Pros & Cons (7 page)

We’re both shaking when we finally pull away. His baby blues are dark and desperate as he gazes down at me. I let my fingers caress his scalp, a silent apology for pulling too hard in my fervent need to get closer. With a breathless sigh, he kisses me again, and this time, everything moves in slow motion. This kiss is gentle and sweet, and when he pulls away again, he presses his forehead against mine.

“Wow.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs roughly. “I’m glad we got that out of our systems.

“Me, too.”

We stay in each other’s arms, just gazing at one another. I have no idea if we’ve caused a scene, and quite frankly, I couldn’t care less. I have bigger problems now—the biggest of which is that Ethan and I were absolutely wrong, and I can tell by the look in his eyes he realizes it, too.

One kiss will never, ever be enough.

“More juice?” Mom asks.

I anxiously run my fingers through my hair. No doubt it’s standing on end. It’s not like I’ve slept a wink or had a moment to myself since I arrived. This is why I don’t come home very often.

“I’m good. Stop hovering and eat something.”

Mom laughs softly and makes herself a plate before sitting down next to me. Her tinkling laugh vibrates through me, and I feel my anxiety ease. She’s been nothing but sweet. Motherly, but sweet. It takes some getting used to, especially when I’ve been away for so long. Besides, it’s not really my mom’s attention that’s getting on my nerves. I’m pissed at the universe for
finally
allowing me to do the one thing I never should have done.

Believing one kiss could satisfy my curiosity had clearly been an error in judgment. I should have known better. I’d still been trying to make sense of the fact that I woke up with Jenna York in my arms, all pressed up against me, with hair smelling like tangerines or something equally fruity. The hour on the plane had been torture, so by the time we got to the airport, I was tense and frustrated and ready to seal the deal. So I followed her, and I kissed her. Just one kiss—a simple, innocent kiss—that would finally get this girl out of my system.

I had no idea it’d do the complete opposite. That one innocent kiss turned into something frantic and desperate, and God help me, addicting.

I’m so addicted.

“Something on your mind?”

I sigh tiredly and push my plate aside. “I just didn’t sleep well.”

“You did seem restless last night. We aren’t used to having anyone in the house, so your constant tossing and turning kept us up, too.”

I grimace. “Sorry about that. Where is Dad, anyway?”

“Jogging. He should be back soon.”

I nod and finish my juice. It’s not like I’m in a hurry to see him. As soon as I’d unpacked last night, my dad asked me to join him in his study. Like always, he wanted to talk about my total lack of direction in life. I heard the usual things like, ‘When are you going to grow up, Ethan?’ or ‘You had so much potential. Why do you insist on doing the things you do?’ It was after midnight when I finally dragged my ass to my bedroom, wondering for the thousandth time what possessed me to come home.

“Insomnia is typically a sign of anxiety or stress. Talking about it may help.”

Ah, my mother, the shrink. Always trying to get me to talk about
it
. But in this case, she sounds motherly. Hopeful. How long has it been since I’ve had an actual conversation with my mom? Something as mundane as girl trouble might really interest her.

“Is it your father? I know he was rough on you last night.”

“Nah, I’m used to that.”

“Then what?”

I take a deep breath.

“It’s this girl.”

“A girl?” My mother’s face brightens. She’s still a beautiful woman, with her long black hair and deep green eyes. Coop still has a raging crush on her.

“Yeah, but it’s complicated.”

“Love usually is.”

I snort. “Love? This isn’t love. This is . . .”

Intense sexual attraction to the point of pain.

“Lust?” Mom smiles knowingly.

I frown. “No, it’s not that, either. Not entirely, anyway.”

“So it’s somewhere between love and lust.”

“It’s far, far away from love. Eons away from love.”

“Hmm.”

I’m immediately on the defensive. That hum is what she reserves for her patients—or for me—when she doesn’t believe what we’re saying.

“Don’t do that. Don’t hum. I am not in love with this girl.”

Mom raises her hands in surrender. “Okay, you’re not in love with this girl.”

“Thank you.”

“But she’s obviously gotten under your skin. You look like someone who’s lost their puppy. Your hair is standing on end—a sure sign you’re frustrated. And you haven’t touched your pancakes.

“Maybe I’m just not hungry.”

“Hmm.”

“Fine! I can’t stop thinking about her, and I don’t have the first clue what to do about it.”

Chuckling softly, Mom pours me another glass of juice. “Why don’t you tell me about her, and then maybe we’ll figure out what you should do about it.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Whatever you want to share. I know how private you are.”

“You know why I have to be.”

“For our protection. And for yours. I know. But just this once, I’d love if you’d let me be your mother. So please tell me what it is about this girl that has you twisted into such knots.”

I’m really not sure where to start, so I go with the basics.

“Her name’s Jenna.”

Too
basic, if the shocked expression on my mother’s face is any indication. Naturally, she’d recognize the name.

“Jenna York?”

I nod.

Mom sighs. “And here I was hoping this girl might actually convince you to
leave
this life behind. Of course you’d fall for another con artist. You do remember that Bonnie and Clyde got shot in the end, don’t you?”

“We aren’t Bonnie and Clyde, and I haven’t fallen for her.”

Mom eyes me skeptically before waving for me to continue.

“Anyway,” I mutter, already regretting this, “there’s a connection there. We understand each other on a level that nobody else can.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Do you want to hear this or not?”

Mom reaches over and pats my hand. “I’m sorry. Of course I do. Tell your story. I’ll keep my opinions to myself.”

“What story?” Dad asks, making his way into the kitchen. Mom springs from her seat to pour him a cup of coffee. “Good morning, Ethan.”

“Morning.”

Dad kisses Mom’s cheek, and she hands him an omelet.

“Thank you, sweetheart. So?” he asks as he takes his place at the table. “What story?”

“Ethan’s having trouble with a girl.”

His head swivels toward me. “Is that so? You know, son, I always thought a girl was exactly what you needed. A sweet, sensible girl who can convince you to settle down and start living a normal life.”

Mom laughs, and that’s when I officially give up.

“Enjoy your breakfast. I’m going to the den.”

“But you didn’t eat your—”

“I’ll eat later.”

I head downstairs and search through the media cabinet until I find the stack of video games I played as a teenager. The next hour is spent playing Grand Theft Auto, and it’s just the violent distraction I need to take my mind off everything. Conversations with my parents always make me nuts. While I’m used to discussions about my chosen profession, I’m not prepared to talk to them about my feelings for Jenna.

Whatever those feelings might be.

Even the game bores me after a while, so I toss my controller aside and reach for my cell. I quickly scan through my messages. There’s nothing from her—not that I really expected there to be. There is a text from Coop that looks interesting . . . something about a Greek billionaire eager to get his hands on some diamond. Technically, we’re on vacation, so I make a mental note to ask for details later.

I keep scrolling until I find the message I’m looking for, and I can’t help but grin at the picture of Jenna and the Mexican waitress. Their kiss was silly. Nothing more than a joke.

Our kiss wasn’t a joke. Not at all.

I decide to send her a message.

Are you bored out of your mind like I am?

I wait for a response, but I’m not surprised when I don’t receive one. Who knows how spotty her cell service is in the mountains. Despite that, I send her another message. And another. Thinking eventually she’ll respond.

She doesn’t.

I finally give up and head back upstairs. My parents are still in the kitchen, reading the newspaper, and looking way too domestic. Their heads pop up when I enter the room. I know I need to make an effort. I’m home so rarely, after all. But right now, what I need is a nap.

“I’m going to try to sleep. Then we’ll talk. Okay?”

They nod, and without another word, I head upstairs to my room.

Sleep doesn’t come easily. I toss and turn for a while, still unable to get Jenna and that stupid kiss out of my mind. I finally send her one last text, hoping if she’s just a little sentimental about the whole thing, maybe she’ll text me back.

I can still taste your lip gloss.

It’s only after I hit send that I realize I really can taste it, and I want to taste it again.

“You always did like to bait the hook,” Dad says with a grin as I hand him his reel.

With a graceful flourish, he casts his line into the river. I’m still not sure how he convinced me to go fishing in the rain, but I’d been desperate for some normalcy, and for Hank York, fishing is normal.

I need normal.

I crave normal.

I’m so afraid nothing will ever be normal again.

Unfortunately, fishing with my dad is a quiet kind of normal, and the silence of the mountains is sort of the last thing I need right now. What I really need is a distraction from the constant loop of last night’s kiss that continues to play repeatedly in my head. Our kiss had been a mistake—a horrible, toe-curling, R-rated mistake . . . that I wanted to relive over and over again.

“So what’s going on in Strawberry Flatts?” It’s a desperate plea for any kind of conversation that has nothing to do with my professional or personal life.