A Forever Kind of Guy: The Braddock Brotherhood, Book 2 (11 page)

She stood, ready to extinguish the candle, when he opened the screen door. He didn’t say anything but she could feel his gaze on her in the near-darkness. Her heart started to pound, and she tingled like mad inside and out.

He took the two steps necessary to get close to her, but he still didn’t say anything. Tension filled the air. She could almost see the electricity sparking around and between them.

He inched even closer. He cupped her head, his thumbs below her jaw. His fingers slid along that sensitive area right below and behind her ears and into her hair.

She made a sound of some sort due to protest or fear or excitement. She wasn’t sure which. She felt like she was being torn in half, terror and anticipation battling it out inside of her.

He kissed her. God knew a part of her had hoped he would. Yet somehow, the moment his lips touched hers, she had the sense of being outside herself looking down at the two of them. She could sense Ray holding back. He wasn’t going all crazy on her. He nibbled and caressed as if looking for a way in, if only she’d let him.

She couldn’t relax. She wanted to. She wanted to give in to everything she was feeling, everything he was making her feel, could make her feel.

She had a crazy flashback, right in the middle of Ray’s kiss, of Trey kissing her for the first time. She’d already been head-over-heels for him. That first kiss was the culmination of the delicious crush she’d had on him from the moment she’d met him. She’d let herself be out of control with him, without giving it a lot of thought. If she followed her gut instinct, she didn’t see how she could go wrong.

But she had. They had. It had all gone horribly awry between them. And what if, oh God, what if she gave in to Ray and the same thing happened all over again? Everything she’d once felt for Trey, the love and admiration and joy she’d taken in their relationship had turned to disgust and contempt and disappointment.

She sighed, wishing she could turn her brain off for a while, a good long while, long enough to enjoy kissing Ray more than she was. He pressed closer and oh God, it felt good to be this close to him, to feel the evidence of his interest in her.

The sigh had parted her lips, and Ray took that as an invitation. Deepening the kiss got her to pay attention. Her mind shut down, and she was there, right there, in the moment with him.

Her back pressed against the door, and she was sandwiched between it and the hard length of Ray’s body. He’d slid his arms around her, and one hand clutched her bottom, holding her close to him.

His lips traveled along her jaw to her ear, down along her throat to the vee of her tee-shirt. Her temperature shot sky high. Heat rose off him in waves.

When the edge of his hand brushed against the side of her breast, she stiffened. Ray was no dummy. He knew exactly when the tide turned. He braced his hands on the door above her shoulders, his face inches from hers. She didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to face him or confess her fears, but she made herself do it anyway.

“I’m not—I can’t.” How exactly to explain to him the jumble of feelings she could barely analyze for herself?

“I figured.”

“Figured what?”

“That you weren’t quite ready.”

Hayley crossed her arms over her chest. Ray always seemed to be one step ahead of her, and she wasn’t sure she liked it. “And you thought, what? You’d come over and see if you could seduce me anyway?”

He grinned at her. “Hey, I’m a guy.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “You are a guy.”

He tugged her arms away from her chest, and she let him. He held her hands and moved in close again, loosely pinning her wrists against the door behind her, linking his fingers with hers. “I just figured,” he said as he brushed his lips against hers, “I could start warming you up.” He kissed her again, gently. “For when you are ready.”

“What if I’m never ready?” she mumbled between kisses.

“Then I’ll wait.”

“How long?”

“Long as it takes.”

“What if it takes forever?”

“It won’t.”

“But what if it does?”

“Then I’ll wait forever.”

Hayley smiled against his lips. “You will? Why?” She knew he wasn’t serious, but she found his declaration oddly reassuring.

“Because that’s the kind of guy I am,” he whispered.

“What kind of guy is that? A forever kind of guy?”

“Mmm.”

Chapter Nine

“I’m in love.”

Ray sent Roscoe a skeptical glance. “One date and you’re in love?”

They were hanging drywall in one of Roscoe’s remodels, and Ray wasn’t exactly enjoying it. Hanging drywall sucked as far as he was concerned. But while he was slowly rebuilding his business, he did whatever Roscoe needed help doing. Today it happened to be hanging drywall in a room addition.

Roscoe finished nailing the piece in place and gave Ray a superior look. “Least I been on a date with Callie. Didn’t even take that for you to fall for Hayley.”

“Who says I fell for her?” Ray asked. “I never said that.”

“Didn’t have to,” Roscoe informed him good-naturedly. “You gone on her. Nothin’ wrong with admitting it.”

“Who died and made you such an expert anyway?” Ray returned. He loved Roscoe like a brother, but Roscoe’s habit of playing amateur psychologist sometimes wore thin. He got ideas stuck in his head about relationships and motivations, and he’d yack about them for days.

“Don’t have to be no expert. I got eyes in my head. I seen the way you look at her. She’s the one.”

“The one what?” Ray asked irritably, immediately wishing he hadn’t, for it would only invite further analysis from Roscoe.”

“The. One.”

“Yeah. Okay. Whatever. Are you saying after one date with Callie you’ve determined she’s
the one
for you?”

“That’s what I’m saying.” Roscoe grunted as they maneuvered another slab of drywall into place.

“And you know this how?”
What the hell
, Ray thought. They had all afternoon. Might as well let Roscoe babble about his love life. Hopefully, he’d keep his focus on that and forget about Ray’s.

“Just know it. Probably didn’t have to go on the date. Think I was sunk the minute I met her.”

“Love at first sight? Yeah. That happens all the time.”

Roscoe eyed Ray meaningfully. “You saying it don’t? You going to tell me you didn’t feel something first time you laid eyes on Hayley?”

Wisely, Ray kept his mouth shut on that subject. He knew how to handle Roscoe. If he didn’t reply, Roscoe would revert to the previous topic.

“Look it. Callie’s a social worker. Right up my alley. She loves all that psychology shit I been into for ages. ’Cept she’s got the degree. I could talk to her non-stop. Plus, she’s got, uh, that is, there’s chemistry there.
Physical chemistry
, I mean,” he elaborated, sending Ray another meaningful look.

“Yeah, I got that.” Another of Roscoe’s habits was over-explaining pretty much everything.

“She’s never been married. No baggage there.”

“And what does she think about your baggage? Or have you told her about that yet?” Roscoe had a thirteen-year-old daughter, the result of a youthful indiscretion followed by a brief marriage to the girl’s mother. Jasmine was the apple of her father’s eye, a sweet girl with a mind of her own. If she didn’t like Callie, Roscoe could pretty much kiss his soul mate goodbye.

“Yep. Told her right up front. She’s got some kind of female problem. Doctors told her she can’t have kids. She don’t have a problem with me having one.”

“Yeah, well, but they haven’t met each other.”

Roscoe sighed. He’d finished nailing the drywall in place and paused to wipe the sweat off his forehead with a bright red bandana he kept stuffed in the back pocket of his overalls.

“Let’s take a break.” He jerked his head toward the truck parked outside. Ray followed him. They popped the tops on sodas kept icy cold in a cooler.

“Tell you the truth, I’m a little worried about that,” Roscoe admitted.

“What? Introducing Callie to Jasmine?”

Roscoe nodded. “I don’t know what’s come over Jas lately. Seems like I can’t do nothin’ right anymore where she’s concerned.”

“Maybe it’s the age,” Ray suggested, although in truth, he knew next to nothing about the behavior patterns of thirteen-year-old girls.

“Maybe. She don’t want to do anything we used to do. Fishing? All of a sudden baiting a hook is beneath her. A movie? Unless it’s R-rated, it’s for babies. She don’t even like playing Jungle Golf anymore. She used to beg me to take her.”

Roscoe’s woebegone expression told Ray he wouldn’t be able to tease him out of his funk. Roscoe was looking for sympathetic understanding. “Well, she’s not a little kid anymore. She’s a teenager. What do teenage girls like?”

Roscoe looked even sadder, if that was possible. “Teenage boys. Text messaging. Hanging out at the mall. Shopping. Especially shopping.”

Ray bit his lip, trying not to burst into laughter while he imagined Roscoe the Giant trailing his daughter through the mall, patiently waiting outside the dressing rooms of every teen clothing store there.

“And I ain’t too crazy about some of her fashion choices. They all show too much skin, and when I tell her so, she gets mad. And if I don’t buy what she likes, I get the silent treatment, same like her mother gives me when she don’t get her way.

“Come on, man. Jasmine’s growing up, is all. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t need her dad. Or that she doesn’t love you.”

“Huh. Sure seems that way sometimes.”

“If I recall correctly, teenagers are pretty self-centered. She’ll grow out of it. Kids her age have lots of hormones zinging around, don’t they? Makes them moody. Especially girls.”

Roscoe drained the last of his soda and crushed the can in his fist. “You ain’t exactly helping,” he informed Ray without rancor.

They dropped the cans into a garbage bag Roscoe kept in the truck and headed back inside.

“Don’t you have some book you can read about how to deal with your teenage daughter?”

“Read ’em all. Done everything they suggest. It ain’t helping.”

They took opposite ends of the next piece of drywall and maneuvered it into place.

“Maybe you’ve been reading too much. Maybe you ought to forget the psychology and go with your gut.”

“That’s the problem. My gut’s telling me I’m in love with Callie, and that my daughter ain’t gonna like it one bit.”

“Maybe you should talk to Callie about it. She deals with stepkids and blended families in her work. Maybe she can tell you the best way to approach Jasmine.”

Roscoe efficiently attached the drywall to the studs and fixed Ray with a look. “Funny thing about all them psychology books and degrees. Sometimes none of it works in real life.”

Chapter Ten

Hayley’s mailbox was normally a receptacle for nothing other than junk mail and bills, but today there was an unusual envelope on top of everything else. It bore no postmark and was addressed in childish, block letters to Fletcher. Hayley bit her lip as she examined it. Fletcher had no friends, none his own age and certainly none who had learned to write.

She glanced Fletcher’s way as she deposited the mail on the counter. He had created a racetrack on top of the coffee table and was busy organizing his Matchbox cars for a rally. She slid her finger under the flap of the envelope and withdrew a card with a picture of a clown on it. Inside, still in the same childish letters, was an invitation to Molly Braddock’s birthday party.

Hayley breathed a sigh of relief. When had she begun to expect the worst, she wondered? When had something that looked innocent and harmless begun to arouse suspicion and dread? She needed to work on her attitude. The whole world wasn’t against her.

The party was scheduled for the following Saturday afternoon. Molly expected an RSVP. Hayley supposed she’d expect a gift as well. Maybe she could give Molly a slightly used Dr. Seuss book. If she gave away
Green Eggs and Ham
or
The Cat in the Hat
she’d never have to read them again.

Scowling at her selfish thoughts, she opened the refrigerator, dreading once again the nightly challenge of preparing a semi-nutritious meal for Fletcher. In her former life, she’d rarely worried about meal preparation. Their ever-efficient housekeeper, Miriam, kept the refrigerator stocked at all times. Plus, she and Trey ate out often or ordered take-out from a variety of local restaurants. There always seemed to be a get-together at one or the other of the team members’ homes. She and Trey had hosted their own lavishly catered events. Food somehow appeared before her, and she picked and chose at whatever was offered, washing it down with healthy doses of wine.

But divorce, custody of a young child, and living paycheck to paycheck forced a change in lifestyle. Hayley couldn’t ignore Fletcher’s needs because she wasn’t hungry or didn’t feel like preparing something. She couldn’t drink too much, because that would constitute neglect. She had to put someone else’s best interests before her own, and she’d never realized how difficult it could be.

Left to her own devices, she’d probably spend the evening smoking too many cigarettes and drowning her sorrows in cheap wine. She’d turn into her mother, a lush and a loser, two things she swore she’d never be.

She should thank God for Fletcher. Without him, she might have spiraled downward with no thought to saving herself, for she’d have had no reason. Even if she ended up in L.A. with Paige and Lonny and a decent job, she wondered if it would be enough. Paige and Lonny had each other. They wouldn’t want to spend every evening with her. And who would she have? She imagined herself competing with the youth and glamour of the Hollywood set. Even if she found herself ready for a new relationship, finding an age-appropriate, heterosexual, reasonably attractive male without too much baggage of his own could prove a daunting task. Especially in such a competitive environment. As difficult as it was sometimes forcing herself to be responsible for Fletcher, even temporarily, it was also what saved her from despair.

Fletcher dropped two of his metal cars on the table and ran to the sidelight next to the door. Pulling aside the curtain, he peered out then glanced over his shoulder at Hayley.