Apparently, Pippa and Freya had conspired and picked up bridesmaid-themed tank tops with sparkly gold lettering. Cole was on the verge of an aneurism seeing Trace in hers, but her mom hadn’t even seen it, as Trace had tossed on a cozy black hoodie that was by no means “sexy,” but the whole look was so Trace and so irresistible.
“Jeremy says that I should just let her do her thing, that she’s adjusting to Finn and Haley being together and that she’s finding her place in the world right now. Emotionally speaking. But I’m afraid she’s going to get hurt if she tries too hard and it doesn’t go the way she wants it to. Or if she…” Ellen cleared her throat and blushed wildly. “I won’t pretend I didn’t know what she and Finn were up to when he’d come over and stay until late, and I can’t tell you what a tough decision it was to take my teenage daughter to the doctor to get birth control.” Ellen’s eyes widened distantly and her cheeks flamed at the memory. Perhaps a little old-fashioned, but they did the right thing. “Finn has always been such a nice boy. Nice family. She’s dated some very nice boys the last few years, too. But… she’s never… um… been with someone who was, um, assertive, or, experienced…”
Cole adored Ellen. She was a hugger like Trace, and he’d gotten addicted to the affection. This house, her bakery, her attitude and… everything. She exuded warmth and welcome, and he’d never felt like an outsider.
Until today.
“Cole, I’m only saying this because I trust you and I respect you.” Ellen folded her arms over her middle and nodded firmly. “You’re a nice boy, too.”
He chewed his tongue, wondering if he should finish her sentence for her. He’d certainly heard it enough before. Just never from either of his foster parents.
“Since getting home from her big Paris trip, and then Finn and Haley getting engaged, well, Trace seems too eager to… explore a little…”
Fury and shame and all that nasty bile rose in his throat and no matter how hard he swallowed, he couldn’t force it down. In one conversation, he was about to lose years of—
“Don’t let her hook up with someone who’s not a nice boy,” Ellen finally finished.
“What?” He choked a cough and shook his head. He must have heard her wrong.
Ellen looked at the door again, then stepped closer. “Lately, she’s been, I don’t know, more outgoing? Yes. Outgoing, which is so nice to see, but… if you wouldn’t mind keeping an eye out for her tonight? Bachelor parties can get a little wild.”
“I think she can handle herself, but I’ll keep an eye out for her, like I always do. Like she always does for me,” he said, nodding as relief and confusion and a wallop of defensiveness for Trace took over any shred of hurt he’d anticipated for himself.
Maybe not the best time to remind her thathewas the not-nice boy she should be worried about. That he had over a decade’s worth of wicked fantasies about Trace, and she was definitely not a nice girl in many of them. Nor did he think now was the right moment to mention that if Trace wanted to experiment, that was up to her. With him or someone else.
Ellen dragged him in for a rocking bear hug and did her adorable little growl along with it, squeezing him so tight he laughed out loud. “Have a wonderful time tonight,” she said, finally releasing him and grinning like she was sending him off to prom again. “You could use a nice girl in your life, if you happen to meet one tonight? Flash her some of that charm. You know, that smile you do.” She buzzed out of the room before he could respond, energized as if ready for a night on the town herself.
As he strolled out of his room, Trace was heading out of the bathroom. Halting, he leaned against the doorframe and stuffed his hands in his pockets to watch her walk by. Outgoing, yes, she was owning her style, not too loud, but not the sweet-girl uniform either. While he’d been getting the strangest of lectures from Ellen, Trace had pulled her hair back into a ponytail. Hot as hell, but he knew it was because she was more comfortable with it pulled back.
“What’s got you grinning like that?” Trace said as she approached.
He glanced toward the stairs, then back to her. “Your mother,” he whispered.
“Uh-oh. What happened?” Trace stopped in front of him, putting her hands in the pockets of her skirt, the subtle action pulling it down just enough that he could see a strip of skin. Not helpful.
He chewed his cheek to quiet the grin, then said quietly, “I think I know why you camouflage, with clothing for sure now.”
“What?” Trace tilted a curious nod and scrunched her nose, looking at the empty stairwell. “Oh. I get it. My parents have terrible taste in clothes. Everyone has their time period, and this is not theirs.”
He shook his head and resisted the urge to wrap his hands around her middle and pull her close. “That, and she’s worried you’re going to be at risk of having a rebound with the bad-boy sort, and I am to look out for you.”
Trace erupted with a full-out giggle, convulsing and tipping her head back, covering her mouth as she tried to calm it. She reached out toward his waist, then stuffed her hands back in her pockets and shook her head, still grinning. “What makes her think that?”
“Uh, Trace,” he whispered conspiratorially, “You’re wearing a ripped denim miniskirt and sexy boots.”
“These boots are classy,” she said through a giggle.
“And she thinks you picked out my new clothes, especially my new black shirt that’s too tight and my jeans that have so many holes in them. Because that’s what happens when a man and a woman go shopping together.”
That witchy laugh was going to undo him, the best sound he’d heard all day, and he couldn’t resist. Trace snorted as she calmed enough to talk again. “She did not say that.”
“She didn’t have to. I know the look.” Hands still in his pockets, he glanced down at his apparel smugly. “Why would I pick out jeans that make my ass look this good, without a woman telling me? And my sneakers aren’t pristinely white and practical, so someone else must have chosen them for me.”
“What makes her think I’m at risk for falling prey to the charms of a bad boy looking to corrupt me?”
“No fucking clue. I didn’t correct her that you spend your days thinking about blowjobs.”
Trace reached for him again, this time she hooked her hand around his forearm, pulling until he moved his hand out of his pocket and she slid down to lace her fingers with his, gently pulling him out of his room. “Oh boy. Well, if I start flirting with a ruffian or something, I’m counting on you to protect me.”
