Trace realized she had half a glass of wine to go and set down her fork to finish. She leaned back in her chair and nodded to Haley. “We’re supposed to be talking about your wedding.”
“What? Instead of your sexy sort-of-brother? This is way more interesting than a wedding.”
Wine halfway down her throat, Trace choked and coughed incessantly. She managed to find the ability to breathe again and wiped the corner of her mouth. “No. Don’t go there. Creepy.”
“I see. So it’s mutual,” Haley said as she twirled her empty glass on the table.
“Mutual? What?” She took a gulp of water in a foolish attempt to end the choking. Too late, as the wine seemed to have flooded her lungs, and the cough was going to haunt her until morning.
Haley swirled her glass in her hands, eyeing Trace suspiciously over the table. “I saw how he was looking at you. Although, I’m pretty sure he thinks you and I are having a romantic sort of date.”
Worse, the gulp of ice water shot straight into her lungs as she inhaled sharply. The entire restaurant was staring, and she started laughing at the image, while Haley was completely unhelpful and laughed at her, too.
“Don’t be so offended. We’d be a lovely couple.”
“That would add another level of triangularity to our absurd history.” Finally balancing out her ability to breathe again, Trace didn’t dare take another sip until she knew she was safe. “Although, maybe I should let him think that.”
“After that sexy suture removal? At least give the guy a chance,” Haley said as she taunted Trace beyond safety.
Trace puffed out her cheeks and nodded vaguely.
Her moment came. Ready to strike back.
Haley lifted her glass to her mouth and began to sip.
Trace waited, waited, until the swallow began. “I saw his penis a few days ago. He’s built quite nicely everywhere.”
Snorting, laughing, wine successfully ignited mid-swallow, Haley coughed and covered her mouth, flashing Trace an evil eye over the table as she calmed it. Finally, Haley seemed to get control and growled. “I can’t believe you just did that to me.”
“Whatever do you mean?” she asked innocently, fanning her hand over her chest. “I walked in on him in the bathroom, then helped him get dressed.”
Haley giggled and shook her head. At this point, the entire restaurant was tuned in on their inappropriate conversation. Keeping her voice low, Haley whispered, “Are you his nurse?”
“No, but…” Trace nodded for the check, more than ready to bail on this lovely restaurant, where neither of them was well enough behaved to be able to dine again. Ever. They’d probably have their pictures posted behind the hostess podium with slashes over their faces to let everyone know they couldn’t be allowed back. “You saw him. Cole is hurting, and I’m not just talking about the physical hell he went through that made him come back. Seriously, I can’t even imagine how bad it must have been, for him to have said enough is enough.”
They split the check and strolled out, the crisp fall air hinting that summer was finally ending. Leaving Haley’s car where it was parked, they walked up the hill toward Halseth’s.
Likeagoddamnballoonswelling in his head, Cole’s concussion screamed at him. He’d only tried to read a book. A piece of fluff, that’s all. Get his mind off of… everything.
Too awake to sleep, too woozy from the concussion and the anemia to do anything, and too wired after whatever the hell that had been with Trace. His sixteen-year-old self had thought he’d died and gone to heaven, landing in an angel’s house. Not one for religion, he weirded even himself out with the comparison, but there was an ethereal quality to her. A comparison she would kick his ass for.
Maybe a fairy or a Valkyrie instead. Rocking the look of either, plus the attitude to match? Raised by two of the most genuinely sweet, generous people on the planet, she kept the fire tempered, but he loved it when she let it roar.
Cole snapped the paperback shut and tossed it on the coffee table. Fucking christ, couldn’t even play on his phone, turn on a movie. Even thinking hurt.
After rubbing the false sleepiness from his eyes, he reached over to the coffee table and tapped his phone screen. Not quite ten. Trace had been gone for hours on her date. Must be a home run.
Bracing himself, he shifted to begin the arduous task of sitting up, then the hellfire process of washing up, stripping down, and getting comfortable so he could get some decent sleep.
Explosive against the quiet of the house, the front door squealed open. Chunky, rubber-soled boots tapped cautiously over the entry tile, then rounded past the kitchen. A dining chair smacked against the table.
“Fuck,” Trace muttered, then muffled a giggle, her voice echoing up the stairs.
Cole halted his attempt to sit up and leaned back on the couch pillow, his evening entertainment settled. At least he wouldn’t have to stare at the ceiling until sleepiness struck.
Tiptoe, tiptoe, slower on the squeaky step, and a few more. Red hair shielding her face as she reached the top, Trace pushed it back, releasing a grinning sigh.
Cole opened his mouth to fire off his first tease, but no words came out. His pulse tripped over itself. The couch was suddenly stiff underneath him, and he adjusted his shoulders in a failed attempt to get comfortable.
