Tempting Meredith (16 page)

* * *

Charlie found Blaine on the back porch, leaning on a smooth wood column at the top of the steps, gulping coffee. The dogs playfully wrestled in the yard. Blaine wasn’t smiling at their antics. His expression was worried, sad. Probably thinking about the shit they’d done yesterday.

“She’s got a migraine,” Charlie said. “Says there’s nothing she can do for it.”

Blaine nodded.

They stood in uncomfortable silence for a while. “You have breakfast?” Charlie asked. He knew the answer, had smelled the bacon when he walked through the kitchen.

“Yeah.”

More silence.

Blaine finally broke it. “Did she say anything about, you know, what happened?”

“No. We, uh, crashed, uh, after I—”
Fucked her senseless.

“Yeah. I got it. No need to paint a picture.”

“Sorry about that. I guess we kinda left you high and dry.”

“I could’ve walked out at any time.”

“You looked like you were—I mean, you’re into men. I didn’t think you’d get off on watching her.”

Blaine sighed, his attention still on the dogs and his coffee. Finally he straightened from the column, faced Charlie dead on and said, “Actually, it’s not about the gender. It’s about the person.”

Blaine dated men. So Charlie should have been surprised, but he wasn’t. Probably because he’d seen Blaine check out women for more than their sense of style. But the admission begged another question. Actually, more than one. Some of them damned uncomfortable. In fact, he didn’t know if he could ask them. He’d start with the easiest.

“So why men? If you were gonna go one way or the other, why not go straight? It’d be easier, especially politically.”

“I didn’t have political aspirations when I came out.”

“Okay, but still.”

He shrugged. “My attraction to men has been stronger. And when I came out, I was with a man.”

Charlie let that sink in while he found the balls to ask his next question. The answer was important. In fact, he had a hunch it was the key to understanding Meredith. That secret he’d seen when he read her feet? Blaine was involved. He was certain of it. “Were you and Meredith more than friends?” He hurried on before Blaine could answer. “It’s okay if you were. I wouldn’t have a problem with it. It was a long time ago. I only ask because she was so thrown when she saw you.”

“We were friends,” Blaine said firmly. “Not even good friends. If it hadn’t been for Dylan—I didn’t see or talk to her again after I graduated.”

“Were you the reason they broke up? Was she Dylan’s beard?”

Blaine’s gaze dropped, and the muscles in his jaw twitched. “I told you. That’s her story.”

Charlie’s hands clenched at the thought that Blaine might have been involved with deceiving Meredith, hurting her. She was so vulnerable inside, so tough outside. Like a shell covering a sweet pecan. He needed to open that shell if Meredith was ever going to trust him enough to share her past. But he had to be careful about it. If he wasn’t, the meat inside the shell might crumble.

Obviously, sharing her past was harder for her than kinky sex, although he hoped the vulnerability and trust she’d shown yesterday was a crack in the shell. She talked about her work. A little about her family when she’d had enough wine, but he’d learned more from her brother-in-law. Maybe Charlie didn’t need details. Maybe it wasn’t important. But he didn’t believe that. The fact that Blaine might have hurt her pissed him off. He took a deep breath, trying to let go of that anger. People made mistakes, even with years of living under their belts. Mistakes were powerful teachers.

That just left one question, and Charlie still couldn’t bring himself to ask it. He might suspect Blaine’s feelings for him, but he wasn’t certain. Simply asking the question would open a can of worms they wouldn’t be able to close again. Even if Blaine said no, the question would hang between them as a possibility. Just the thought of that possibility raised confusing emotions that Charlie wasn’t ready to sort out.

Best to let sleeping dogs lie. For now.

Chapter Fourteen

Meredith groped blindly through the dark and patted the nightstand, searching for her cell phone to check the time, but it wasn’t there. Probably still in the pocket of her jeans, which were somewhere on the floor unless Charlie had cleaned up.

She pressed a couple of fingers to her left temple. She still wanted to drill it out, but the nausea was gone, and she was hungry. She would kill for a stack of Charlie’s pancakes. She flopped to her other side, but he wasn’t in bed with her. Surprising, since it was his bed. She switched on the bedside lamp then faced away from the bright light and let her eyes adjust before searching for her clothes. She found them folded on a chair in the corner. Charlie had tidied up.

Five minutes later she was in the kitchen, starting a pot of coffee and foraging for carbs. It was 4:30 a.m. What time did Charlie and Blaine normally wake up? She could fix breakfast for all of them. She’d paid attention yesterday when Charlie’d made pancakes, so she knew the recipe and where everything was, could follow his steps exactly, although it would mean lengthening her strides. She chuckled at the corny joke.

She enjoyed working in the cool, dark, quiet kitchen. She didn’t cook from scratch very often, because it was a hassle to fix a meal just for her. But cooking for other people, that was fun. Especially appreciative people. And she didn’t have one doubt that Charlie and Blaine would appreciate her efforts, even if the pancakes flopped. Charlie would eat them as if they’d been prepared by a five-star chef.

So despite the migraine, she was smiling when she heard boots scuffing into the kitchen.

She turned from the pancakes browning on the griddle. Blaine stood with one foot in the room and one foot out.

“Hi,” she said cheerfully.

“Uh, hi? I didn’t mean to—I thought you were Charlie.”

“I hope you don’t mind me taking over your kitchen. I was tired of sleeping.”

Blaine lifted his hands. “I don’t ever complain about someone else cooking.”

“Have a seat and I’ll fix you a plate,” she said.

“Migraine gone?”

“No.”

“You’re awfully cheerful.”

“It’s better. Nausea’s gone. Charlie says you have them.”

“Yeah, but I don’t cope as well as you obviously do.”

She checked the pancakes, flipped them, then faced Blaine again. He was still standing at the door, but he wasn’t planted there. In fact, a light breeze might blow him back through it. She frowned. “What’s wrong?” She had her suspicions.

“Nothing,” he said too quickly.

Yeah, right. She sighed. “Are you going to be weird about the sex?”

“Uh. No?”

“Come on, Blaine. It was just sex. God knows you and I have done worse.”

He flinched.

“Maybe ‘worse’ isn’t the right word. We’ve done more. Is that better?” She didn’t wait for his answer. “I’m okay with it. Charlie’s okay with it.” He’d seemed more than okay. But she hadn’t seen him since she woke up yesterday morning. “Charlie’s not freaking, is he?”

“No, but...”

“But?”

Blaine glanced over his shoulder. For Charlie? Then he crossed the room to stand close enough that his lowered voice reached her. A respectful distance for a conversation he didn’t want overheard. “He keeps asking me about you and Dylan.”

“You told him.” Why did her heart flatline? What Charlie knew and didn’t know shouldn’t matter. She’d had great sex with him. It was time to move on.

“I didn’t, not about that night. But you were so weird when you got here, and Charlie was concerned. I told him you and Dylan had a bad breakup, that I was probably a reminder of a shitty time.”

“Well, that’s the truth.” Blaine just didn’t realize how shitty it had been and for how long it had lasted—that it was still going on. Which added another tangled thread to this whole ball of yarn. What if he was Cassandra’s father? Not Dylan, but Blaine. It wasn’t the most likely scenario, but it was possible.

“He’s not stupid. He knows there’s more.” He paused. “He’s pretty sure I’m involved.”

Damned perceptive man. It was no wonder he was such a talented foot reader.

She turned back to her pancakes and flipped them.
Shit.
They’d burned black. She tossed them in the trash and turned off the burner. It was time to pull one of those threads and see where it led. “Where’s Charlie?”

“He was gonna sleep in your room so he didn’t disturb you,” Blaine said, his expression wary.

Meredith filled a cup with coffee.

When she added two teaspoons of sugar, Blaine asked, “What’re you doing?”

She forced a smile. “It’s a bit early for a beer, but coffee might help the truth go down easier.” She marched through the kitchen and hoped she appeared more confident than she felt. When Blaine followed her, she said, “You’re not thinking of coming with me, are you?”

“I can’t let you face him alone.”

She stopped, and coffee sloshed over the rim. “Yes, you can. I appreciate the offer, but it’ll be easier without you there.”

“Easier for who?”

“All of us.”

“I’m not gonna cower in the kitchen.”

She laid a hand on his arm. His warmth infused her and gave her the strength she needed. It didn’t matter about her and Charlie. But Blaine and Charlie? She wouldn’t let that long-ago, youthful indiscretion break up their friendship. “Let me do this my way,” she said gently. “Trust me.”

His expression was mutinous.

She squeezed his arm. “Please. I know I can fix this.”

Slow, reluctant acceptance replaced the mutiny. Before he could change his mind, Meredith hurried to her room. There he was, a raised shadow sprawled in her bed. He lay on his stomach, facing her, but she couldn’t make out his features in the dark. A shaft of dim light from the hall sliced across his lower back.

She perched on the edge of the bed and set the coffee cup on the nightstand, then touched his shoulder. “Charlie, wake up.”

He jerked, lifted his head and opened his eyes wide. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice gravelly and slurred with sleep despite his alarm.

“We need to talk.”

Sluggishly he rolled over and sat up. He rubbed his palms up and down his face. “The house isn’t on fire?”

“No.”

“Your migraine. It’s gone?”

“I’m fine.”

“Good. Okay.” He looked around the room, confused. “What time is it?”

“I’m sorry, but this couldn’t wait.”

He reached for his cell phone on the nightstand, checked the time, then replaced it as he spoke. “No, it’s okay. What do you need?”

She offered him the cup of coffee.

He wrapped his hands around the body of the mug and sipped. After swallowing a healthy dose of caffeine, he lifted a brow, inviting an explanation.

“You’ve been asking questions about Blaine and Dylan.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice made clearer by the coffee.

She hesitated, cleared her throat. This had seemed so much easier in the kitchen. Now, facing Charlie, the words stuck. She laced her fingers together, took a deep breath and blurted, “I had sex with both of them...at the same time.”

He blinked. Once. Twice. Then he sipped his coffee again. “And?”

“And nothing. We had sex. End of story.”

“Okay. What happened after?” He was so calm about it. No hysterics or accusations. Just acceptance.

“We slept. We woke up. I went back to my dorm room.”
And I gave birth to a baby who Blaine knows nothing about.

“You said he dumped you. Remember? Our first date when I read your feet. I said you liked a little kink, and you said your boyfriend dumped you after. I’m assuming that was the kink and Dylan was the one who dumped you.”

“Yes.”

“A few weeks later? A few days? A few minutes?”

Relating the details of that failed sexual encounter was torture, humiliating torture, and her bravado faded. “That weekend,” she whispered and hoped he heard her so she wasn’t forced to repeat it.

Charlie set his cup on the nightstand. His warm hand squeezed hers. “What about Blaine?”

She dropped her gaze and traced one of the straight lines that formed the quilt’s star. “What about him?”

“What did he do?”

“He moved to Houston and did an internship with a law firm before starting law school.”

“No, what did he do about you?”

“About me?” His question confused her. “I wasn’t
his
girlfriend. I was his roommate’s girlfriend.”

Charlie leaned forward, his body tense. The calm abandoned his voice. “He had sex with you. He had a responsibility to make certain you were okay afterward.”

Ahh, this was what he needed. This was how she could fix it. The memory of how Blaine had treated her that night still touched her heart. “He was kind, considerate. A gentleman,” she added, knowing how important that was to Charlie. “I was cold, but I didn’t even have to say anything. He wrapped me in a blanket and held me and warmed me up. He told me if anything happened with Dylan to call him.”

“Did you call him when Dylan broke it off?”

“No. I didn’t have any reason to drag him into it.”

His jaw tightened and his eyes were hard. “Were you even of age when they coerced you into a threesome?”

“Yes, and they didn’t coerce. They asked. I wanted it as much as they did.” Now he’d kick her out. Any second.
One one thousand.
The dread began to tangle in her stomach.
Two one thousand.
It tightened.
Three one thousand.
Tight enough that she wanted to scream.
Do it.
Dump me.

What was he waiting for? The right words? What was
she
waiting for? She jerked her hand from his, strode across to the closet and hefted her suitcase.

“Whoa. Hold on. You’re spending the week. Remember?”

“Look, you obviously have a problem with this. I’m going back to Austin.” She tossed her bag on the foot of the bed then leaned across it and gave him her best professorial no-nonsense stare. “Don’t you dare let this ruin your friendship with Blaine. Do you understand me? It happened a long time ago. We were kids. Blaine’s a different man. You can’t hold him responsible for—” She almost said too much. “It’s no one’s fault. I wasn’t anyone’s responsibility. We were a bunch of confused, insecure, oversexed kids.”

He crawled out of bed. He was naked but didn’t stop to correct that. He pressed his sleep-warm body against her back and wrapped his arms around her waist. “I’m not blaming you or Blaine,” he murmured. “But Dylan was an asshole, and I do blame him for hurting you. I see the sadness in you. I want to fix it. You can’t hold that against me.”

His tenderness was just about her undoing. It made her want to crawl into bed with him and curl up in his arms. It made her want to let down all of her defenses, tell him about Cassandra and cry until she’d emptied all of the heartache from her soul. Instead, she took a deep breath and swallowed her tears. “Then just drop it. Just forget about it.”

“Like you have?”

She ground her teeth together. Why did he have to push? Why couldn’t he let it go? “I came here to have some fun, not rehash my youthful indiscretions. If Blaine weren’t here, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. I’ll admit his presence threw me. But I’m past it. We talked, cleared the air. Blaine and I are good.”

“Prove it.”

She rolled her eyes. “You and I fucked while he watched. What more do you want?”

She didn’t resist when he turned her to face him. His hand slid down her arm until he loosely held her fingers in his. “Stay.”

She lifted her chin. “Are you sure that’s what you want?” She didn’t breathe as she waited for his answer. She desperately wanted him to say yes, wanted to know that he wouldn’t hold the past against her. No one else knew. Not Nikki. Not her parents or her brother. She hadn’t told anyone until him. Of course, he didn’t know everything. Like Nikki, he only had a piece of the puzzle.

He pushed her hair back from her face and cupped her cheek. A small smile played across his lips. “Yes, ma’am.”

* * *

Conversation was sporadic, uncomfortable as they finished off Meredith’s pancakes. They went their separate ways to shower and dress. In deference to the migraine, Meredith dressed for comfort; eschewing the constriction of a bra, she wore an oversized T-shirt and loose blue jeans. Because of her migraine-related hypersensitive skin, she skipped makeup. She returned to the living room to find Charlie sitting in front of the TV watching ESPN. He stood when she entered. She assumed Blaine was behind the closed office door. It was the first time she’d seen that door shut since she’d arrived. That probably wasn’t a good thing but she couldn’t be certain. Only one way to find out.

“Let’s play Cutthroat,” she said.

Charlie worriedly glanced at the door.

“What’s going on?”

“I think he’s giving us some privacy.”

A burst of laughter escaped her. “Seriously?”

Charlie shrugged.

She sauntered across the room and knocked on the door.

The voice from the other side was muffled. “Come in.”

He was sitting behind the desk, his hands poised over the keyboard of his laptop. Those hands, darker and somehow more elegant than Charlie’s, were just as work-roughened and just as sexy.

“Hey.” He nodded toward the computer. “I’m working on a speech for the Chamber of Commerce.”

She rounded the desk and perched on the corner. “When is it?”

“Friday.”

“Then you have time for a game of Cutthroat.”

“Now?” He looked past her to the living room and Charlie.

Yep, still some tension there. Or maybe uncertainty. Neither man seemed angry. More like unsure of their welcome, which made her task easier.

“It was his idea,” she fibbed.

“I don’t think—”

“Come on. No sex. Just pool.”

He snorted.

“Migraine. Remember?”

“That’s
not
what I was worried about.”

That surprised her. “Really?”

A self-deprecating smile lightened his eyes. “Okay, maybe a little. But I thought you might like some time alone.”

“That’s very sweet of you, and I appreciate the thought.” She tilted her head toward the living room. “I’m sure he does, too. But I need to know that you and Charlie are okay. I can’t do that if you hide out in here. Y’all prove to me that you’re back to normal and you can leave us alone tomorrow.”