer somehow. Something simmered between us, just beneath the surface.
I’d never understood the appeal of domesticity. It always sounded soul-crushingly boring. But in this moment, I could maybe see why my married coworkers talked so fondly about coming home. Seeing their wives’ familiar, affectionate smiles after a long day, giving them a hello kiss, helping them keep house.
When I finished my share of the vegetables, I noticed Lacey still working on hers. And there were tears streaming down her cheeks. What the hell?
“Did the onions get to you?”
She shook her head, quickly wiping her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I thought I’d be fine once I got home.”
Remembering her text from earlier, I placed a hand on her shoulder. “Tough day at work?”
She smiled sadly. “Something like that.”
“You can talk to me.”
I wasn’t even sure why I said it; what had started between us as instant physical attraction and carefree fun was quickly turning into something more serious. Normally that would be enough to send me running, but right now, all I wanted was comfort her. Hold her tight. Make her pain go away.
“They put down Charlie today,” she said haltingly as a fresh wave of tears filled her eyes.
“Who’s Charlie?”
“An old basset hound. He was so sweet . . . I loved him. B-but he was in kidney failure, and they didn’t want him to suffer anymore.” She buried her face in her hands as quiet sobs shook her shoulders.
I stood awkwardly for a moment. If there was one thing I was clueless about, it was crying women. Daniella wasn’t the emotional type, I had no sisters, and my mom was one tough cookie. The one and only time I’d seen her cry was at my dad’s funeral.
Then realization struck. That’s exactly what this was, but without the casket or flowers. Lacey had lost someone she cared about today. Before I knew it, I had pulled her to my chest, shushing her cries and telling her all about the last person I’d lost: my old teammate, Marcus Sutton, who my new best friend was named after.
As I spoke, the memories rushed back.
Watching my mom become a shadow of her former self after losing her other half hadn’t put me on the fast track to commitment. The spunky, book-club attending, wine-swilling, foul-mouthed woman I’d grown up loving because she was so different from my friends’ soccer moms had been replaced by a hollowed-out shell who wandered the house with a vacant look in her eyes.
Mom tended to her garden. Watched the evening news. Occasionally brought over a pan of lasagna for Daniella and me to share. Just went through the motions of life. She put on a brave face, but that kind of loss wasn’t something that healed. And while I loved her as much as ever, I hated the situation we were in.
Lacey’s sobs subsided as she listened to my story. I wasn’t even sure why I was telling her all this. I just needed to fill the silence, needed to occupy her with something other than her own sorrow.