Cross the Line (Boston Love Story #2) (13 page)

They all glance at me.

“What?” I ask innocently. “It’s true.”

“Patience, grasshopper. My plan is working. Just like I knew it would,” Lila says smugly. “Knox faced off with Cormack last night. It’s a start.”

“He also kind of… showed up at my place when I got home.”

“What?!” Lila explodes, clearly angry at being kept in the dark. 

“He did?” Gemma exclaims, so much excitement in her voice you’d think cupcakes were on a two-for-one sale.

I nod hesitantly.

“Spill,” Shelby orders, tucking a strand of light brown hair behind her ear. “I need to live vicariously through someone whose love life doesn’t resemble an episode of Mad Men.”

Gemma’s eyes get worried as she stares at her friend. “Things not going well with Paul?”

Paul is Shelby’s husband. I’ve never met him, mostly ‘cause he’s never around. Apparently he’s some kind of finance hotshot who spends too much time at work and too little time with his wife. A modern day Don Draper, if there ever was one.

“Same old.” Shelby sighs. “But I don’t want to talk about that.” Her pretty brown eyes move to me. “Spill, Phoebe. We’re not getting any younger.”

I sigh deeply and tell them everything — about the confrontation between Cormack and Nate and the late-night visit that happened afterwards. I leave out the part about my night ending with me sobbing against my imported Moroccan floor tiles.

“So, in a nutshell… he stormed out yet again with no real explanation as to why I can’t date Cormack… who seemed perfectly nice, by the way, until Nate showed up and ruined things.” I peel the paper off my red velvet cupcake and swipe a finger through the decadent cream frosting. It melts on my tongue and I’m pretty sure I groan in pleasure. “Damn, that’s good. Who needs men when there are cupcakes?”

“I don’t know how you people eat those things,” Shelby says, clearly revolted. “The amount of sugar alone…” She shudders. 

“Um, because they’re good?” Gemma rolls her eyes before turning her gaze to me. “And I’m sorry, Phee. I really am. But if Knox says there’s something off about Cormack… I believe him.”

“Wait just a goddamned minute!” Lila’s glaring at me. “You’re telling me Knox came to your house and you didn’t jump his bones?!”

“Lila—”

“You didn’t even
try
to jump his bones?!”

“Lila—”

“The plan was to seduce him.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “Do you not remember the fundamental guidelines of Operation SPANK?”

“Spank?” Shelby asks.

“Severing Phoebe’s Attachment to Nathaniel Knox,” Gemma murmurs.

Shelby grins. “Best code name ever.”

“Truth,” Gemma agrees.

“Lila, it’s not that simple.” My voice is defensive. “What was I supposed to do, strip naked and launch myself at him like a heat-seeking missile?”

“Yes!” She practically yells. “That’s exactly what you were supposed to do.”

I sigh. “Well, I screwed up. Sue me.”

“What the hell is going on with you, Phoebe?” Lila’s eyes narrow. “Are you having second thoughts about the plan?”

“Of course not!” I swallow. “I’m
so
done with him.”

Gemma snorts. Shelby hides a smile behind her water bottle. Lila outright laughs.

“Guys!” I whine. “You’re supposed to be helping me, here.”

“I can lead a horse to water, but…” Lila shrugs helplessly. “I can’t screw his brains out for you.”

“Maybe I don’t have to screw his brains out. Maybe I can just keep dating Cormack until I fall in love with him and forget all about Nate. Fake it till you make it, right?” I straighten my shoulders, emboldened by the idea. “Honestly, I don’t think my heart is so illogical it would keep pining for Nate when it could have someone like Cormack instead.”

The three of them burst out laughing at the same time. Full-on hysterical cackles.

“Guys!”

“Sorry,” Gemma gasps out, wiping tears. “Sorry. It’s just—”

“The most naive thing I’ve ever heard,” Shelby contributes between snorts.

“Naive?” Lila’s holding her stomach, entire body shaking. “I was going to say batshit crazy.”

I huff and cross my arms over my chest. “And you call yourselves my
friends
.”

“Phoebe, honey, you can’t keep dating Cormack.” Gemma’s blue eyes are twinkling with humor. “Partly because you’re in love with another man, but also because if Knox says he’s dangerous, I believe him.”

“Why?”

“Well, he warned me away from Brett… and then I ended up in the hospital.” Gemma takes a large bite of her double-chocolate cupcake. “So, I have a tendency to trust his judgment. He’s not the type to exaggerate. Maybe there’s more to Cormack than his charming disposition and killer accent.” 

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Shelby murmurs.

“What?” Gemma and I ask in unison.

“Hear me out,” Shelby says, eyes active with thoughts. “Knox only shows up when Phoebe’s in danger — or when he
thinks
she’s in danger. Right?”

“I guess,” I mutter, taking another heavenly bite of my cupcake.

“So… why don’t we just put you in a semi-life threatening situation — something minor, like a car accident or a fake kidnapping — after which he will swoop in, save your life, and carry you off into the sunset?”

“Life threatening!?” I squeak, alarmed.

“That’s genius!” Lila yells at the same time.

“Are you out of your goddamned mind?” Gemma screeches.

“Chill!” Shelby holds out her hands defensively. “Jeeze, I was kidding. Mostly.”

“I think our friend group has had enough life threatening scenarios to last a lifetime.” Gemma glares at her friend. “Or do you not remember the car chase, kidnapping, and subsequent drowning just a few months ago?”

“For what it’s worth, I think it’s a great plan,” Lila says, grinning at Shelby.

“Please, no hair-brained schemes.” I grimace. “I would like to live to see my twenty-fourth birthday.”

“That’s only a few days away,” Lila points out. “I think you’ll make it.”

“I didn’t know it was your birthday! Are you having a party?” Gemma asks.

“No, I don’t really celebrate.” I shrug. “Usually I’ll do something with my brother if he’s around. Otherwise, it’s just any other day.”

“Where is Parker these days?” Lila asks. “Tahiti? Rome? Shanghai?”

“I think he might be climbing Kilimanjaro again? Honestly, I can’t keep track anymore.” I try not to sigh too deeply. “Needless to say, he won’t be making it home this year.”

“What about your dad?” Lila pesters.

Gemma seems to tense across the table, dropping her sky-blue eyes to her plate and tucking a flyaway curl behind one ear.

Weird
.

I glance back at Lila. “He’ll be in back-to-back business meetings for the foreseeable future. With the waterfront development breaking ground next week, he’s busier than ever. I’ll try calling him tonight. Remind him I’m alive, and all. Only daughter, requesting contact.”

Gemma fidgets in her seat, clearly uncomfortable about something.

Shelby’s eyes shift to look out the window, as though she’s nervous. 

I clear my throat to break the sudden silence. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make things weird. Things with my dad have always been—”

“We should throw you a party,” Gemma announces, eyes lighting up. “It’ll be great! We’ll have it at Chase’s penthouse, invite anyone you want. We could even do a theme! Golf Pros and Tennis Hoes – women being the pros, of course.”

“Guys in Ties and Girls in Pearls,” Shelby suggests.

“I always loved the Mathletes and Athletes combo in college,” Lila adds, eyes sparkling.

“Oh! That’s a good one.” Gemma’s nodding. “The penthouse can fit at least sixty people, maybe more. We could get a DJ and some lighting—”

“NO!” I exclaim, starting to panic. They all look at me, startled by my volume. “Sorry.” I clear my throat and look at Gemma with guilty eyes. “It’s really sweet of you to offer, Gem, but I’m really not into the whole birthday thing. I find them pretty depressing, to be honest.”

“Oh,” her expression falls.

“I’m sorry,” I say, feeling like the ultimate party-pooper. “I’m just not a big party kind of girl. I’ve always been better with small groups or one-on-one interaction.”  

“Perfect! I’ll send you a stripper-gram as a present,” Shelby offers, grinning. “That definitely counts as one-on-one interaction, right?”

I snort. “A stripper and a virgin. Sounds like a porno waiting to happen.”

“Oh, come on.” Shelby laughs. “It’ll cheer you up.”

I roll my eyes and push away my empty plate. “Do me a favor and send it to Nate instead. Maybe it’ll somehow dislodge the giant stick he’s got up his ass.”

“He’ll come around,” Gemma says gently, reaching out to squeeze my hand. “You’ll see.”

I sigh and hold my tongue.

I don’t have the heart to tell her she’s wrong. Me and Nate? Never gonna happen. Not even if Shelby has me hospitalized with a fake murder plot.

According to chemists, alcohol

actually
is
a solution.

Phoebe West, defending her decision to stay in

and drink wine on Valentine’s Day.

After saying goodbye to the girls, I catch a cab home from
Crumble
and hop in the shower. My morning flew by in a blur of stretching, cupcakes, and gossip — it’s early afternoon already and I’ve accomplished none of the things on my to-do list.

Great.

I take a quick shower and head into the small office off the kitchen with my damp hair wrapped in a towel and my body stuffed into my favorite yoga pants — the ones I never wear outside the house because they have a hole in the right ass cheek, but can’t quite convince myself to throw away.

As soon as my laptop powers on, I scroll through my inbox, deleting the zillion spam emails that have accumulated in the two days since I last logged in. 

UNBEATABLE MALE ENHANCEMENT! GAIN FIVE INCHES!

Thanks, I’m all set.

I’ll be the first to admit, working as a graphic designer is pretty sweet. I make my own hours, set my own pace when it comes to projects, and essentially get to be my own boss most of the time. There’s never anyone breathing down my neck to make sure I’ve clocked in by eight every morning. I go to the WestTech offices
maybe
once a week.

There’s a downside to all that freedom, though.

With no one watching to keep me on track every hour on the hour, I have a tendency to procrastinate. On rare occasions, I’ve even been known to forego work altogether in favor of an all-day
House of Cards
marathon.

I never said I was perfect. In fact, I’ve adamantly denied such accusations.

Anyway, it’s all fun and games (and Netflix-binges) until I wind up with a veritable mountain of work. I’m currently juggling three different designs for WestTech’s summer ad campaign, plus the website needs updating and a man from the art department wants my approval on our billboard overlooking the Mass Pike, which will advertise my father’s new high-rise condo development.

The West Waterfront: Where Innovation Meets Luxury

No, I don’t come up with the shitty campaign slogans — I just slap ‘em on brochures and pick out the fonts.

The only thing that might get me through the stack of work I’ve let pile up is if I handcuff myself to my desk and insert an IV of coffee directly into my bloodstream for the next week.

Cracking my neck like I’m preparing for battle, I click open Photoshop and dive in.

***

Chirp, chirp, chirp.

“Ugh,” I moan unintelligibly, sounding more zombie than human.

Chiiiiiirp. Chiiiiiirp. Chiiiiiirp.

“Kill me,” I grumble.

Chiiiiiiiirp. Chiiiiiiiirp. Chiiiiiiiirp.

Something is ringing.  Very insistently.

My bleary eyes blink open and I realize I’ve passed out on my keyboard. My cheek is wet from resting in a puddle of drool, my hair is a rat’s nest of curls since I failed to brush it out after my shower, and my back is so sore I think I’ll need traction. I’m completely disoriented, unsure whether I’ve been asleep minutes, hours, or days.

I finally locate my chirping cellphone beneath a stack of glossy photo paper.

“Hello?” I grunt, voice huskier than normal.

“Phoebe.” The voice is warm and unmistakably male.

Phey-bee.

“Cormack?”

“Lila gave me your number. I hope it’s okay to call.” He pauses. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Of course not,” I say, wiping congealed drool off my cheek with the back of my hand.
Cute
. It’s really a wonder I don’t have more men beating down my door. “I was just doing some work.”

“For your father?”

My brows knit. “For WestTech.”

“Ah.” He clears his throat. “Well, if you’re ready to take a break from work, I’d like nothing more than to take you to dinner.”

“That’s so sweet, Cormack, but I’m really—”

“I insist.” Even while cutting me off, he maintains his über-polite tone. “It’ll be my way of making up for last night. If I hadn’t been such an oaf, you wouldn’t have run off.”

Nate will probably kill me if I go out with Cormack again. Show up here all brooding and angry…

Somehow, to my crazy brain, that sounds more like an incentive than a negative. I shake my head, hoping to clear the delusional thoughts. 

“I really shouldn’t—”

“Please, Phoebe? I feel like an ass. I never should’ve acted the way I did, getting into it with Knox.”

“It seemed like you two have a history.” My words are carefully nonchalant.

“We don’t. Not really.” He pauses. “I guess you could say we’ve…  crossed paths, in the past.”

“Oh.”
That wasn’t supremely vague, or anything.

“I wasn’t aware you knew him.”

My lips twist. “I don’t.”

Not anymore
.

“You’re not close? He acted… territorial.” 

“I’d sooner hug a cactus than get close to Nathaniel Knox.”

“Great.” His voice is audibly relieved. “Then there’s no reason you can’t come out with me, tonight.”

Damn, he’s persistent.

“I actually have a lot of work to get through—”

“Lila gave me your address. I’ll be there at seven.” I can hear that dimpled grin in his voice. “And I won’t take no for an answer.”

“But—”

“See you in forty minutes, Phoebe.”

What?!

“Did you say
forty
—”

He’s already clicked off.

Crap on sourdough! 

I jump out of my chair and sprint for the stairs, screeching in horror when I catch sight of my hair in the mirror across from my desk. Short of a miracle, there’s no way I’ll be buffed, polished, and ready for a date in forty — shit, make that thirty-nine —  minutes.

Rushing through the archway, I cut through the kitchen so fast I almost miss the piece of paper taped to my refrigerator. Boo lifts his head from the plush doggie-bed where he’s been snoozing when I slam to a stop, heart pounding in my chest.

My eyes move from the note to the countertop, where my house keys rest. My stomach clenches at the sight. I was in such a rush to get to yoga this morning, I didn’t have a chance to search through the bushes to find them. And yet, there they sit.

Eyes narrowed on the note, I walk numbly to the fridge and lean close to read the blocky, masculine words scrawled on the paper. 

Now you won’t starve to death. Stay put until we talk.

He didn’t bother signing it.

I reach out blindly and tug open the refrigerator doors. My heart starts to slam against my ribs when I see groceries on every shelf — more food than I think I’ve ever had at once. Fruits and vegetables and pre-made raviolis and a French bread and a big wedge of expensive cheese and my favorite kind of seltzer. Cranberry lime.

I don’t have the mental capacity to wonder how he even
knew
it was my favorite, because my eyes are fixed on the bottom shelf, where a six pack of beer with a brand name I’ve never heard of sits unobtrusively.

Lagunitas India Pale Ale.

A man’s beer. Definitely.

Nate’s
beer.

I stare at it for a long moment, wondering what it means that he left his beer here. Wondering
why
he bothered to do all this for me. And most importantly, whether he saw me sleeping in a puddle of my own drool with crazy, electrocuted hair and my holey yoga pants when he snuck in and stocked my fridge with groceries.  

Fine, maybe
snuck
isn’t the right verb. I was pretty much dead to the world — nothing short of an earthquake would’ve woken me. For all I know, he loaded in the groceries while blasting death metal so loud it shook the floors. My dreams of Henry Cavill would’ve continued undisturbed.

Whatever.

My eyes seem to be stuck on the sight of his beer sitting next to my seltzer. Never in my life have I been so entranced by the sight of a freaking beverage. I stand there for so long the fridge starts to beep at me, its automated alert system kicking on to tell me cool air is escaping.

The persistent beeps snap me out of my stupor. I shut the door in a daze, turning to lean against the stainless steel and hauling a shaky breath into my lungs. My eyes press closed. Maybe if I squeeze them hard enough, I’ll erase what I’ve just seen from my memory.

Damn him.

Just when I think I really might be able to hate him, that he’s terrible and bossy and no good… he goes and does something like this. Something that makes my heart ache so fiercely, it’s all I can do not to curl into a ball on the floor and ride the waves until the ocean of longing recedes back behind safe banks of common sense and self-preservation.

Boo barks from somewhere at my feet and my eyes spring open, landing on the illuminated green numbers glowing from my microwave clock.

6:31

Crap on a corn biscuit with a side of fries.

Unless I want to look like Medusa on my date, thoughts of Nate are going to have to simmer on the back burner. I sprint from the kitchen and up the stairs as fast as my legs can carry me.

***

“Did I already tell you how beautiful you look?”

“Twice.” I smile. “But that’s really not the kind of compliment that gets old.”

We’re at a gorgeous little restaurant by the water, and I’m thanking my lucky stars my favorite little black dress was clean and wrinkle-free when I yanked it on at 6:57, because the decor here is fancy. Linen tablecloths, extensive wine list, candles burning low in crystal centerpieces. Cormack orders a bottle of white wine for the table and I bite my tongue to keep from telling him I prefer a pinot noir to its grigio counterpart.

What I’d really like is an Old Fashioned, but I don’t tell him that either.

“So, tell me about your work,” I say, realizing I know virtually nothing about the man sitting across from me other than that he’s extremely handsome, once hailed from the Emerald Isle, and does, in fact, use dinner napkins properly.

Mouth breathing cretin, indeed.

“I could, but if I wanted to put you to sleep I’d have taken you to the symphony.” He grins, dimples popping. “Let’s talk about you. You’re much more exciting.”

“I like the symphony,” I murmur, but he doesn’t hear me — the sommelier’s returned with our wine and Cormack is busy swirling, sniffing, and sipping.

“Perfection,” he announces when he’s swallowed. “Thank you.”

The sommelier nods, fills our glasses, and disappears without a word. Cormack turns to me, glass raised.

“A toast.” His eyes sparkle as they meet mine.

My eyebrows lift in tandem with my glass. “What are we toasting?”

“To new beginnings.”

“New beginnings,” I echo.

We clink glasses and drink, eyes locked. He’s handsome, in the candlelight. Strong jaw, perfectly symmetrical features. And yet, not one single butterfly flutters in my stomach. My skin isn’t on fire from just the weight of his eyes. My heart isn’t having arrhythmias.

“Have you always lived in the city?” he asks after a beat of silence.

“I grew up on Nantucket, mainly, but my father sent me and my brother to boarding school in Rhode Island when we were old enough.” I absently touch the gold pendant hanging around my neck. A gift from my father on my sixteenth birthday — a small, shining sun on a thin gold chain. Simple but beautiful. I remember the day he clasped it around my neck; he hugged me and whispered into my ear that it was a good omen to carry the sun by your heart.

I would’ve worn it even if it were bad luck.

It’s one of the only gifts he’s ever given me that wasn’t picked out by a secretary or personal shopper. I rarely wear it out of the house, never wanting to risk losing it, but I was in such a rush tonight I didn’t have time to swap it for one of my more elaborate pieces.

“At least you had your brother there with you.”

“What?” My eyes lift back to Cormack.

“At boarding school.”

“Oh.” My cheeks heat. “Well, the boys’ and girls’ campuses are separate, actually. There were social hours and mixers, of course, but Parker’s four years older than me. Our extracurricular activities rarely meshed.”

“An all-girls school?” He grins wolfishly. “I’m sure you have some interesting stories.”

“Believe me, it wasn’t all naked pillow fights and painting each other’s nails.”

More like two hundred snotty, materialistic bitches who pray at the altar of gossip and sabotage. There’s a reason Lila is the only one I’ve kept in touch with, after high school.

Cormack laughs and it isn’t rusty at all. Like he does it often, freely.