Any Man I Want (16 page)

“You can't make me go,” she mumbled, gripping me tighter.

I walked over to the sofa and sat down with her still wrapped around me like a python. Quietly, I repeated, “I never wanted you to go, baby.” I rubbed her back while she calmed down. Finally she loosened her grip and swiped at her wet cheeks. I took my thumbs and wiped the last of the tears away. “What is all of this about, Kitty?”

“I got scared.”

“Of what?”

“That you're going to figure out I'm not worth all of this drama and walk away.”

I peered at her in confusion. “So you decided to pick a fight and bail?”

“When it ends, I'd rather be the one to end it,” she explained.

“Nice. Why does it have to end?”

“Doesn't it always?” She shrugged.

“What if we have another five good months, five good years, or five good decades first? You wanna miss out on all that in-between time?” I didn't understand her logic.

“I didn't think it through. I just got scared. Are you mad?”

“Yeah. I am,” I answered honestly.

“So we're over?” Her breath hitched.

“No, Audelia Katrina. I can be in a relationship with you and not adore you every second of every day,” I explained with far more patience than I felt.

“You're not adoring me right now?”

“No. I'm not,” I answered honestly.

“You're thinking I'm a spoiled, pampered princess who's not worth the trouble.”

“I'm thinking you've twisted yourself into a million knots and decided to tie me up in the middle. You put us—me—through something this morning unnecessarily.”

“I'm sorry,” she whispered.

I kissed her forehead and lifted her off of me. “I know you are. I'll see you later on tonight, okay? I need to go to the gym and work some of this mad off.” I stood up and jammed my hands in my pockets.

“I could help you out with that... some angry makeup sex?” She gave a wry smile.

One side of my mouth lifted in a half smile. “Maybe later.”

She nodded slowly. “I'll just unpack. I think I'll work from home today. So . . . I'll be here if you want to call or talk or anything.”

“Okay.”

“I'll be right here. Not going anywhere,” she reiterated.

I leaned over and kissed her softly. Her hands came up to grip my face and she deepened the kiss. Our lips and tongues spoke desperately, saying things we weren't ready to speak aloud. With one last clinging kiss, I lifted away. “I hear you, baby. I hear you.” I scooped up my smoothie and walked out without a backwards glance.

Katrina—Wednesday, July 7—12:21 p.m.

 

 

I
swung the door open and exhaled in relief. “Oh, thank God. Get in here.” I grabbed Chris and Beau by the arms and dragged them inside. I led them to the kitchen island and directed each of them to sit. I slid plates with shrimp and crawfish po' boys in front of them and poured glasses of iced tea for both of them. I plunked a basket of waffle fries in between the plates.

They both looked at the plates, up at me, and then at each other. Beau leaned back and crossed his arms across his chest and Chris pursed his lips. They gave me accusatory and suspicious looks.

I 'fessed up. “Okay . . . so, I may have messed up.”

“
Vraiment
? I thought you called me up all hysterical and whatnot because you were dying to feed me. The meal is a dead giveaway; an obvious bribe,” Beau drawled.

Chris sighed. “What did you do?” He looked around. “You didn't kill anyone, did you? Because I'm not about felony accessory after the fact.”

I glowered at the both of them and scooted their plates forward. “You eat. I'll talk.”

Beau picked up the sandwich and sniffed it. “Is it poisoned?”

“Shut up, Beauregard!” I nervously picked up a dishcloth and started wiping down the spotless counters I'd cleaned twice already. “I saw an article online last night.”

“The one from the sports blogger about how Carter could do better?” Chris asked around a huge bite of sandwich.

“Yeah. That one. I guess you saw it?”

“The guys in the locker room saw it. We all thought it was crap.” He finished one half of the sandwich and started on the other.

“I didn't see it.” Beau said swirling a waffle fry around the rémoulade sauce. “But anyway, you saw it and what? You freaked out?”

“A little bit. I woke Carter up this morning and asked him if I was more trouble than I was worth—”

“You are,” Beau answered at the same time as Chris said, “No way!”

“Anyway, somehow we got into this fight about him trying to protect me and thinking I'm spoiled,” I continued.

“You are spoiled,” Beau said matter-of-factly.

“I am not!” I adamantly denied

“Really?” Beau challenged me. “Have you ever worried about your next meal, your next job, your light bill, whether there are people in the world who love and will take care of you? Ever?”

“No, have you?” I asked my eldest brother.

“
Mais non
, because I
am
spoiled. But I embrace that about myself.” He smirked.

I looked at Chris, who gave a shrug. “I can't help you. I'm spoiled too. Carter and Gramps always made sure I never wanted for anything.”

“Anyway, the fight got all twisted up and the next thing I knew I told him this was just a hookup that wouldn't last. I accused him of some stuff, packed a bag, made a few more nasty declarations, and told him I was leaving him.”

Both of their mouths fell open. Uh-oh. So it was as bad as I thought.

“Then I told him to fight for me and ask me to stay and instead he got me to say I didn't really want to go and we hugged it out. But he was still mad. He went to the gym. But worse than that, he looked really hurt. Like, really hurt. I think I broke something I can't fix.”

Beau's voice was deadly quiet. “You threatened to walk out on
Big Sexy
? On Carter Evan Parks? Are you freakin' kiddin' me?”

“What?” I looked from him to Chris and back again.

“Do you not understand my brother at all?” Chris looked at me in equal parts dismay and confusion. “After the way my parents played him? Pretending to love him and getting close to him until he gave them what they really wanted—which wasn't him, by the way—and left him over and over again?”

Beau added, “After he spent his childhood being shuttled from one relation to the other, then to strangers and teachers feeling like no one wanted him? The man who has worked his entire adult life to feel a sense of security, you wake up and flip out on him? This is the man you threatened to walk out on?”

“Wait . . . what? I didn't know!” I protested and put my hand to my stomach. I felt sick.

Chris shook his head and looked at Beau. “Even I didn't know about that. How old was he when Gramps came for him?”

“He was twelve. Your grandfather had been in the service overseas and thought he was still with your mother. When he got discharged he went to find him,” Beau explained.

“And then he came and got me,” Chris said in wonder.

“Family, relationships, people who believe in him and stick by him? Knowing that the people around him trust him to do the right thing. He's that guy. The one who is there. No matter what. Whenever you call. All he asks is that the people he cares about accept him for who he is. No more, no less. That means everything to Carter. Everything.” Beau looked at me with reproach. His voice was pained when he spoke again. “Katrina. I spent so much time warning him about hurting you, I never thought you'd hurt him. I never thought in a million years that you would do that to him.” He looked at me like he didn't even know who I was at that moment.

“Why didn't he tell me?” I whispered, tears springing to my eyes.

“Why didn't you ask?” Chris wondered. “I mean, he's your man, right? Don't you want to know what made him the person he is today?”

“I've known him for so long, I just assumed I knew all the important stuff.”

“Don't you want to know what he needs to be happy or is it all about you?” Chris asked.

“I want to know. I want him to be happy. I want him to be happy with me. But you're right. Really. It's all about him now,” I clarified.

“Wow.” Beau pushed the rest of his sandwich away. “You have to fix this.”

“I offered him makeup sex. He said maybe later.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Chris exclaimed, finishing his food. “He turned down the cookies? You broke him.”

“And I never need to hear about your sex life ever again. I mean like
ever
, Audelia.” Beau gave me his sternest big-brother voice. “He is my best friend. He would walk through fire for any one of us. I don't give a shit what you have to do; you better make him feel like Superman tonight.”

“I thought you said—”

“Not with the goody bag, Katrina, for Christ's sake. You can't really think that's all he wants from you?”

I hesitated. I knew it was more than just the sex, but a lot of it
was
the sex. “That's what keeps guys coming back.”

“Wooo!
Mon Dieu
! Okay. You have dated some hella-losers in your day. I'm sorry that as your older brother, I wasn't around to stomp dey asses and teach you better, but believe me, Carter is not putting up with you for the swerve of it all.”

“You're sure?” True, Carter was a great guy, but underneath it all, he was still a guy.

“Seriously?” Chris said. “I mean, you're hot and all, but do you know how many hot women throw it at my brother regularly? Like supernova hot women?”

“No. Do tell.” I quirked a brow.

Beau elbowed Chris in the stomach. “It doesn't matter because he's not catching. He's yours. Now do you want him or not?”

“I want him.” And I knew in that moment it was absolutely true.

“For real and for keeps?” Chris asked.

“Maybe.”

They both glared at me.

“I'm being truthful. If I am cut out for that ‘real and keeps' stuff, then I definitely want it to be him.”

“Find a way to make him believe it,” Beau said. “Or else.”

“Or else what?”

“I will sic Madere on you.”

“And I'll sic Gramps.” Chris and Beau exchanged a fist bump.

“Fine. I'll fix it. I know what I have to do.”

“Fabulous. Just don't let it end up on YouTube.” Beau stood and wrapped up the rest of his lunch to go. “Can you get your spoiled ass into the office tomorrow? We have a summer line to work out.”

I glared at him. “Just because you sleep with the boss doesn't mean you can tell me what to do.”

“Actually, yeah—it kinda does. Get your shit together, Kit-Kat. You're not a kid anymore.” He kissed me on the cheek and headed to the front door.

“But I'm still a growing boy; can I have seconds?” Chris asked, putting his folded hands under his chin and blinking.

“Aren't you supposed to be at camp?” I remembered belatedly.

“I told them it was a family emergency. Hey, it's camp, not game day.”

“Training camp. Like I should have given you a salad instead of that sandwich?”

“I hit people all day, I need the carbs. If you give me seconds, I'll give you some insider tips,” he bargained

“Like what?” I leaned forward.

“His favorite mood music, his favorite movie, his favorite poem.”

“I know those—huh, no I don't.” I realized I had to do better.

“His favorite drink.”

“It's not single-malt scotch?”

“No.”

“Spiced
añejo
rum and Coke?” I guessed.

Chris snorted. “Rookie.”

I took the sandwich I was saving for myself, cut it in half, and handed it over. “Spill.”

“Deal.”

 

 

By the time Carter arrived home, the house was completely transformed. And so was I. After picking Chris's brain for close to an hour and listening to him tell stories about Carter when they were growing up, I felt I knew my man better. I was ashamed that I hadn't taken the time to find out before. Turned out that Carter Parks was not only a traditionalist, but a romantic at heart. Underneath the finely tailored suit and warrior's body was a sweetheart of a man.

I'd spent the day adding my own touches to the living room. I swapped out some of his traditional lamps for a few more contemporary styles with turquoise and berry shades. I'd added a plush mint green throw to the chaise and three lavender pillows with sequins to the couch. The large, heavy square marble slab that took Chris and three of his buddies to move was gone, replaced with two tufted suede rectangles that could be used as ottomans, tables, or storage.

The area rug under the dining room table was a Middle Eastern–inspired swirl of greens and blues with a little bit of peach. I brought over two bright floral paintings from my house to replace two of his sedate landscapes. Because I had bad memories of the way I'd acted on the bed that morning and just because I felt like it, I bought a new bed with a new mattress set. Also, upstairs I'd exchanged all the bedding and towels and bathroom accessories. I'd rearranged my side of the closet and brought in a vanity stool for my side of the bathroom. The entire house was infused with the scent of vanilla and passionflower.

The minute I heard the garage door go up, I sprang into action. Though it was starting to get dark, there was plenty of moonlight already, so I lit a few lanterns outside on the covered patio. I turned on the sound system so the soundtrack to
Love Jones
played softly indoors and out.

I was dressed in a simple LSU tank top over white capri leggings with sandals. Carter liked me no matter what I was wearing, but he liked it best when I was just myself. No artifice, no props, just Katrina. I did spend an hour on my hair, though. He liked it curly and curls took time. The result was a flowing mane of curls that framed my face and hung down my back. A little mascara and lip gloss was all the decoration I bothered with.

Checking the table settings one last time, I went inside to fix his drink. He walked in the back door slowly, as if not sure what to expect. A little twinge gripped my heart. I did that to him, made him wary walking into his own house. I vowed to make it up to him. He paused and looked around, as if making sure he was in the right place.

I started toward him. “Hi honey, how was your day?” I purred, taking his laptop case off of his shoulder and setting it on the side before sliding off his jacket and loosening his tie. I lifted up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. He slid his arm around my waist.

“My day? Well, it started off a little rough, but it's looking up right about now. How was yours?”

“Busy. Can I offer you a drink?”

“I don't see why not.” I stepped away and he caught my hand and twirled me in a circle. “You look nice, Kitty.”

I curtsied and threw back my head and laughed. “Only you, CP.” The man had seen me in ball gowns and bikinis and business suits, but was wowed by an outfit I would go to the grocery in.

He grinned. “I like what I like.”

I handed him a tall glass. “Bourbon, sparkling water, and two slices of orange.”

His brows jumped up and he took a sip. “Someone has been busy today. This is perfect, thank you.”

I took his free hand and turned toward the living room. “You like?”

He took it all in and the smile on his face spread. “I do like. It looks like you.”

“No,” I corrected. “It looks like us.”

His eyes met mine in consideration. “You're right. It looks like us now.”

“Are you hungry?” I led him outside.

“Always.” His eyes lit up as he took in the covered dishes, the set table, the lighting. He looked like a kid on Christmas morning as I led him to a chair and handed him a napkin. It made me wonder how often anyone had taken the time to do something special for him, just because. I was ashamed that I hadn't made more of an effort before to do more for him than just show up, look cute, and bounce on him whenever the mood hit. Moving a few things in, getting settled, making an effort for dinner; these were little things to do that brought him so much joy. After talking with Chris and Beau this morning, I realized that it really wasn't all about me. Or at least, it shouldn't have been. Not all the time.