Page 42 of Cloud Nine Love

We’d played ball with the Hale twins, Milo and Mason. They were good guys, but a couple of years younger than us. They were the same age as Wyatt’s little brother, Beau, who’d married Sasha Nelson, Ruth’s favorite soap star. I’d gotten to know them a little bit when I dated their sister Kenna my senior year, and I used the term dated loosely.

She asked me to go to Homecoming with her, and I agreed because she was Milo and Mason’s little sister. Then we went to the movies a couple of times. We’d studied together, and she actually asked if she could be my prom date senior year.

I’d never wanted anything serious in high school because I knew I was enlisting in the Army. I’d been honest with her about that, and she hadn’t cared. We kissed and messed around a little, but never anything past second base. It had been very PG-13.

I got the feeling she was just using me to make her neighbor, Sam Whitlock, jealous. I always thought the two of them would end up with each other after Sam sowed his wild oats. But from what I’d heard, that hadn’t happened. Sam had been Kane’s partner since he joined the force eight years ago, and it sounded like he was sowing more oats than ever. I had a ton of information on Sam but needed more on Taylor.

“I know that Kane and Taylor have Harper, but were the two of them actually together at any point?” By the time I found out Kane was going to be a daddy, they must have broken up because they weren’t together then.

“No, I don’t think so.” Wyatt switched to tongs and turned the chicken over. “They were friends, and one night, they hooked up. Why? Do you think there’s something going on between them? I don’t think Kane would start anything with Ruby if?—”

“No. I don’t think that. I was just curious.”

It made sense that Wyatt would jump to the conclusion that I was asking about Taylor because I was worried about Ruby. It was extremely plausible that that would be the case. However, it had absolutely zero reason to do with my inquiry.

“You should ask him, if you’re worried,” Wyatt suggested.

I wasn’t worried—at least not about Kane having feelings for Taylor. Me, on the other hand, well, that was pretty much a lost cause.

18

TAYLOR

“Studies have shown that people who hide their feelings care the most.” ~ Tim Rhodes

My feet were super glued to the gravel as I stared at the sign hanging on the door of The Tipsy Cow that read Closed for Private Party. Kenna, who was working the bar, had texted me half an hour ago, asking where I was.

The owner, Bryson O’Sullivan, shut the entire place down for Kane and Ruby’s bachelor/bachelorette party, not that it mattered because the entire town knew the couple and most of them were planning on stopping by. One person who was sure to be in attendance was the Man of Honor, Remi. His presence was the reason I’d been standing like a statue outside the building for the past few minutes. The last time I’d seen him, things had gone way too far.

I was not a person who had orgasms in public, especially not at the hands of my baby daddy’s best friend. But that’s exactly what happened. And every time I’d replayed the scandalous event, which was a lot, I couldn’t seem to muster up any regret for my behavior. The opposite, actually. I’d wanted to do it again. And again. And again.

I’d thought that my sex hangover after the first night I’d spent with Remi was bad, but the withdrawals I’d been having since I’d stood in the changing booth and Remi had played DJ Diddles were practically debilitating. My body ached. I was distracted. I’d barely slept. I feared that one look from him, and I’d be begging for another hit. Which I absolutely, under no circumstances, could do.

Which was, again, the reason I was impersonating a mannequin and not going into the party. I didn’t trust myself around the man. He brought out a side of me that I’d never even known I had before I met him. I decided to call my sexually adventurous alter-ego Ana, of course. She was a wonton woman who valued pleasure above anything else. That was about as far from who Taylor was as one could get.

A man in a cowboy hat, wrangler jeans, and boots, with a toothpick hanging precariously from his lip, walked past me.

He did a double-take before asking, “Taylor, right?”

It took me a second, but then I remembered meeting him. He was friends with my cousins, Milo and Mason.

“Brady?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Brady tilted his hat. “Brady Calhoun.” I smiled as he opened the door. “You comin’ in?”

It looked like my time impersonating a big fat chicken had come to an end. I took a breath and nodded.

Being a good Southern gentleman, he gestured for me to walk ahead of him. “After you.”

“Thank you.” I knew this was a party, logically, but with each step I took, I felt like I was taking a long walk off a short pier and was about to be plunged into shark-infested chum-filled waters.

Once inside, I sensed that Brady was going to continue engaging, so I put up my ice queen walls and took a direct path to the bar without passing go. I wore my imaginary blinders and made sure not to scan the crowd for fear that my eyes would land on the dreamiest chocolate brown gaze I had ever seen.

Kenna must have clocked me coming in because by the time I found an empty barstool and sat down, there was a vodka soda with a twist of lime waiting for me.

“Long day?” she asked.

It wasn’t—not really. Harper and I had gone down to the river, skipped rocks, picked flowers, and had a picnic. Then we’d gone home, painted our nails, read books, and unpacked some of the boxes that were in the garage.

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