22
" He’s hot—and he’s FBI. Everyone knows you have that Fed fetish. I bet he owns handcuffs,” she adds, with a dramatic wink. “And there is no way he’s bad in bed. No way. You know how you can just tell sometimes by looking at a guy? Just by the way he moves? That’s what you need. A guy who knows what he’s doing in bed. And at the very least this guy is packing.”
“Wait. Are you talking about my brother?” Sophie interjects. Sophie has a half-brother I’ve never met.
“Obviously, Sophie. How many federal agents do I know?” Everly responds in a ‘duh’ tone of voice.
“It’s actually a great idea, but please do not talk about my brother’s junk in front of me. It’s disgusting.” Sophie winces and rubs at her baby bump. “I think Boyd’s a bit of a player though. He’s never even introduced me to anyone he’s seeing. But good plan. You guys talk about it. I’m going to the restroom.” She pushes back her chair and stands, then immediately sits again, looking at us in a panic. “I think my water just broke.”
“I’ve got this,” Everly announces, waving her hands excitedly as she flags down the waitress. “I’m gonna need a pot of boiling water, some towels and the check.”
“Oh, my God,” Sophie mutters and digs her cell phone out of her purse.
“Just the check,” I tell the waitress. I turn back to Everly as Sophie calls her husband. “You’re not delivering Sophie’s baby, Everly. Her water broke ten seconds ago and her husband—the gynecologist—is in their condo upstairs. So even if this baby was coming in the next five minutes, which it is not, you’re still not delivering it at a table in Serafina.”
Everly slumps in her chair and shakes her head. “I’ve been watching YouTube videos on childbirth for months, just in case. What a waste.” She sighs, then perks up. “Can I at least be in the delivery room?”
“No,” we all respond in unison. "
― Jana Aston , Trust (Cafe, #3)
23
" You’ll need a dress,” I tell her and wait for the objection I know is coming.
“I have dresses,” she replies, but tiny lines of concern mar her forehead and I’ve been with enough women to know what’s going through her head. Does she have the right dress for this? How fancy is the event? What will everyone else be wearing? Add to that—she can’t have the budget for a dress. She’s fresh out of college and on a teacher’s salary, both of which tell me it isn’t likely she has an appropriate dress hanging in her closet. Shit, this entire scheme is pure genius, I think, as I make a mental note to cancel the date I had lined up for this wedding when I get home.
This is a formal event. We’ll pick up a dress this weekend.”
She gives me a dirty look. “What do you mean we’ll pick up a dress this weekend?”
“I mean shopping. I’ll pick you up at ten on Saturday.”
“I can find a dress by myself,” she says firmly.
“Please. You were wearing pants with donuts on them the second time I saw you. If you can even call those things pants.” Fucking leggings left nothing to the imagination. And I’ve done a lot of imagining. Mostly involving her legs wrapped around my hips. “Half my family is going to be there. I’ll pick out the dress.” I could give a fuck about the dress. I want to spend time with her that she thinks isn’t a date, so she’ll relax and be herself.
“Well, that was rude,” she deadpans.
I shrug. “Besides, you’re doing me a favor,” I remind her, “so the dress is on me.”
“Whatever,” she agrees sullenly.
“You’re welcome,” I reply. "
― Jana Aston , Trust (Cafe, #3)
26
" So what did you think of Boyd?”
“What?” My head snaps up from the baby and I glance at Sophie. Am I that bad a liar?
“Boyd? My brother? You met him at the hospital on Monday?”
Oh, okay, whew. “He seemed nice,” I offer. I’m not sure why. ‘Nice’ isn’t really at the top of my descriptive words for Boyd Gallagher. Words like ‘gorgeous,’ ‘cocky,’ ‘nosy,’ ‘fit,’ ‘sophisticated,’ ‘chiseled’ and ‘resourceful’ come to mind. But ‘nice’ works too.
Everly seems to think the two of you would be good together,” she says, trying to dig into my thoughts on the subject.
“Yes, well, Everly also spent fifteen years thinking she and Finn Camden were a perfect match. You can’t always believe her.”
“True enough,” Sophie agrees with a laugh. "
― Jana Aston , Trust (Cafe, #3)
28
" We have to stop and get lift tickets and sign a release today. Yesterday it was pre-arranged as part of the wedding. I grab a form and dash off a signature then turn towards the counter to pay when I realize Chloe is still reading the form. Line by line. She catches me staring at her and glances at my form.
“You already signed it? Without reading it?” She’s appalled. “This is a legal document, Boyd,” she says, jabbing a finger onto the paper in front of her.
“It’s just a slide, Chloe. Not a death trap.”
She glares at me and then goes back to carefully reading the form while I watch, amused as hell. Finally she frowns and, with a tiny shake of her head and a small sigh, signs the form.
“Are you satisfied now, safety girl? Are you fully prepared for the slide of death?”
“At least one of us is,” she retorts "
― Jana Aston , Trust (Cafe, #3)
32
" So, how’s the dating going?” Everly asks. “Have you gotten any more POD’s?”
“What’s a POD?” I ask her, confused.
“Proof of dick,” Everly says with a nod when we all stare at her.
“Is that what it’s called now?” Sophie asks while rubbing the side of her bump with a grimace.
“Not yet,” Everly says while swirling the straw in her glass. “But I’m trying to make it catch on. It’s a little classier than ‘dick pic’, don’t you think?” She takes a sip of her iced tea and then sets the glass down, brows raised as we all stare at her. “What?”
“How exactly are you intending to make it catch on?”
“I’m so glad you asked, Chloe. The thing is, I’m married, so no one is sending me POD’s anymore,” she begins.
“Right,” I agree. “I would hope not.”
“But you, my friend, are still dating, so I thought you could—”
“No,” I interrupt. “No. Stop talking.”
“All you need to do,” she continues anyway, “is reply to the dick pics you get and say, ‘Nice POD.’ Or even, ‘Nice POD, LOL.’”
“Nope, not doing it. I am not going to encourage dick pics so you can coin a new phrase. No.”
“Okay, no problem,” she says with a shrug. She’s quiet for exactly three seconds before her mouth opens again. “How about, ‘Why are you sending me a POD?’ That way you’re still delivering the branding message, but without the encouragement.”
I stuff a forkful of pasta into my mouth, glare at Everly and shake my head no. "
― Jana Aston , Trust (Cafe, #3)
33
" I wasn’t interested in Everly’s matchmaking. College was for studying, preparing for the future. Plus Everly thinks with her heart, not her head, and where did that ever get anyone? I mean, yes, she did marry a billionaire who’s crazy in love with her… okay, never mind, my point sucks. But I’m not Everly. Flying by the seat of your pants and thinking with your heart works for girls like Everly, but not for girls like me. "
― Jana Aston , Trust (Cafe, #3)
38
" You cannot be serious.”
“I am.”
“You need another favor?” It’s two weeks after the Vail trip and a week since I saw him last—when I did laundry at his house. And other stuff. “Don’t you still owe me two favors?”
“So I’ll owe you three, which is a big deal. You could cash in three favors for one really big favor.”
Yes. Yes, my mind does instantly detour into the gutter.
“I don’t know,” I mumble.
“Chloe. I’m not even making this up. I really need your help.”
“What is it? I’m not getting on an airplane.”
“Meet me at the book store down the street. At 18th and Walnut.”
“The book store?” I ask, my voice dripping sarcasm. “Really, Boyd? Are you being serious right now or is this one of your weird come-on lines? ‘Oh, Chloe, I’ll do your laundry,’” I purr into the phone in a sexy voice. “‘Chloe, I have an emergency at the book store. Hurry,’” I add in the same tone. “Please, Boyd,” I finish, my voice back to snarky.
He laughs, his voice a throaty chuckle over the phone, and I can picture his smile as he does. I wonder if he shaved today or if he’s sporting the day-old scruff look. “No, this is legitimate. Hurry up.” Then he hangs up on me before I can object again.
What a weirdo.
But I put my shoes on all the same. "
― Jana Aston , Trust (Cafe, #3)
39
" Then I stare at him for a while trying to determine what he wants.
And if I want to give it to him.
And then I start to panic a little. What if he wants to have an awkward conversation? Like more awkward than me? Or ask me about my sexual history? Or if I cheated on my third-grade spelling test in Mrs. Kallam’s class?
Okay, I admit that last one is a little specific and not likely to come up. But I’m still a little ashamed of myself for doing it.
“Would you rather eat stale pretzels or stale Cheetos?”
“What?” I look at him, not sure I heard him correctly. He tilts his head in a nod, like, ‘you heard me correctly,’ but repeats the question.
“Um, stale pretzels, I guess.”
“Go a week without the internet or a week without coffee?”
Oh, we’re playing the ‘would you rather’ game. “Internet.” I smile. “I think. Wait maybe the coffee? No, the internet.”
“Play Quidditch or use the invisibility cloak for a day?”
“You did not just Harry Potter me.”
“I did.”
“Well, I’m not sure that’s even answerable.” I shake my head and groan a little. “Who wouldn’t want to play Quidditch? But the invisibility cloak, wow.” I sigh, a dreamy expression on my face.
Boyd just stares as if he’s not moving on until I answer.
“Quidditch.” I finally relent.
“Why?”
“It looks like fun. Plus the invisibility cloak is basically spying, right? And I don’t really need to spy on anyone so it would be a waste.”
“No point in being wasteful,” he agrees.
“Plus I’ve always had a sneaking suspicion that I’d be really good at Quidditch.” And I can’t help it. This tidbit comes out a little smugly. Boyd lasts two seconds before laughing at me. "
― Jana Aston , Trust (Cafe, #3)
40
" I nod to Boyd to follow me towards Sophie’s room. Her room is only a few doors down from the elevator, but it feels like a really long walk with Boyd behind me. His shoes click against the linoleum floor while mine make the occasional squeak. Am I breathing weirdly? I think I’m breathing weirdly. I wonder how ridiculous these leggings look from behind. I remind myself to look in the mirror when I get home just so I have a clear mental image of this moment to torment myself with.
“Is this going to be our thing now?” he asks.
“Donuts?” I ask, confused, glancing at him behind me.
His eyes move to my leggings-covered ass and he laughs. “No, awkward meetings.”
“Why are you dressed like that?” I blurt out, then slap my hand over my mouth.
“Excuse me?” he replies, brows raised.
“Nothing.”
“No, I think you had a question about my clothing?” he says, glancing down at his suit and then back to me. He takes a moment to run his eyes over my donut leggings before meeting my eyes.
“I teach the second grade!” I protest, in defense.
“I catch criminals,” he retorts. “What’s wrong with my suit?”
“The federal government cannot be paying you enough to dress like James Bond.”
“So you like the way I look,” he clarifies with a confident smirk.
“Obviously,” I say, then catch myself and add a sarcastic, “Not,” to the end. What is wrong with me? Why am I behaving like a bitch? If I had any idea what I was doing with men I’d be doing it right now, not insulting him. I pause in front of Sophie’s door and turn to him. “Thank you for going along with me back there,” I say, referring to my fib to Everly about not having met him previously. “I love Everly, but she’s a little…” I trail off.
“Nuts. The girl is nuts,” he says. “But it’s fine. "
― Jana Aston , Trust (Cafe, #3)
