Cocky Cowboy: A Second Chance Romance (Cocker Brothers of Atlanta Book 3) (6 page)

“
I
s Dad home
?” I whisper as I take my shoes off in the immaculate foyer of my parent’s new house. Mom says wearing shoes inside brings negative energy into your home. I think it’s really from habit of keeping the New York dirt manageable.

“No, thank God.”

Sighing, I lock eyes with her. “Okay, let’s have it.”

“Did you sleep with him!?”

“Mom!”

She’s practically spitting she’s so upset. “Jaxson Cocker. I can’t believe you.” And as though she’s fumbling for what to say, she shouts, “He always got you in trouble! Nice to know things haven’t changed!”

Throwing her arms in the air, Mom flips around for the kitchen where she will no doubt salve her nerves with a Sunday morning mimosa. “This is the worst thing that’s ever happened!” she mutters to herself.

It sounds like she believes that. Which is a bit of an overreaction in my opinion.

But we are church-going folk. At least, she still is. I’ve kinda slipped off the pious wagon. I still pray almost every night, and that keeps my Catholic guilt at bay. I’ve got bigger things to worry about now, though, don’t I? And Mom’s apparently not going to make it easier on me.

I take a deep breath of patience and follow her. There is no avoiding this mess. “First you don’t like Ryan, and now you don’t like Jaxson.”

“I
never
liked Jaxson, Rachel. You know that!” She whips open her brand new refrigerator and pulls out an unopened bottle of champagne, reaching in for fresh squeezed orange juice predictably after. Casting a look at my expression, she mutters, “Don’t ride me about this. It’s the only morning I drink and you know that! And I went to church today, praying for you!” Her slippers shuffle to the cabinet for a glass.

“Grab two,” I quietly say.

She glances over the shoulder of her comfy housedress and raises her eyebrows.

“Mom, if we’re going to have this conversation, I need a drink.”

“Did you sleep with him!?!!”

I gape at her, then shut my mouth. “No.”

She huffs back like she doesn’t believe me, “Rachel, I’m serious. This is very important. Did you?!”

Stunned and ashamed, I whisper, “No, mom. We just talked.” To sell my lie, I add, “We kissed. That’s it.”

Shaking her head she hands me the champagne like she doesn’t trust herself not to drop the bottle. I’m no first-timer so when I pop the cork, only a tiny mist drifts out, no overflow.

As soon as we have mimosas in hand, she mutters under her breath before a very large sip, “I saw him a few weeks ago. Knew it was him right off the bat. That Cocker swagger. He also looked dirty. Like he’s got no money. Stay away from him.”

Smiling at her ignorance and superiority, I gently defend him, “He’s a cowboy, mom. He has a gorgeous ranch that’s over three-hundred acres.”

The formidable Ellen Sawyer stares at me a beat then resumes her tirade. “Well, he’s not a lawyer, Rachel! And you know that while Ryan might be career-driven and egotistical, he will always be able to provide for you.”

“What year are we living in?” I groan. “And you don’t have to worry. Jaxson doesn’t want anything more from me than…” She waits for me to say the rest, and because I lied to her, I pretend to act appalled, “…my body! He wanted more. I didn’t give it to him because I couldn’t do that to Ryan.”

Oh my…I’m diving deeper into depravity.

Visibly relieved, she demands, “And what are you going to tell your boyfriend?”

“He’s not really my boyfriend right now. We had a fight and he said he…”

“Rachel!”

Unable to defend my actions in front of one who’s lived through more life experience than I have, who I respect very much, and who also knows me too well to believe it’s over with me and Ryan, I can only sigh, “I’m going to tell him the truth.”

“Don’t you dare!”

Stunned I stare, mimosa suspended in front of my mouth. “What are you saying?”

She takes another gulp, blinking away to the window while struggling for words of wisdom. Finally, her shoulders slump and she whispers, “Rachel, telling someone you cheated only takes the burden off you and puts it on them. I know you didn’t sleep with him, so what is there to tell? You’re not going to see him again, are you?” She waits for my plans.

God, what a horrible feeling this is.

All I want is to see him again.

I shake my head. “No, I’m not seeing him again. It…didn’t go well.”

Except it did.

Waving her hand in conclusion, she says, “Then restrain yourself from putting that on Ryan
and
your relationship. I wasn’t a fan of the man, Rachel, but you are. And he is very successful. He’s only going to go up! Unless he’s a lying, underhanded lawyer…is he?”

“What? No! He’s one of the good guys, Mom.”

Exhaling, she mutters from behind her slender flute glass, “Then don’t say anything, for God’s sake! It was a night of conversation and that’s all. A ghost from your past sprung up and took a bite out of you. It’s not going anywhere. It will never go anywhere. It can never go anywhere.” She touches my heart, her blue eyes filled with meaning. “So it stays
here
. And this is where it never leaves.”

I know she means the secret, but for me it hits differently. As much as I know it’s time to go back to my normal life, Jaxson’s taste is still on my tongue. His masculine scent haunts my senses as if he’s standing right in front of me. The pressure of his hands is embedded into my psyche and I don’t know if it will always be.

I already miss all of him.

She pulls back a shaking hand and waits. “Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Am I making sense to you?”

“Mom, don’t be so scared. I didn’t do anything. You don’t have to worry.”

I can do all the worrying for both of us.

She clinks her empty glass to mine. “Good.”

There’s something very personal about her response to what I’ve done – even though she now believes our childhood crush went unconsummated. I’ve never seen my mother shake, or drink this quickly. She enjoys her cocktails, but she has downed that thing like she was hoping there was cake at the bottom.

“Mom…did you ever cheat on dad?”

Her eyebrows fly up. “Me?” She shakes her head with finality. “Of course I didn’t.” But she’s walking away before she completes her sentence. With my hand on the marble counter I didn’t grow up with, and an almost full glass in my freshly trembling hand, I watch her carefully.

This had nothing to do with Jaxson.

The ghost from the past was her own guilt and shame, unhealed.

My church-going, self-righteous mother…just lied to me.

M
y key jams
in the lock of our West Village apartment. I swear under my breath then gasp as the door opens revealing Ryan in well-fitting jeans and t-shirt, his dark hair wet from the shower. He must have gone to the gym right before my plane landed. If I’d have flown back here earlier, I might have had alone time to gather my wits. The yapping passenger next to me on the flight did nothing to settle my nerves.

His expression says he’s been waiting for me, and knows we have to talk. “Hi Rach.”

“Hey.” I force a smile.

“Cab ride okay?”

Numbly I nod, still outside in the hall. “It was fine.”

His quiet voice is deepened with sincerity. “I’m sorry, baby.”

My eyes close for a brief second. “Me too.”

On a half-smile, Ryan turns to let me see the apartment is overflowing with flowers. Dozen of sunflowers.

Shit.

“Your favorite, right?” he asks off my dazed look as if he’s not sure he got it right.

“Yes,” I whisper, struggling to believe what I’m seeing. “They’re lovely.”

Memories are peculiar, aren’t they? They imprint you with likes and dislikes you often don’t remember the origin of until it bites you in the ass. I’d forgotten why sunflowers were my favorite until I saw Jaxson’s smirk after he punched Ryan, remembering that day at the abandoned factory for the first time in years.

These flowers don’t stand for forgiveness and apology no matter what Ryan thinks. They stand for a first kiss I shared when I was only nine, one that impacted me in ways I am only beginning to understand.

And now they’re everywhere, in the wrong home.

“Let me get that.” Ryan takes my rolling suitcase, carrying it to our bedroom.

Walking to the largest bouquet I touch soft yellow petals, closing my eyes at the irony.

I’m a piece of shit.

“Ryan?”

“Yeah?”

I jump. “Oh! I didn’t realize you were in the room.”

“I was watching you. You don’t like the flowers, or you don’t like what happened last night.”

Oh dear God.

Helping me out of my coat, he continues, “I shouldn’t have jumped to that.” Off my questioning look, he adds, “To taking a break so fast. I was pissed. Friday night with your parents was a –”

“—Blast,” I dryly interrupt.

Chuckling, Ryan says, “Yeah. Loads of fun.” As he turns to the coat rack I slip out of my painful heels. “And then that bullshit at the farmers market. I hadn’t even had my coffee yet.”

“Not a great start to a day,” I smile, silently hiding my shame.

“And then suddenly I’m under the gun about marriage and I was just overwhelmed, babe. I snapped.” Walking to me he places his hands on my hips and squeezes. “I spent all night thinking about it. Did you?”

“Umm…of course I did. I’m really thirsty, Rye. Mom made mimosas this morning and we got a little drunk.”

Amused, he starts for our modern kitchen. “Bet the plane ride didn’t help the dehydration, either.”

“Yeah—”

“—I got wasted on the plane last night. I get it.” He pours ice cold water for me as I lean against the kitchen counter we’ve prepped food on for over a year. This was our first place together and everything in it is mingled with memories I can’t help reliving.

As he animatedly tells me about how, out of pure coincidence, he sat next to a couple guys on the plane he knew from college, I sip the water and barely hear a word. Our relationship is playing out for me like it’s a 3D movie on an IMAX screen.

I know human beings rationalize bad behavior, but I’m not lying to myself when I see all the things that showed how we’d drifted apart, now that I’m watching him talk. Maybe that’s why I wanted to lock it down with an engagement ring, because I feared we were on a slow decline destined for failure.

But now here Ryan is acting like his old self, the man I was so attracted to. He’s laughing and mimicking the flight attendant asking them to keep it down. Gone is the sulky irritability, the quickness to snap my head off.

And when I fake a laugh so well that Ryan thinks I’m totally on board and hearing everything he’s told me, he takes me in his arms and kisses me.

“Hey,” he murmurs against hesitant lips. “You’re tense. You’re still mad at me, aren’t you?”

Resting my forehead to his, I whisper, “We haven’t been us for a long time, Ryan.”

His voice lowers. “I know. I’ve been working too much.”

“It’s not all you.”

“It’s mostly me,” he says, dazzling me with one of those smiles I fell in love with.

I smile and slip my arms around his neck. “It was mostly you.”

He chuckles then kisses me again. “Being here without you last night made me miss you.”

Ouch.

Ouch.

Ouch.

I was doing things last night that had nothing to do with you, Ryan, and if you knew about them you would be yelling at me and probably calling me all kinds of names. What am I supposed to do with all these feelings? I have loved you for so long.

Instead of saying what is spinning in my head I murmur, “You sure you don’t need more guy-time in your life? Sounds like that’s what might have happened.”

He shrugs. “I need more fun. That’s what I need.” Sliding his hands down to my ass, he smirks. “Ready for make-up sex?”

No fucking way.

“Oh honey, I’m tired. Can we do that another time?”

The playfulness fades as he nods, trying to hide his hurt. “Sure. I’m moving pretty fast after saying I wanted a break. I get it.”

Sucking on my lips, I pull away. He follows me into our bedroom where I begin to unpack. A text from my phone sounds.

Oh no.

I glance to where my purse is hiding somewhere in the sunflower nightmare.

Ryan goes to get it – normally a very natural thing to do because we don’t hide anything from each other. Not that I ever see his phone because it’s always close to him. Mine? I leave it where I drop it.

But tonight is very different from every night for the past two plus years. I gave my number to Jaxson.

As Ryan reads the text I can’t breathe.

His eyes slowly rise to meet mine as a deep frown cuts into his forehead.

My mouth gets instantly stuffed with a million saliva-sucking cotton balls.

Ryan starts back, eyes locked on me, frown deepening. He holds up the phone. “Your mom thinks I’m a jerk?” He hands it to me.

He may be a jerk, but he’ll stick by you.

I swallow. “She’s probably still drunk.”

Shoving his hands in his pockets he watches as I keep unpacking.

“She’ll grow to like you, Ryan. You weren’t exactly the ideal houseguest.”

Chuckling, “True,” he heads to watch TV, smacking the top of the doorframe on his way out. “I can be a jerk sometimes. But she was no princess! Jesus, what are we gonna do with all these flowers?”

How about throwing them out the window before I wake up?

Would that raise any alarm bells?

Nah…not at all.

“
I
can’t believe
I was wrong!” Sylvia mutters, smoothing the black cloth napkin over her lap as the waiter walks away with our lunch order. “I really thought he was going to propose!”

She’s usually right on the nose when it comes to affairs of the heart.

Sylvia predicted Ryan would ask me out the night two-and-a-half years ago when she and I enjoyed a few stiff martinis at Lois bar in the East Village before this handsome, dark-haired man strolled in wearing an expensive suit and a confident swagger like he owned the place.

She also predicted he’d suggest we move in together after the softball tournament between his law firm and their rivals.

And she predicted her own boyfriend would turn out to be gay.

All came true.

And of course now he’s her ex-boyfriend.

“Not only were you wrong, he said he wanted a break.”

Fingering her mass of curly, black hair, Sylvia’s brown eyes go wide. “What?!!!”

Reaching for my water, I squeeze the freshly cut lemon into it, muttering, “Yep.” As I take a sip, I spill the damn thing down my front, lemon bobbing onto the ground at our feet. “Shit!”

“Here!” Sylvia hands me her napkin, rising up to help.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” She sits back down as I press the napkin into my wet blouse. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you guys were really stiff at the movies the other night, too.”

“The break only lasted a night, Syl. We’re back to normal I guess.”

“What happened in Atlanta?”

What happened an hour north of Atlanta is what I really want to talk about, but I’m afraid she’ll judge me for falling into Jaxson’s arms so quickly after Ryan left.

“He didn’t like my family. The feeling was mutual. I brought up marriage.”

“You didn’t!”

“I did. And then he said he wanted a break. Even flew back early. Gave my parents this bullshit excuse. But by the time I returned home, which was the very next night by the way, he took it back.” Bunching the damp napkin up I set it on the table and look around for a waiter, muttering, “Got me a bunch of flowers. Said he was sorry.”

“Awwww,” Sylvia smiles with a gushy, romantic look on her face. “What kind?”

“Doesn’t matter.” I grab her water since mine is gone and down a big gulp, so big I have to gasp for air after.

I’m really having a hard time with this conversation.

Jaxson hasn’t called me.

And every day I stare at my phone wondering why not.

I’ve been trying to click back into Ryan but as the days pass that connection hasn’t strengthened.

I feel like I’m a different woman now and the old me is a stranger. Like I’m walking in another person’s shoes. Sleeping in bed with a man who is a stranger.

Something happened to me and I have no idea what to do about it.

“I know. It’s so hot out,” Sylvia says, explaining away my thirst. “I’ve been drinking like a dolphin.”

Dying for a change in subject I ask, “How was the retreat? I didn’t get a chance to talk to you on our double date.”

“I know, Rhett kept me all to himself. Isn’t he beautiful?”

“His name is Harry.”

“He looks like Rhett Butler, though. Don’t you think?” Off my smile, she winks. “Belize was gorgeous! We had seven days of mediation, raw foods, probiotics, and yoga. If it weren’t for the no-see-ems, it would have been perfect.”

“What the hell is a no-see-em?”

She makes a face and leans in. “Little bugs so small you can’t see ‘em.
No see ‘em
.” Off my laugh, she loudly complains, “Oh no, that’s what they’re called, and they’re serious business! Invisible, flying creatures that bite you. Joy had a reaction to them. Remember her? Red welts all over her arms and legs. Her neck looked like she’d grown a goiter!” Through our laughter, Sylvia insists, “Oh, but the yoga, Rach! It was amazing. Just like Peru, remember that?”

“I’ll never forget,” I murmur as vivid memories play out the most relaxing week I’ve ever had. “They stopped yoga to enjoy the sunrise and sunset every day, then resumed class with us all in that state of awe.”

“No phones allowed, except for pictures on the first day—”

“—Just to get it out of our systems!”

“Loved that,” Sylvia smiles.

“But it wasn’t raw-foods-only there. I don’t think I would have enjoyed it as much if it were. Healthy eating I can do. Crazy eating? Um…no.”

“You’d be surprised!” Off my cocked eyebrow, she confesses, “I brought snacks with me. I cheated.”

Cheated.

There’s that word.

Suddenly I need more water.

The waiter drops crackers with a bottle of garlic-infused olive oil at our table. Sylvia says, “Thank you.”

As he goes to walk away I grab his arm. “Can you bring us more water?”

He nods and grabs my empty glass, heading off.

Sylvia is completely unaware of my inner turmoil. I’m lucky in her, to have a friend I feel safe with is priceless. But cheating is taboo. That’s a stance I’ve always held. There is no grey area. Only black and white. And yet here I am in my one-day-break, having slept in another man’s arms…and much, much more.

I want to tell her.

I need to tell her.

I’m fucking dying for help on this. But what if she judges me for it, or blows up like my mom did?

I can’t lose Sylvia.

As she goes to grab a cracker I decide I have to keep this to myself. She glances to me and pauses. “You okay, Rachel?”

Before I know what I’m doing I blurt out, “I slept with someone the night we were on the break.”

She throws the cracker back into the basket. “Holy shit! You what? Who??”

The story pours out of me. She soaks up every tiny detail, asking things like, “He punched Ryan?!” and “Ryan said he doesn’t want kids?!” and “FOUR TIMES??!!”

“Five if you count the morning,” I groan, laying my head in my hands.

“Holy shit, Rachel.”

“I know.” After I tell her what my mom advised about not divulging my transgressions to Ryan, I beg my best friend for the truth. “Should I tell him?”

“Hell no!” she mutters, leaning back to call the waiter. “Excuse me! We need some wine over here.” She leans in to ask me, “Honey, how do you feel about this? How come you didn’t call me the moment it happened? You must be killing yourself! He hasn’t called at all?”

I’m staring at her. “You don’t hate me?”

She blinks. “What?! No! I don’t hate you! Now answer the question.”

“What was the question?”

She leans in. “How the hell have you been surviving?”

“I’ve been trying keep my mind off it by writing about the trip for the blog –”

“WHAT?!”

“—Not that part! About the farmers market, Atlanta, the restaurant we went to with my parents on Friday. Keeping the personal out of it.”

Sylvia shakes her head and reaches over the table to touch my hand, her voice becoming very gentle. “Rachel, you can’t leave out the personal in your editorials. That’s what makes them so compelling! The drama, the nuances. That’s what makes your writing great!”

“Thank you, but I think there’s too much drama this time.”

We order a couple glasses of Pinot Grigio from the overworked waiter at the same time a husky food runner sets our pastas down. Both men vanish while Sylvia and I stare at each other, dying for privacy.

“I never thought of myself as a cheater,” I whisper.

She immediately counters, “No. Uh uh. He said he wanted a fucking break! No marriage. No kids. He flat out told you he didn’t want what you did! And then he set you free and went crying back here.” Off my resistant look, she leans in and firmly tells me, “You were a free woman. And not only free, but everything you thought was coming got stripped away from you. Of course you lost your shit!”

Tilting my head I mutter, “Come on. Isn’t that a cop out?”

“Nope! Hell no!” Her head wags. “Honey, what were you supposed to do, beg him? You’re not desperate, Rachel Sawyer, and Ryan should be kissing your ass right now. Especially in this city when there’s too much competition and every man is looking for the next best thing, you have to listen when they tell you they’re out! Or you’ll find yourself cheated on.”

“You make me feel so much better.”

“Girl, the struggle is real.” She goes to toast me, “You did what you had to do!”

But I hold my glass close to my chest, not willing to high-five with a drink. “If you love someone you don’t go sleep with another man the first night you have a chance.”

Sylvia drinks from her glass and thinks about this. “If that’s how you feel — and I hear you — then why did you do it?”

Sighing, I confess, “Jaxson. He’s always had this pull over me. I do what he wants me to.”

Sylvia makes a noise. “No, honey. You do it because you
want
to.”

I set my wine on the table to pick up my fork. My hand is shaking. She notices it. Off her raised eyebrows I whisper the thing that has been paining me the most. “It feels like I’m stuck in someone else’s life.”

“Look at your fucking hand, Rachel.”

My phone rings and I literally jump in my seat, reaching to answer it, shoulders slumping when I see Ryan’s name.

Staring at it, I set the cell on the table, unaware she was watching me.

Stabbing slippery penne with her fork, Sylvia mutters, “Mmhmm.”