Make Me Fall: Bayshore #2 Page 4

  Connor clears his throat and slings his arm over the back of my chair. My cheeks are hot, so it’s probably time to shut up.

  “When’s the funeral?” Connor asks minutes later after the dining room has grown deafening with the sounds of scraping knives and sighs.

  “Thursday.” Annette has softened slightly, but instead of tension wringing at her features, it’s tiredness. I would squeeze her hand, but I’m afraid she might karate chop me if I tried.

  Connor nods, looking down at his plate. He’s loaded it up with steak and potatoes and salad. I can barely taste my food since I’m so distracted by the hurricane brewing at the table. Wondering if we’ll all get drenched in the aftermath, or if it’ll just dissipate into a harmless cloud cover.

  Weston pipes up. “How long will y’all be staying?”

  Grayson snorts. “Y’all? Were in the north, pal.”

  “I was down south recently,” Weston replies. “Cut me a break. It sticks.”

  “I’m here through the weekend, and a few more days,” Dom says before shoving a forkful of potatoes into his mouth.

  “We’ll be here for the next two weeks. So you better get used to what it’s like to have your older brother around again,” Connor says, ruffling Weston’s hair.

  Maverick’s dark gaze flits around the table. He looks gaunt, in the way that only hard-partying twenty-somethings can. “You’re not staying in my room, are you?”

  “Oh, that’s right.” Annette dabs at her mouth with her cloth napkin. “Connor, your old room is now Maverick’s new room.”

  Connor scoffs good-naturedly. “But I wanted to show Kins all the things I scribbled on the inside of my closet.”

  Kins. I fight a cheesy grin. He has a nickname for me already. Even if it’s born out of this ruse, it still feels good to hear it.

  “I get the big room,” Grayson pipes up. “I’m here for a month. I need the space.”

  “Oh, no,” Maverick retorts. “The big room is mine.”

  “I’m older than you. I get it,” Grayson continues.

  “Well I live here, so I get dibs,” he shoots back.

  “Grayson actually has an income,” Mr. Daly pipes up, “so I think he wins the big room.”

  “I make money.” Maverick’s glare is trained on his dad. “Not like any of you would notice, since it’s not six figures.”

  “Boys.” Annette’s warning tone is clear.

  “Your allowance from Dad doesn’t count,” Dom cracks.

  “You know what? Fuck you, Dom,” Maverick spits. There’s a flurry at the table while Dom acts affronted and Mr. Daly grumbles his opposition. I keep my head down, focusing intently on the slice of red onion in my salad. The outburst is sort of exciting, if only because I recognize it. All this roiling tension under the surface, all the intense stares and unspoken sentiments feel like home to me. Maybe the Dalys aren’t so different after all.

  “You don’t have to get so ruffled.” Even I can agree that Dom’s condescension is rolling off in thick, sticky waves. I give him a 2/10 for hiding his true opinion. “I don’t live here anymore. I actually left my hometown to further my education.”

  Annette slams her fork down. That’s the warning shot. Grayson’s eyes are narrowed, but I can’t quite tell whose side he’s on.

  “Not everybody has to go straight to college after high school,” Weston pipes up. I can tell he’s the nicest Daly boy. He’s got something about him that screams peace and love, and it’s not just his longish hippie hair.

  “Of course not. But most people take a gap year, not gap decade.”

  “Jesus Christ, Dom, you’re worse than Dad,” Maverick barks, and as Grayson opens his mouth to add something to the discussion, Annette’s voice slices through the dining room.

  “BOYS. ENOUGH.”

  The table falls silent. Maverick scowls at his plate, and Connor looks at me with the most pitiful sort of grimace. I can read it all over his face: Welcome to my family.

  But it’s okay. Because his fingers are still laced through mine, and for a moment, I can tap into something inside me that believes the way our eyes are locking might have a whiff of truth behind the intensity.

  Like maybe he’s feeling the same current running between our hands.

  Like I might be able to have a man like Connor at my side someday.

  Chapter 6

  CONNOR

  That dinner was Guinness Book of World Records-style horrible. It probably won several categories by default—Worst Pre-Funeral Family Reunion, Midwest Edition, followed by Most Awkward Dinner as Judged by Quantity and Frequency of Throats Cleared.

  Really, in the grand scheme of things, bringing Kinsley here was genius in both the diabolical and unexpected sub-genres. Diabolically genius because I’d pissed my dad off even more than planned, which brought Mom right along with him; and unexpectedly genius because Kinsley’s presence at my side was far more grounding and reassuring than I’d imagined possible.

  I held Kinsley’s hand at every point during the dinner that we weren’t eating, a fact I didn’t even realize until Mom was clearing plates and I finally figured out why my hand was sweating. It was hard not to hang on to her. Our hands fit well together, which isn’t a thing I knew was possible before tonight. I’ve held hands with plenty of girls, and I’m not saying that as a metaphor for sex.

  Kinsley stood up for me multiple times during that awkward and hellish journey through the Daly family dysfunction. Even though my parents acted as if she wasn’t there the entire time. I probably need to up her compensation for agreeing to this. Even I couldn’t have predicted this brutally frigid reception. I thought Dad would put on a forced friendly front and complain viciously to Mom behind closed doors, like any normal American.

  Once dinner is over and my brothers have completed their jousting match over who gets which bedroom, I am feeling far superior, since I have been the most laidback about the bedroom thing. I grin my way up the staircase, Kinsley trailing behind me. We head for the last bedroom, which has a sunrise-facing window I’ve always particularly liked. I push open the door, and the cozy guest bedroom greets us.

  In front of us, the plush queen-size bed is neatly made, the head of the white comforter pulled back. Beckoning us into its comfort.

  Something is off, but I can’t tell what.

  Kinsley speaks. “I thought you said there were two twin beds?”

  Shit. That’s what it is. I roll our luggage into the bedroom and shut the door.

  “There were.” I frown. “In my old room.”

  She’s gnawing at the inside of her lip, glancing between me and the bed.

  “Will this be okay?” I ask, suddenly worried I’ve overstepped our tenuous boundaries. Clutching her hand in a vice grip for the duration of dinner? Fine. But sharing a bed, even platonically? This could be the deal breaker. “I can sleep on top of the covers, if you want, or bring a sleeping bag—”

  “It’ll be fine.” She waves her hand dismissively and shrugs, heading for the bed. “I wouldn’t want you to sleep on the floor on my account.”

  I smirk, unable to pass up the chance for a joke. “I didn’t mean I would be sleeping on the floor.”

  She narrows her eyes, a laugh bursting out of her. “I can’t imagine you’d drag me two thousand miles for that encounter with your parents and make me sleep on the floor.”

  My laughter turns into a sigh. “Sorry about that. I didn’t think it would be that bad. Honestly.”

  She shrugs again, picking at something on the comforter. “I know our parents always had issues. I just didn’t think it would make them act like that.”

  I ease onto the bed next to her, even though I could have sat anywhere else in the room: the other side of the bed, in the chair facing the bathroom, or hell, even on the gray Berber carpet. But being near Kinsley has already burrowed in like a habit. Even though no eyes are watching us. “Do you think your parents would act the same?”

  A sigh bursts out of her. “I do
n’t know. Maybe. It’s weird to think that we’re being the adults here.”

  Regret crashes through me. Am I being the adult here? My reasons for bringing Kinsley are hardly noble. Sure, I bought her plane ticket. But also, I needed her presence to get back at a small handful of people. And that seems like the opposite of mature.

  “Listen. We’re gonna have a great time,” I say, channeling my hopes into words. “My parents will loosen up. But we won’t even be here much. We can go do whatever we want. This is vacay, baby.”

  She sends me a curious glance. “Whatever we want, huh?”

  I can’t help it. My mind goes straight to sex. I’m 100 percent man and 50 percent beast. Which makes for some sort of mathematically impossible species. My gaze drops to her lips. God, she’s got great lips. Maybe we can slightly expand the list of Bayshore-relationship activities.

  “Absolutely.” The side of my body closest to hers is getting hot from curiosity. She’s not my type—not even a little. But I’m still wondering what it might be like to go there with her.

  “You know I brought twenty books with me, right?” she says. And like that, the fire under my skin goes out. Not because books aren’t sexy—trust me, they are—but because I realize she wasn’t heading down the same kiss-curious path I was. She meant books. Because she is not a man beast who would already have her half undressed if she’d allow it.

  “Like I said.” I push to my feet. More distance is probably wise. Sitting that close to her is messing with my head. “We’re creating this vacay. And if that includes starting your own book club, so be it.”

  She smiles up at me, and there is something so pure and innocent in her gaze that my breath catches. The sunlight filtering into the room catches on her hair, highlighting the strawberry undertones there. Between her glistening braid and her sweet smiles, I decide in that moment that she is the definition of a sunbeam.

  A sunbeam with slightly-too-large ears.

  “What are you staring at?”

  I blink, ripping my gaze off her. I have no idea how to cover my ass. “I was thinking about something else.”

  “And what was that?”

  “That pizza place down at the four corners. Mama G’s. You remember it?”

  She snorts. “Does something about my face remind you of pizza?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Because if it does, I’m going to have high school nightmares tonight, and I might thrash you in my sleep.”

  “I’m pretty sure I have an old football helmet in the house somewhere. I’ll be sure to wear that when I go to bed.” I pause, dragging my gaze back over to her. “Pizza face.”

  Kinsley snickers, and her amusement feels like an accomplishment. I already know that Kinsley is my humor and mental equal after one sad night at the bar and an entire day of travel together. She can lob a joke as far as I can. And I’m realizing that although we’re just pretending here in Bayshore, I actually want to spend time with her.

  “What do you feel like doing tonight?” I head to my bag and start unpacking the basics—cologne, body wash, shaver, swimsuit. “I was thinking we might head down for a drink later. I’m sure Dad has already gotten out the alcohol in an attempt to smooth things over.”

  “Yeah. That sounds nice. I could use a stiff drink.”

  “You don’t need to go see your parents?”

  “I’ll see them tomorrow.” She flips her braid over her shoulder and unzips her olive drab duffel bag. She pulls out five books before reaching the first layer of clothing. I sneak glances while I arrange my own things on the dresser.

  She disappears into the bathroom after a while, and when she re-emerges, she’s dressed down in khaki shorts and an off-the-shoulder frilly top. It’s sorta cute. Still vaguely reminiscent of the nineties, but hey, that decade is making a comeback anyway.

  “I’m ready for alcohol when you are,” she says.

  “Just don’t get too drunk and try to make out with me,” I warn her as I breeze past and into the bathroom. I only said it because it’s the only thing I’ve been thinking about for the last thirty minutes.

  “Don’t worry,” her muffled voice carries through the door. “I wouldn’t dream of consummating our fake relationship like that.”

  Consummating. The word on her lips makes me think of sex, again, and my mind flashes to the tanned shoulder sticking out from her top.

  What a sleazeball. Coercing a woman into a vacation with the promise of plane tickets, only to come on to her once she’s trapped in my parent’s house?

  I might be a man beast, but I do have morals buried somewhere deep inside.

  If I know what’s good for me, I need to keep these thoughts buried way below the surface. Kinsley is a non-option. I’ve always seen myself with the confident model types. Head-turning princesses who can rock a bikini and make my older brothers jealous. It’s every man’s dream, right?

  But after the train wreck that was dating Tamara—who was everything I purportedly wanted—I’m not too eager to start anything with anyone.

  Which means that if I had a list?

  Kinsley would be at the bottom of it.

  Chapter 7

  KINSLEY

  Annette and Damon go to bed early that night, just after nine p.m., which leaves all of us under forty gathered around the firepit in their postage-stamp backyard. A tall wooden fence closes us in, and rose bushes line the perimeter. It’s fragrant and calming—even more so now that the Daly heads of household and their frosty glances have disappeared.

  “So. Kinsley and Connor.” Grayson is a little toasted already.

  I get the sense that he’s a good-natured prick. I guess all of the Daly brothers are. Except for Dom, of course. He just seems like a prick.

  “Yeah.” Connor takes a swig of his beer. He’s finishing his second, and I’ve been nursing an enormous glass of moscato. “You got it right.”

  Grayson snorts and rubs at his face. “Definitely didn’t see this coming.”

  “Well, why would you?” Maverick asks, something snide hidden in his tone. “Not like you and Connor live anywhere near each other.”

  “Yeah, but we see each other,” Grayson says, pointing drunkenly at his younger brother.

  “Oh, do you?” Maverick goads. The flames licking out of the firepit make him look even more haunted than normal. His longish pitch-black hair is swept over his forehead. “Like you see us here at home?”

  “Oh, come on,” Grayson replies. “It’s not like you’ve ever come out to see me.”

  “I don’t need to visit New York again to know that I still hate it,” Dom mutters.

  Grayson’s lips thin, but he just leans more forward, as if blocking Dom out of his line of sight. He’s staring at Maverick across the fire pit. “Mav, come out and see me. Do it. I’ll buy your ticket.”

  Maverick shrugs. “I might.”

  “I’ll get you a job, too, if that’s what you want. You could be making a hundred grand in a year.”

  Weston has been watching everyone converse, sunk back in his Adirondack chair. He’s had a root beer in his hands for about an hour, and I’m not sure if he’s taken a sip.

  Dom heads into the house for a moment. When he comes out, he’s holding a freshly refilled tumbler of what I am pretty sure is straight whiskey. Grayson peers at him with one eye pinched shut.

  “Didn’t bring one for me?”

  “I wasn’t aware you liked drinking quality beverages,” Dom responds before easing back into his seat. Grayson has a Corona in his hand, which to me seems quality enough.

  Grayson scoffs, and Connor clears his throat. He sends a glance my way before he opens his mouth to speak, which makes me sit up. In case I might be called upon for some fictitious piece of our couple’s history.

  “So, are either of you seeing anyone?” Connor has directed the question to Dom and Grayson. We already became privy to Maverick’s lack of girlfriend earlier, when Grayson stole his phone and found current text conversations with
three girls.

  Grayson exhales loudly, leaning back into his chair. “Who has time? I’m too busy making money.”

  “Same. Except, making money and saving people’s lives,” Dom says.

  “Oh, right,” Grayson mutters. “Can’t forget that. Dr. Dom.”

  “You guys are missing out.” Connor’s hand shoots out, grabbing mine. He squeezes it gently before charging ahead. “Love is the sweetest gift. I thought I had it all before Kinsley. And now…”

  I offer a small smile to his brothers’ disbelieving faces from across the fire pit. This sounds ridiculous. Or maybe it only sounds that way to me because I know what a crock of shit it is.

  “Isn’t that right, Kins?” Connor turns to me, his blue eyes glinting in the light of the fire. And then suddenly, I’m lost in his gaze, absolutely tumbling through space and time to meet him in his crystalline tractor beam.

  “Oh. God.” A weak laugh escapes me, and I finally rip my gaze off Connor. “I thought I knew what love was before I met this guy.” I jerk my thumb toward Connor for emphasis, even though it’s totally unnecessary. “I was wrong. He…” My gaze drifts back toward him, and my voice disappears for a moment. “He shook my world up. Like a snow globe.”

  There’s warmth in his gaze as he watches me, and I can practically hear him saying Yes, yes, that was great, as I finish talking.

  “You don’t seem very affectionate,” Dom remarks, sniffing.

  “Says the least affectionate man in the world,” Grayson adds.

  Connor scoffs. “Trust me. We’re affectionate. I told her we’d need to tone it down this weekend because of all the family.” His arm shoots out around my shoulders, bringing me closer to him. We’re in separate chairs, so this is an awkward move. “Aren’t we so affectionate, babe?”