Depths (9 page)

“You’re a damn angel, Maren, you know that? Seriously. I’m calling Maurice and having him give you a raise. You’re a lifesaver.” I lean against the deck railing and look into the clear blue sky, relieved that Maren caught the slip-up before the Mrs. Reyes came in and gave me an ass-chewing I’d never forget.

She clears her throat. “Also. Um. This is a little weird. Uh. I know things didn’t go the way you…the way you planned. On your last date. And this may be too weird and too soon, so please feel free to say no—”

And it hits me.

Maren is going to ask me out.

Maren.

Sweet, perfect Maren who fixes problems and has this voice that can flip from bedroom-sexy to furniture-ordering-fierce like a switch.

No. No, no, no, no. I want one dream girl, unruined by a clusterfuck of a bad date. Just one. I need her stability in my crazy, drowning world.

She clears her throat a second time. “My boyfriend…well, he’s kind of my boyfriend. It’s on and off. It doesn’t matter. God, I’m rambling! Okay, my boyfriend got four tickets to the Angel’s game, and our friend’s ditched last minute. They’re
really
good seats, and Jason knows this girl from work who wants to go, but she’s single and, um—”

Maren has a boyfriend? An off and on boyfriend? What kind of idiot wouldn’t commit to a girl like Maren? And what kind of idiot takes his girl to an Angels’ game, rather than a Dodgers’?

Granted, what I know about her is based on months of work phone calls, but I feel like I know her well enough to be sure she’s the kind of girl who’s a keeper.

Not for me. Obviously. I just want to know that good people, like Maren, are dating other good people. It gives me hope.

Not that I’m feeling all that hopeful right now.

I rake a hand through my hair. I’m not ready for this again. I’m not ready to put myself out there and get my heart trampled on again. I’m not ready for more disappointment.

I glance up and see Whit and Deo through the reflections on the sliding door. I can see his face, watching her while she tells him a story. I see the way his eyes never leave her, the way she gets him to smile no matter what’s going on. He kisses her, and I stop watching, ‘cause I’m not a perv like that.

But I want what they have. I want it bad. And I’ll never get it drinking my sadness away in their living room.

Isn’t this exactly what Whit just told me I needed? Isn’t this kind of like fate slapping me upside the head?

I take a deep breath and just go for it.

“Sure. I’d love to go.”

I hope to God this isn’t another huge mistake.

6 COHEN

The stadium is crazy crowded, and the fans are already getting rowdy as the sun dims behind billows of dark clouds. It looks like rain.

I wonder if this date will suck for reasons that have nothing to do with me and everything to do with the weather. And I wonder if I can stop thinking about the weather long enough to beat down my nervousness at finally meeting Maren.

And Ally, of course. I’m obviously nervous to meet the girl I’m going on a date with.

I admit, I tried looking Maren up on Facebook, just to have a reference. Asking for her picture straight-out seemed creepy, but I was willing to do some cyber stalking, just so I’d at least be able to recognize her. Unfortunately, there were a million girls with her name, and a ton of them lived in California. There were so many girls who could have been my Maren, I just gave up looking and accepted the fact that I’d have to live with watching for her under the giant red Angels’ hat on the left, like she’d told me to.

She told me she’s going to be in head to toe Angels’ gear, which isn’t remotely weird for this insane crew. She’ll also be holding a sign like one of those guys who pick you up at the airport.

I head to the hat, my guts clenching tight, and wish I could rewind time. As sucky as things may have been with Kensley in the end, there was this sense of safety, of belonging, and I took that for granted. I had no idea what it meant to have that ripped out from under me, but I know now. And it fucking sucks.

I scan the crowd, but people are moving fast, and I’m not exactly sure what I’m looking for. I didn’t want to ask for the details on her appearance, because I didn’t want to sound like a dick, like I cared either way, but it was making finding her difficult.

Is she tall? Short? Curvy? Willowy? Blond? Brunette? I can’t help smiling a little when it occurs to me just how many ways a girl can look damn good. Deo would be proud of this thought process.

“Cohen?”

It’s the voice I know, right away, no questions.

Damn.

Maren.

She’s a short little thing, curved in all the right places, dark hair twisted in two shiny braids. Her eyes are wide and a clear, light blue. She smiles like she’s thinking something she shouldn’t, and for a stupid blip of a moment, I hope she’s thinking whatever she’s thinking about me. Something about her is…familiar. Like I know her from somewhere. Like I’ve seen her before. But I wrack my brain and can’t think where it might have been.

I’m probably just being a lunatic.

“So you weren’t kidding about being all A’ed out.” I smile at her jersey, hat, red sneakers, and A
ngel’s jacket.

“I’m dead serious when it comes to baseball.” That smile. It’s all over her face, it’s making my own lips curl up. It’s contagious. “And Ally is going to have a hard time keeping her hands off of you. You are
hot
.”

I wish it were weirder than it is that she says that. I wish it felt like she crossed a line.

But it sounds like a girl who has a boyfriend being excited for a girl who needs one.

Maybe Maren’s sometimes-boyfriend’s friend will be amazing. Too bad I’m having trouble remembering the girl’s name already.

“Thank you.” I want to tell her that I haven’t felt so attracted to a girl in…
ever
maybe. Damn. She’s not as movie-star beautiful as Claire. She’s not as sexy as Tracey. She’s not as polished as Kensley. She just looks…so good. Really damn good.

But you don’t say shit like that to a girl with a boyfriend.

“It’s so cool to finally meet you-meet you. Even though I sort of feel like we already do know each other, you know?” She rocks on the balls of her feet, and I nod but feel like a douche for not saying more.

“It really is. Thank you for using your extra ticket on me.”

She stands on her toes so she can stretch enough to fish the tickets from the front pocket of her tiny shorts. I reach out for the one she holds in my direction. “I’m so glad you made it. Ally and Jason get along really well, but I feel like it might have felt awkward for her, you know?”

“Mmmhmm.” I follow her into the stadium and try not to stare at her ass.

Funny how many times we’ve talked on the phone and I never had any idea how she looked. But now it’s been ten minutes since I met her, and I feel like I can’t remember what it was like to not know the long line of her neck or the fact that she has freckles across her nose and next to her ears.

When she comes to our row, I nearly knock her over because she stops short and just stares. It’s always a little strange to meet new people, but, right now, there’s a pointed awkwardness in the air that has nothing to do with a lack of introductions.

The asshole I assume is her sometimes-boyfriend is getting pretty snugly with the girl I assume is the co-worker. The girl at least has enough shame to look guilty. The guy stares up at Maren almost like he’s daring her to say something about how his arm is around some other girl’s waist.

I’m a fairly laid-back guy, but my hackles are up. Maren goes all pink and looks painfully embarrassed, which makes my temper spark big time.

“So, um, Jason, Ally, this is Cohen.”

Ally jumps up, and Jason doesn’t bother to hide the way his hand lingers on her hip as she moves away from him.

“So nice to meet you. Are you a baseball freak like Maren?” She tosses a look over her shoulder at Jason, like they’re sharing a joke.

At Maren’s expense.

“I am a baseball freak,” I admit coolly. “But I think Maren has me beat by a mile.” I look right at Maren, not giving a shit if I’m making things even more awkward. “And I think girls who get all into baseball are sexy as hell.”

If she was pink before, she’s a shade away from boiled lobster now. “Um, anyone want drinks? Food?”

“Sit,” Jason barks, the same time I say, “Sure.”

She looks between us and takes a deep breath. “Get stuff later,” Jason says.

I ball both my hands into fists and beat the fury back. I can’t go ape shit because a girl I just met in real life and her sometimes-boyfriend agree to not get snacks at a ball game.

Because that’s what this is.

It’s not that I feel a way I never expected to the minute I saw Maren. It’s not that I think her sleazy sort-of boyfriend is probably screwing around with this Ally brat. It’s not that I’m going fucking rage-blind with jealousy. Nope. Couldn’t be that at all.

“So, what do you do?” Ally asks, trying to make it look like she’s not glancing over at Jason every other second.

“My parents own a furniture store. I help manage it.” I can tell from the way she raises her eyebrows just slightly that she isn’t impressed. “What do you do?”

“I’m in college right now. I do part time work as a secretary at Bingham and Walters.” She twirls a little piece of her hair like she’s sending an SOS Jason’s way. He’s too busy hissing something low and quick in Maren’s ear. What the fuck is he saying to her? “Jason is the corporate finance manager of the entire department. The youngest one they’ve ever hired in that position, you know.”

I don’t know. And I don’t give a shit what this prick’s position is or how young he was when he got it. What I do care about is the way he’s shaking his head at Maren, like he’s disgusted with her.

That I care about way more than I should.

“Are you okay?” Ally asks, her face blocking my view of Maren and Jason. “You look kind of pissed. Is it the game? Jason was getting all bent out of shape because the Tigers managed to steal second, but the Angels will bounce back. They always do.”

She’s trying to be cheerful. She’s trying to make this less of a clusterfuck than it is, but, for once, I’m not interested in being the nice guy. I have no clue where this insane over-protective vibe came from, but once it rips out, there’s nothing I can do to shut it back down.

“I’m actually a Dodgers fan,” I say a little too curtly, and watch Ally’s face fall.

It’s so not me. I’m usually a peace keeper. A good guy. Not a raging lunatic about to jump over some chatty ditz to throttle a guy I hardly know for looking at girl I just met the wrong way.

Just when I’m about to stand, Maren beats me to it. She’s clamping her jaw and breathing hard and fast.

“Don’t get mustard on my hotdog. I hate that.” Jason’s eyes are small and mean, like he knows exactly what a dickhead he’s being to her and enjoys every second of it.

“Should I go with Maren?” Ally asks, moving to get out of the way as Maren rushes by, knocking her in the shoulder.

“Nah. I told her what you wanted.” He pats the seat Maren just left and Ally slides over. “Hey, where are you going?” he calls to me.

Fuck this guy.

I don’t bother to answer, and it takes me a few minutes of weaving through the bottlenecked crowds before I reach Maren, trembling in the concession line.

“Hey.” Now that I’m standing in front of her, I have no idea what to say. She’s staring at the toe of her bright red Chuck, her eyelashes fluttering rapidly. I reach one hand out and move a finger along her knuckles. That tiny brush of a touch seems to jolt her out of her thoughts.

“Cohen.” My name from her mouth is sweet. “What a freaking mess. I’m so sorry. This was a bad idea.”

I shake my head. “It’s alright.”

“You’re just being nice.” She yanks her ball cap off, rolls it up, and stuffs it in her back pocket. “Jason can be—” She pauses like she’s trying to find a nice way to say that her sometimes-boyfriend is an asshole. “—an asshole,” she finally says.

I can’t help laughing. “I’ve dealt with lots of assholes. Remember the Rickmans?”

Her eyes have a lot of green in them. And she has nice, plump lips. I love how they look when she smiles. “Ugh! Yes! Remember he ordered that hideous orange sectional, and then they needed it moved
seven
times in a month? I think his wife must have had a thing for one of the moving guys.”

“Yep. He wasn’t even the worst. So, I’m alright with assholes.” I watch her twine her hands around one another, nervously. “Strike that.” Her eyes fly up to my face. “I’m fine with assholes when they’re being assholes to me. I’m not all that cool with assholes who upset the coolest girl I know.”

She inches toward the concession window and chews on her lip. “Thank you. Really, thank you. But don’t do that.”

“Do what?” I love how much smaller she is than me. How I could tuck her head against my chest and rest my chin on the crown.

“Do that thing where you come riding up like some awesome knight-in-shining-armor because I’m being all damsel-in-distress.” She tugs the elastics out of her braids and pulls her hair loose. It falls down around her shoulders in shiny waves, and the air suddenly smells like coconut and salt…like the beach. “You did it that time on the phone, too.”