The Safe Bet (The Game Changers #3) (2 page)

“You two know each other?” Zoe asked, completely confused by Brock’s behavior. We had been calling him New Guy all month. I would have never even considered he could have been Brock. Sure, Jordan mentioned New Guy surfs, but a lot of people surf around here. Yeah, he may have said he was from Seattle, but we were from a suburb of Seattle. It wasn’t technically in the city. I didn’t pay attention to what college Jordan said New Guy attended, but—ugh! Why hadn’t I paid better attention?

Brock answered for me. “We go way back, don’t we, Rea?”

I was still unresponsive, but no one except Zoe was concerned. Jordan’s grin finally started to subside when he saw that my reaction hadn’t changed. “Reagan and Brock went to school together,” he explained on an awkward cough as if that was enough. It wasn’t. Our story ran far deeper than two people simply attending the same school. It was the kind of story that didn’t have a happy ending, so why the hell would Jordan bring this kind of trouble into our home?

I turned a nasty glare on my brother that he understood, judging by the way he threw his hands up in surrender. Jordan had just become the newest addition to the men who had fooled me thrice.

Chapter Three

June 2001

We weren’t friends from the start. We were enemies first. He strolled into our class as the new kid without a care in the world, and my daddy had just left us. I hated him for his easygoing attitude. I hated him even more when the teacher made him sit next to me. I didn’t feel different when he smiled at me, and I punched him in the nose the first time he offered me the chocolate cupcake his mom packed him for lunch. I took the cupcake and left him and his watering eyes at the lunch table. I kind of wanted to punch myself for turning back to have one last look at him, but it made me even angrier when he caught me looking and offered me a kind smile. All of it was so wrong.

At some point you spend enough time with someone you hate, and suddenly you don’t hate the person anymore. After the hate dissipated toward the end of middle school, we became friends. We probably should have always been friends considering we hung out with the same group and our moms worked together. It was like something changed that year, and it wasn’t only due to the hormones. We were different, and from that point on we were ingrained in each other’s lives. The next four years were a blur of happy memories that all included Brock.

“You ready to take on the world, Rea?” Brock whispered from behind me as soon as we lined up to walk into the stupid ceremony. “You look really sexy in that gown.”

“Shut your face, Brock. This is the best day of your miserable existence.” I heard him laugh, and I had to hide my smile so he couldn’t see it.

“Nah. Yesterday afternoon was pretty great. Too bad we didn’t get to finish round two.”

“Shh!”

Brock moved to my school when we were in fifth grade. We were in the same class every year, but things were about to change. We were heading to college, and our bubble was about to get a whole lot bigger. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but for now he was right beside me like he had been for the previous eight years. When your last names are Anders and Anderson, sitting next to each other was unavoidable. There were no names in between ours, at least not where we were from. It didn’t help our birthdays were a day apart, we lived one street apart, both of our parents were divorced, and our moms worked together at our elementary school. We were stuck with each other, but somehow, over time, we learned to like it. Well, we more than liked it now.

He was back in my ear a moment later. “You riding with me to Ivy’s party and finishing what we started? Your mom is letting you spend the night, right?”

“You want to do that at a party?” I spoke over my shoulder as discreetly as I could. We were in line for our high school graduation ceremony. Who knew which gossip hound was listening in? People had been trying to figure us out since we walked into high school together. It was old news, but that didn’t mean they were any less interested in the latest Brock and Reagan saga. News flash! We weren’t together like that. Never had been. Probably never would be.

“Why not? Everybody thinks we’re together anyway. Let’s give ‘em something to talk about before we ditch this place.”

“Probably because you’re always whispering in my ear at inappropriate times. You know our moms will still be here, right? Do you want them to know everything?”

“We’ve been sneaking around for two years, Rea. If your mom was going to send you to that convent you’re so afraid of, you’d already be gone. Now, tonight? It’s on.”

Yes, we were talking about what you think we were talking about. Brock and I were going to “do it” that night. We were going to go all the way, dance naked, bump uglies, whatever you want to call it. I could go on and on with the euphemisms, but surely you get the point. We were planning to have sex. When you’re a teenager and live with your nosey mother, you have to plan it. Spontaneous passion doesn’t exist when your mom would lock you up for, gasp, behaving like a teenager.

“Fine, but you’re my ride to the party, and I get to choose the music.”

He snickered and stood back in his place before Mrs. Waverly saw he was messing up her perfect line. She had always hated the two of us. We had her for English every year. After the first time we disagreed over comparing the prejudices seen in Huck Finn to those in To Kill a Mockingbird, Brock and I decided tormenting the crazy woman was necessary. She gave me a B on my paper, but I showed her when the school’s literary journal published it with the support of the principal. Brock and I spent high school disagreeing with everything Mrs. Waverly said, and I honestly think I learned more from arguing with her than anyone did listening to any other teacher.

“Deal,” Brock agreed, then stepped back in line.

We still had to be careful. For one thing, I didn’t want people to think we were together. Wait. No. That wasn’t exactly true. I didn’t want to start thinking we were together. By this point in my life I was sure I had fallen completely in love with Brock Anderson. Me, Reagan Anders, the girl who perfected playing it cool, fell for the boy who used to steal my lunch and threw up all over my math test in sixth grade. I wasn’t this kind of girl. High school love was lame and only led to broken hearts. It makes me sad to think about all the high school sweethearts that marry each other and never go anywhere or do anything exciting. They are each other’s excitement until suddenly one of them realizes how much they missed out on life and cheats with some trashy skank. Stupid.

That didn’t mean I didn’t want to experiment like every other teenager. I had a lot of attention from boys. I knew I wasn’t ugly, but I was sure the morons at my school wanted to conquer the standoffish girl that hung out with all the popular kids. It wasn’t going to happen.

I wasn’t looking for conversation or a husband. I was on the hunt for a good time without having to worry about the whole school knowing what color the drapes were. Or was it the curtains? I couldn’t ever remember.

Here’s the real problem, though. If you experiment with a bunch of guys, you’re a slut. If you have a boyfriend, it was socially acceptable to do the deed, but then feelings get involved. If I knew anything about life, I knew, without a doubt, gossip was a currency and feelings were messy. So, what was the solution? Secretly hook up with your best friend. It sounded good at the time. It felt even better, but it was starting to get complicated thanks to those pesky emotions.

Brock and I never acted like anything more was going on when anyone else was around. It was the only way to prevent rumors running rampant among our peers. We were only friends, best friends, as far as anyone else was concerned. That’s all I thought we were myself until the day my bestie, Ivy, asked me if I liked Brock as more than a fuck buddy. It was like the sky fell. Disappointment took over my brain. I hated that I had done what every other mindless cliché at my school did: I fell for the guy. What was even worse was that I had also been caught.

I ignored Brock for the next week and a half, which was next to impossible when you sit next to each other in almost every class, but I needed to get my emotions in check. Finally he got the hint and left me alone. When I thought I could handle my newly discovered “feelings” for the rat bastard, I started talking to him again. His response? “Oh good, your period’s over. I thought this one would last forever.” I punched him in the stomach and walked away. It was another month before we spoke again, and I only started talking to him after he brought me a tray of chocolate cupcakes with white icing and watched Clueless and 10 Things I Hate about You with me. The cupcakes would have been enough, but he deserved some movie time for talking about my period, which I described in explicit detail in between movies. After that, he learned to leave Aunt Flo out of any and all future conversations.

Tonight was going to be more exploration for us. I acted like he was the one who wanted it so badly, but the truth was that I could hardly sit still in anticipation. Of course this made the already long and mind-numbing graduation ceremony unending and miserable. After the third speech about paving our own path or something like that, Brock talked me into paper, rock, scissors, which he called rock, paper, scissors just to annoy me. We were subtle, but we were also in the front row. When I caught Mrs. Waverly eyeing us, I grinned and pointed her out to Brock. He gave Mrs. Waverly a double thumbs-up. I swear I saw smoke come out of her ears when her face turned bright red. You couldn’t have stopped my and Brock’s laughter if you tried.

“How’s your tattoo holding up?” he asked during the valedictorian’s speech, making a point of not listening to the smug asshole standing at the podium. Topher Hayes asked me out once during junior year. I had looked at him like he was crazy. Before I could gently reject him, Brock was wrapping an arm around me and telling Topher to run along. Topher looked Brock up and down, then said, “She’s out of your league.” I simply rolled my eyes and walked away before they pulled out rulers to measure their dicks. Topher was cute but he wasn’t a core shaker or even remotely interesting. Brock outshined him every day of the week. Fortunately, Topher wasn’t too torn up when I finally rejected him. He started dating Elizabeth Short a week later, and they had been together ever since. She’s following him to college next year. High school sweethearts. Blech!

I finally responded to the question as Topher started in on the “what’s next” part of his speech. “Fine. It doesn’t itch anymore. Yours?”

“Awesome. Am I going to get to see yours tonight?” Our birthday presents to each other this year were tattoos. No, they didn’t match. He had a Celtic trinity symbol on the inside of his arm. I chose a simple watercolor feather. Our friend, Adam, once told us that feathers represented honor and respect. I liked the idea that something so delicate could mean something so powerful. I had the feather tattooed down where my bikini covered to keep it hidden from my mother, who was vehemently anti-ink.

“Are you asking if we can keep the lights on? You can come right out and say it, you know,” I joked while avoiding the question.

“Maybe we should go with lights off. Then I can picture that blonde chick from that girly movie where they dance on the bar you made me watch last week.”

“If you aren’t careful, you’ll be looking for another friend with benefits tonight.”

He leaned closer to my ear. “Is that all we are?” I ignored him. Then he added, “I thought for sure you liked the benefits.”

I bit my cheek to keep from smiling. “It seems I forgot. Must not have been that good.”

“Whatever, Rea. Keep your legs still, then.” I wanted to wipe that smug look off his face, but punching him would only give him more ammunition.

“Shut up. You have no effect on me.”

“Wanna bet?”

“You’re anything but a safe bet, Brock.”

“Exactly.” He grinned proudly, while I spent the rest of graduation wondering if it was a compliment or an insult. I was leaning toward insult when I said it, but he obviously didn’t take it that way.

Finally we threw our caps in the air, and Brock lifted me from the ground in a big hug celebrating our new freedom. It was a picture perfect moment, him holding me in the air with that smile on his face. He looked happy and free, and my heart leapt. If only I could have bottled that moment…

Chapter Four

Now

I could smell the setup. It reeked of betrayal, and there was only one way I handled the men in my life disappointing me—with a splash of drama and a whole lot of shutting down. After realizing the whole “meet the new guy” was planned, it took a few moments to regain my faculties. Once I was fully present, it was time to make my exit. I took my glorious pie off the counter and looked at my brother with the harshest glare my eyes could muster. “Go. To. Hell,” I bit out quietly enough so only he could hear while Zoe and Brock continued to chat about how we knew each other. Then I took my awesome pie and headed out the door.

It should be mentioned that I lived in my own little world. Here on cloud nine, I spent my days blissfully unaware of the chaos around me. It might make me sound like an irresponsible adult, but I didn’t watch the news. I paid no attention to global issues or politics. What was even better was that I let few people visit my cloud, and with three exceptions, no one was a permanent fixture there. No one new could gray my cloud. Never again would I let anyone stay past his welcome. My world was a happy place full of sunshine, rainbows, and pie…lots of pie. So, when someone came along and disrupted my lovely little existence, I did what any smart storm victim would do: I packed my shit and moved my cloud somewhere else.

My dinner, ahem—apple pie, sat in the passenger seat as I drove down to the boardwalk. I had no problem sleeping in my store with a delicious meal to keep me company. At least there would be no one there who screwed me over. I could spend my days with my imaginary friends with fictional problems and conflicts that never made me feel like I could explode at any moment. Avoidance was the game, and I was the champion.

Yes, I was well aware that storming out of my brother’s house made me a drama queen. I was also aware that running away would not solve anything, nor would it make Brock go away. Jordan had been trying to convince me to see Brock for years. He did the same thing with my father. He felt I needed closure. Ha! Closure. What BS. I shot a middle finger up at “closure” and kept driving.

The store smelled of books like an old library. Since it was a used bookstore, some of the books were really old. I couldn’t pass up an original copy of anything and kept them in glass cases on display. I set up the requisite “Best Seller” section along with “Indie Favorites” and “Books Everyone Should Read At Least Once” in the front. There was a huge children’s books section with toys and pint size chairs. Then there was an even bigger romance section toward the back. It was my favorite, and the women around here had a lot to donate to the romance department…possibly because there was so little romance to actually keep us busy. My situation was by choice, but I was certain that wasn’t the case for all the women in town.

I locked the door and quickly made my way past the bodice rippers to the loft, where there was a reading spot I made for Meyer and myself. Yeah, I was an awesome aunt, but even more than that—it was where I spent my free time away from home…the home I was about to lose. Right…

I let out a huge sigh and glanced around. The loft space was small, but there was a comfy couch up there. This wouldn’t be the first time I had slept on it. Sometimes I just fell asleep reading and never went home. I remembered the days when Jordan worried, but then he realized it would likely continue to happen and let it go. Now he wanted me gone and had brought home the one person who made me want to disappear. Maybe he did it to ensure I left. I was guessing it was that damn closure thing again, though.

I kicked off my shoes and snuggled onto the couch with my favorite throw, my pie, and a fork. Once I had my book pulled up on my e-reader, I dug into my pie. I know. I know. What was a girl who owned a used bookstore doing reading on an e-reader? It was like this: they don’t sell all books in paperbacks these days. There were some great e-books out there, and that was why I also sold gift cards and hosted a book club. My business would undoubtedly go under within the next five years, but that would be okay with me. I didn’t like to do one thing for too long anyway. I was enjoying it while it lasted, just like my pie.

It was already halfway gone when my stomach started to revolt, but did that stop me from taking two more bites? Oh no.

My phone rang just as I considered giving up. If it was Jordan, he could shove it, but I had a sneaking suspicion it was my mother calling to check in. She was the kind of mom who only called once a week but panicked if I didn’t answer the phone the one time she did, so I forced myself from the comfy couch and followed the sound of bells to my purse, which had mysteriously hidden itself under a table. I made it just in time to answer before it went to voicemail, but my mother wasn’t the one on the other end.

“Reagan,” a small voice cried when I answered the phone.

It took me a second to process what she said. “Meyer?” She was at a sleepover. She shouldn’t be calling. To be fair, she didn’t really want to go. It was only her second one, so Jordan and I were still unsure how to handle her staying overnight with friends. We encouraged it but still went over nine million rules before she left. It was our job to make sure she felt beyond loved.

“Reagan! Come get me,” she wailed.

“Meyer? What’s wrong?” She was crying, which had never happened before. When she was a baby, she cried maybe three times. All three times were because of poopy diapers that exploded out of her diaper like a bomb had gone off. I would have cried too if that happened to me.

“Are you coming?”

Her tone had me shooting into action. “Yes! I’m at the store, so I’ll be there in like ten minutes or so.”

“Hurry!”

“You want to tell me why you’re upset?” I asked her as I set my pie to the side and dug in my purse for my keys.

“No. Just hurry!” she wailed then hung up on me. I glanced down at my phone in disbelief. My calm, cool niece was suddenly turning into a dramatic preteen. This was not okay. If she was becoming anything like me, we were doomed.

I rushed out of the store, almost forgetting to lock up and actually forgetting my shoes, but who cared? It was the beach and Meyer needed me. When I turned around from locking the door, I didn’t look up fast enough and ran right into a brick wall.

Nope. That was definitely not a brick wall. It had clothes and…oh dear God. It was a man. My fingers were crawling up a man’s chest. There were definitely feet in my field of vision.

I followed the well-defined calves up to the khaki shorts and the fitted, light blue polo to the face I had been trying to avoid. I saw my hands on his chest like an out of body experience and momentarily told myself to remember the way it felt because it had been a long time since I had my hands on a man with muscles like this. When my brain and body connected after yet another malfunction, I ripped them away from him like he was a hot potato.

“I don’t know what you’re doing here, but I have to go,” I said.

“Reagan, we have to talk.”

“The time to talk was ten years ago, Brock.” I stepped around him and headed toward the parking lot, only to find he had fallen in step with me.

“You aren’t wearing shoes.”

“I’m in a hurry.” I picked up the pace to prove my point.

“Why’d you leave?”

I dashed down the stairs and prayed there weren’t little pebbles, enemies of the bare feet, in the parking lot. “Because like I told you the last two times I saw you this decade, I don’t want to see you.” It was the simplest explanation even if it wasn’t entirely true.

“Yeah, we need to talk about that.” Was he seriously still following me?

There were only a few cars in the parking lot. Teens often came here to hook up on the beach only to get chased off by the cops. I was always fascinated by the people thought the sandy shore was romantic. Who wanted that shit up their crack? Even if you brought a blanket, sand still found a way of getting everywhere.

I opened my car door but it slammed and stayed closed from the big paw and meaty arm holding it shut. “Reagan! Stop running.”

I hauled my body to a stop and turned to face the hulk who was currently slowing me down. “I have somewhere to be right now. Can we do this later?” And by later, I meant never.

“No. We’re doing this now,” he growled. That was hot, and my body responded like the repressed cavewoman she was. I shamed her and mentally reminded her to have some class.

“I can’t,” I ground out. “Come back tomorrow.” Then, using all the strength I had left after my workout that day, I pushed the wall of muscle away. Amazingly, he let me climb in my car and drive away. My relief was short lived, though. A big truck pulled out of the parking lot behind me and followed me down the suburban streets where Meyer’s friend lived. He wasn’t giving up.

Pulling up to the house where I had dropped Meyer off for parties before, I climbed out of my car, hoping Brock was smart enough to stay put. He was, although he looked rather suspicious sitting in his big truck outside a ten-year-old girl’s birthday party. It wasn’t my problem. I wasn’t the creeper in the truck.

Julie’s mom was opening the front door as I climbed the steps. “Thank goodness you’re here. I can’t get her to come out of the bathroom.”

I entered their upscale brick home like a woman on a mission. I was going to save the kid from herself and eliminate this perplexing situation from tonight’s list of dramatic events. Julie’s mom guided me to a bathroom on the main floor, where she knocked and alerted Meyer to my presence.

Meyer cracked the door, allowing me to see her tear-stained face as she sat on the floor of the bathroom. My heart broke a little as I took in my sweet niece hiding peeking out with swollen eyes and red cheeks. With a nod of her head, she granted me permission to enter her safe space. I dropped my purse and quickly lowered myself to her level and hugged her to me.

“What’s up, kiddo?”

“I’m dying,” she sobbed.

“What?” Surely I had misheard her.

“I’m bleeding from down there and the internet says I could have cancer.” He sobs shook her whole body. For such a smart girl, she was really missing the boat on this one.

“Wait. Let me get this straight. You are bleeding from down there, and you looked it up online?” She nodded against me. “And the website said you have cancer.” She nodded again. “It didn’t say that you could be starting your period?”

“I’m too young,” she cried into my shirt.

“Sorry to break it to you, but you’re definitely not too young to ride the crimson wave. Welcome to womanhood, monster. It sucks.”

“What about the cancer?”

“I feel confident that you don’t have the cancer, but I could take you to a doctor to have your downtown checked out.”

“No!” She sat up like a rocket launching and gave me a cartoonish bug-eyed look.

“All right. All right,” I surrendered. “How about we handle this the way my mom did with me? Ice cream and a midnight tampon run?”

“You want me to stick something up in there?” Meyer looked horrified, which was progress from the tears and the bug-eyed, shocked look.

“No, but I find the words ‘pad’ and ‘feminine napkin’ revolting.”

“I find this whole conversation revolting,” she replied.

“I can’t say I disagree, kid. Now let’s blow this joint before my butt flattens from sitting on this pristine marble.”

“What about the girls out there?”

“What about them? We’ll tell them you’re sick. They don’t need to know anything else.”

“But my pants…”

“Ah. Yes. Here.” I took off the cardigan I had over my sleeveless dress. It was long on her, so it covered what it needed to hide and made her feel comfortable enough to walk out. I left her with the contents of my purse and a couple of instructions for how to deal with the merchandise. Then I headed out to find Julie’s mom and Meyer’s overnight bag.

Once all that was taken care of, we headed to where I parked, where Brock was still sitting waiting on me to return. I had forgotten about him during the bloody crisis. Ugh. Had I remembered, I would have probably prevented him from seeing Meyer. He was going to ruin my ice cream run. I just knew it.

I pulled away and started to drive to the twenty-four hour grocery, but thought twice and turned to go home.

“Reagan, is that truck following us?” Meyer asked from the passenger seat as she watched the lights behind us in the side mirror.

“Yes.”

“Care to explain?” Meyer was beyond her years in most things except internet searches. She spoke like an adult because we waited too long to socialize her with other kids, or so her teachers have said. Whoops.

“No.”

She hummed as she glanced in the mirror, suspicious of our follower.

A red light stopped us and gave me a second to think. “How about I drop you at home with Zoe and you get a movie set up and throw on your fleece pajamas? I’ll go get ice cream and essentials, then we’ll stay up all night watching movies and force your dad to make us pancakes in the morning.”

“Did you already tell Zoe?”