Claiming What Is Mine (Wilde Boys Book 2) Page 5

  Hank shakes his head in disbelief. “Bullshit. Even you couldn’t have hooked up with someone last night.”

  “Nope. There’s no way,” Frank chimes in. “Not in your condition.”

  “Believe what you will, boys. Believe what you will.” In my head, my next move is going to be a confident stride across the driveway past my brothers to the door. But what actually happens is that I miss my second step, stumble, and almost fall flat on my face.

  Damnit. I am never drinking again.

  My brothers erupt in laughter, with Frank and Jack showing pity as they come to my aid, each taking an arm to help me up the steps. Again, in my head I’d like to push them away and prove I can make it under my own steam, but given the way I feel, I’m grateful for the assistance. They aim me at the couch, but when they release my arms I pass the living room entirely and head down the hall for a bedroom. “Need sleep,” I moan. At this point, I don’t care where. I push through the first door and drop, face first, onto the bed.

  I wake up face down, dress shoes dangling off the end of the mattress. I have no idea how long I’ve been asleep. I am, however, beginning to feel like I might survive. I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling, thinking back on last night and trying to recall some of the murkier details.

  Even though the specifics of the evening are sketchy, I feel better, like a decades-old weight has been lifted from my chest. I put my feelings out there, bared my soul to the woman I love.

  But what the hell did I say, exactly? I’m still working that out.

  I keep trying to remember the particulars, but the memories come in flashes and those are blurry.

  We sat together in the hay, looking up at the stars.

  We laughed like hyenas about…I can’t remember what.

  Her lips touched mine. Soft and moist.

  Did she make the first move?

  But what did I say to her?

  Damnit. I am seriously never drinking again.

  I need to piss. I need to eat. I need to get up. I lay on the bed for another minute, willing myself to move while resisting the idea as long as I can. I stand and reach for my hat, intending to pull it low over my eyes before I head into the light of the hall, only, it isn’t on my head and I don’t see it on the bed. First my phone, now my hat? This is not my day.

  I stumble into the bathroom across the hall and steady myself above the toilet. “Hank?” I call for my brother. “I need to borrow some clothes. I can’t stand to be in this getup any longer.”

  Silence.

  I wander back into the bedroom I had just occupied and notice the bed is properly made, except for a freshly wrinkled spot in the middle. The pillows are tucked neatly under a perfectly folded bedspread. This is not how I remember Hank’s room. Like, ever. No, this reeks of Jack—Mr. Military. I look through the closet and dresser but find nothing. Hmm. I spot a suitcase tucked in the corner and toss it onto the bed, folding back the top to look for something that might fit.

  Jack and I are about the same size, but his build is leaner than mine. He’s got a runner’s body, no doubt aided by years of running a hundred miles a day, or whatever you have to do in the Army. My body is blockier, at least by comparison. Not like a weightlifter, but as I struggle to pull one of his Army gray t’s over my chest, the difference is apparent. I look like I’m ready to audition for Magic Mike. The shirt may be a little awkward, but it will do. Those shorts on the other hand? Not a chance. Not even if I only have to be outside long enough to walk from Hank’s house to my truck and from the truck to my house. Nope. They are way too tight and way too short. Not gonna happen.

  I meander into the next bedroom, my curiosity stirring about where my brothers have gone. The bedspread looks like it was casually tossed across the bed. It’s draped, unevenly, over the mattress and pillows, like a last-minute thought. This is more Hank’s speed. I slide the closet door open and look around. Plenty of shirts and jeans, but Hank is shorter than me by a couple of inches. Damn. I swipe an old pair of boots and make my way into the last room, hopeful Frank might have something to offer as well. Finally, I give up and settle for a pair of khaki slacks.

  Shit. I don’t even want to think about how ridiculous I look. Dress slacks, a pair of crusty old work boots so big they feel like clown shoes, and a two sizes too small t-shirt. Thank God no one is around.

  My stomach churns, reminding me I need food. There’s no chance I’m stopping at Belle’s dressed like this, so I head for the kitchen to see what I can find.

  There isn’t much in the way of ready to eat hangover food, but the tray of deli-meat and bread left over from the most boring bachelor party of all time will do. I load up piece after piece of roast beef and turkey breast, topped with layers of muenster, pickle, and lettuce. I slather some mayo on the top slice of bread and place it on the sandwich, a sandwich to end all sandwiches. I take a bite, stopping to savor my masterpiece. Seriously, this thing could win a ribbon, if county fairs or the like held sandwich-making competitions. Mmmm.

  I sit alone at my brother’s table, enjoying my sandwich while I continue working to put the pieces of last night back together, when the front door swings open and voices enter the living room.

  “Hey,” I yell from the kitchen. “Where’d you boys go?”

  “Sleeping beauty finally woke up.” Hank laughs in his deep, jovial way. “Where are you, princess?”

  “Kitchen,” I say around a bite of meat.

  “We were out running the four-wheelers on the dirt track I made…” All three men stop dead in their tracks as they enter the kitchen. “What—in the hell—are you wearing?” Hank asks, finally finding his voice.

  “Yeah, I um, borrowed some clothes. I knew you wouldn’t mind.”

  Jack tries not to laugh. “That’s an interesting outfit.”

  “You look like an idiot. Are those my pants?” Frank asks.

  “Maybe. Hey, I was going to borrow your toothbrush too, but decided you might think it crossed a line or something.” I smile. “So you’re welcome, for that.”

  “Wow, man. Your boundaries are…messed up.” Frank takes a seat next to me and slides my plate over, picks up the other half of my award-winning sandwich, and takes a healthy bite.

  I furrow my brow. “Dude. What the hell? I was looking forward to eating that, you know.”

  “Apparently, around here we share with each other. Right?”

  Damn. It’s hard to argue with a man about sharing while you’re wearing his pants.

  “Whatever,” I say. “So, how was the reception?”

  “Compared to the ceremony? ” Jack takes a seat at the table across from me. “Uneventful.”

  I look around at my brothers. “Anyone hear from Leo yet? If I knew where my phone was, I’d be expecting an apology any time now.”

  “He’s alive, ” Frank answers. “I texted him all morning. Worried he might have fallen off the same cliff you did. But, he finally responded an hour or so ago. He's planning to leave town this evening. ”

  Jack sits across the table from me and leans in. “Really? Just like that? The arrogant little shit almost ruined Chet’s wedding and he’s going to take off? Did he apologize for his behavior? Or at least say he feels bad?”

  “Nope. Didn’t mention it. I doubt he remembers much about yesterday. He’s a kid, man. He made a mistake. We’ve all been in that situation.” Frank takes a bite of the sandwich. “Damn, this is pretty tasty.”

  Asshole.

  “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I look at my brother, genuinely surprised. “You can’t mean that.”

  Hank chimes in while digging his chirping phone from his pocket, “Give him a break man. It’s Leo, that’s just how he gets sometimes.”

  “You too? Really?” I look around the room and realize only Jack shares my point of view. “You’re telling me, Jack and I are the only ones sticking up for Chet in this situation? I’m sporting a goddamned shiner thanks to Chet, but come on. Leo’s no kid. Not anymore. An
d yesterday was a deal breaker. I can’t believe you two don’t see that.”

  Hank stares at his phone. “Hey Gabe…”

  Frank interrupts, distracting me from Hank. “Look, I’m not saying what he did was okay. I’m only saying that he’s had some tough times.” Frank lowers his voice. “He’s trying to figure out who he is, and he made a mistake. He’s family. You have to forgive.”

  “Gabe. You need to look at this.” Hank attempts to hand me his phone, but I’m too spun up about Frank’s bullshit excuses for Leo to drop the issue.

  “Maybe—eventually. But not twenty-four hours later. No dice.” Unsettled by the irritation radiating from my gut, I push the plate away before standing to leave. “I’ve lost my appetite. I guess I’m gonna go. I don’t see this conversation going anywhere good from here.” I level a finger at Hank and Frank. “You two need to get your heads out of your asses and start seeing Leo for the man he is, not the boy he was. And don’t even think about bringing this up around Mom. The last thing we need is a full-on civil war at the ranch.”

  “Damnit!” Hank yells, still holding the phone out. “Can no one fucking hear me?”

  Jack takes a look at the phone and his eyes light up. “Holy shit. I think we found your phone, Gabe.”

  I stop, just shy of the screen door. “Huh?”

  Jack chuckles. “You might want to come look at this. You just sent Hank a text.”

  Someone has my phone? I walk back to the kitchen and take the phone from Jack and see a text message from a number with the name ‘Dickhead’. I glare at Hank. “Really? That’s the name you have me in your phone as?”

  Hank laughs. “Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  Dickhead: I found this phone on the floorboard of my car. I’m thinking it belongs to Gabe. I don’t know how to get in touch with him, so I’m hoping you can let him know if he’s missing a phone, Meredith has it.

  I tap out a reply as quickly as I can.

  Hank: Hey beautiful, this is Gabe. Stole my phone so you’d have a reason to see me again huh?

  Dickhead: Or maybe that’s why you left it behind?

  Hank: Would have if I’d thought of it.

  My brothers stare at me as I stand around chuckling, tapping out messages or waiting for her replies.

  Hank: How about lunch at Belle’s tomorrow? My treat.

  Dickhead: Gabe. Please, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not ready to date.

  Shit. Think fast.

  Hank: It’s not a date. Just two old friends meeting to return a phone. How about Belle’s? Say 1 PM?

  Dickhead: It’s not a date.

  Hank: Understood.

  I hand the phone back to Hank and turn to leave, trying my best to hide the smile on my face. “If any of you assholes find my hat, I want it back.”

  I had no idea how I was going to justify seeing Mer again. Guess some things are just meant to be. That takes care of step one. Now, how do I make her realize we belong together?

  Chapter Nine

  Meredith

  It’s not a date.

  We’re just two people (who, okay granted, may have recently slept together) getting together to return a lost phone…while getting a bite to eat and talking. I know. It kind of sounds like a date. But it can’t be a date. Not if I spend the entire time explaining to Gabe all the ways we’re wrong for each other. Besides, it’s not like he’s picking me up and taking me someplace luxurious. We’re meeting at Belle’s. For lunch. It won’t even be dark out. Pull yourself together, girl.

  Why am I trying so hard to convince myself it’s not a date? I know how I feel. It’s plain as day.

  I don’t have feelings for Gabe Wilde.

  Well, not anymore.

  I don’t have feelings for Gabe Wilde. Anymore.

  Well, I mean, I still care about him as a person.

  Okay, I don’t have those kinds of feelings for Gabe Wilde. Anymore.

  But the other night, after all those things he confided?

  I put my mascara down and take a good look in the mirror. Eye to eye. “NO. You stop that. You stop that right now,” I say to the middle-aged woman staring at me through the glass. “You are thirty-five years old, and have just begun to pick up the pieces of your life. This is not an opportunity to relive what could have been. Gabe Wilde and his antics, don’t factor anywhere in this equation.” I nod my head in agreement and then worry if talking to oneself is a sign of dementia, or early onset Alzheimer’s, or something, before I shove my lip balm into my purse and head downstairs.

  My head bops in time with the radio on the drive to the diner, focusing a little too much on the music, or the scenery, or anything really, as long as it doesn’t have to do with Gabe. Every time I catch myself thinking about him or the thought of seeing him again, my stomach flutters with butterflies.

  After parking in the lot adjacent to the diner, I fold the visor down for a final once-over in the vanity mirror and try again to reassure myself. This isn’t a date.

  Is it?

  So much for reassurance. The butterflies in my stomach take flight, which has my hands shaking as I slam the door and cross the parking lot.

  Three bells strung above the entrance ring as the door brushes past, prompting the woman behind the counter to look up from her task and offer a warm smile. “Welcome to Belle’s. Sit anywhere you like.” I’m questioning whether it’s too late to stop and run away, but then I see Gabe. He sits in a booth at the back, biting at his nail while he stares out the window. If that isn’t enough, there’s a bouquet of flowers on the table in front of him, which instantly melts my heart. There’s no way I can bear the thought of standing him up. Gabe turns his attention to the commotion, the uncertainty on his face fading as his eyes light up. He scoots from the booth as I approach, grabbing the flowers as he stands.

  “Hey, you.” He extends the bouquet. “It’s a little cheesy, I know, but these are for you.”

  “Gabe. You shouldn’t have.” I accept the flowers and skootch into my seat, temporarily forgetting all about how this is not a date. We pull menus from the wire rack containing the salt and pepper shakers. “I haven’t eaten here in…I don’t even know how long.”

  “I doubt much has changed, regardless. You know how change works in a small town.” Gabe briefly scans the options and sets the menu down on the table.

  “You know what you’re getting?”

  “Yep,” he says confidently.

  “Do tell—maybe I’ll have the same.”

  Gabe chuckles. “I don’t know, it might be a little unorthodox for you.”

  I sit back in my seat. “What could you possibly order for lunch, here of all places—” I motion around the diner “—that would be so out of character for me?” Before he can answer, the woman with the sweet smile walks up to the table with a notepad in her hand.

  “How are you all doing today? My name is Mollie and I’ll be your waitress. Can I start you off with something to drink?” she asks in a soft, but well-rehearsed way.

  “I’m good with water.” I look over the menu, hopeful to find something that appeals to me, quickly.

  Mollie turns to Gabe. “And for you? Oh, hon. Your eye. Is that from the wedding?”

  Gabe’s cheeks flush with embarrassment. “You saw that, huh?”

  “I did,” Mollie answers. “You poor thing. You tried to do the right thing, putting yourself between your brothers like that, and look what it got you.”

  Gabe puffs his chest, pleased to hear someone acknowledge his intentions. “That’s right. I was only trying to help.”

  “Well, what can I get you to drink?”

  “Coffee for me. Black—with a side of pie,” he says, as if choosing dessert for lunch is something to be proud of.

  Mollie smiles as she jots our order on her pad. “What kind of pie would you like? We have—”

  Gabe holds up his hands. “Pecan, please.”

  “Okay, then—pecan it is.” Mollie turns back to me. “Do you need a fe
w more minutes, hon?”

  “I guess I’ll have the…” Quick Meredith, pick something. Anything. “The chicken salad sandwich.” Could that have been a more random selection? But hey, why not?

  “Sure thing.” Mollie sucks in her bottom lip. “Now, I want to be sure you know, that is made with mayo. Not Greek yogurt. Is that still gonna be okay?”

  “I didn’t know you could make it with anything besides mayo,” I admit, caught off guard by the clarification. “Mayo is alright by me.” If I skip the ice cream tonight, my diet will be fine.

  “Okay then, I’ll be right back with your drinks. Did you want that pie now, or wait until her sandwich is ready?” Mollie asks Gabe.

  “With her sandwich. Thank you.”

  She hurries off, returning soon after with our drinks before moving down to check on the patrons in the next booth. I poke my straw against the table, freeing it from the paper wrapper. “We need to talk about what happened.” I steel myself for his reaction.

  To my surprise, Gabe doesn’t flinch or protest. He simply smiles, looks deeply into my eyes, and says, “I know what you’re saying. And I get where you’re coming from. All I’m asking is that you keep an open mind.”

  “Uh, okay? Where am I coming from?”

  “I hurt you.” Gabe takes a deep breath. “That doesn’t begin to do justice to what I did. I know that. I’ve known it for years. I was selfish and arrogant and…wrong. Yeah, it was a long time ago, but you’re no average cookie. You’re smart, and sweet, and special. And I can only assume something pretty bad happened to get you to move back home—especially considering the way your parents treat you.”

  I’m stunned to the point of speechlessness. I wasn’t sure what to do with Gabe’s words the night of the wedding, but now? I haven’t had so much as a drop of booze to distract or dull my senses, and his words continue to drip with honesty and insight. “I…uh…”

  Gabe grins. “What? Surprised that I can be a serious adult?”

  “Why would you say that? It’s not like you ordered pie for lunch or something totally juvenile like that.” I playfully kick at his leg under the table. “Now, as far as the first part of your statement is concerned, flattery will get you everywhere. Please go on, Mr. Wilde.” I smile.