Christmas in Coconut Creek (Dirty Delta, #1)(40)
I’d had a crush on Robby since the moment I saw him in class the first day of seventh grade. He had spiky brown hair and a Broncos jersey on. He sat straight across from me and asked me if I had an extra pencil. I had thought that was so funny of him. Who didn’t have a pencil on the first day of school?
The days Robby forgot his homework, I would let him copy mine, which was most days. When he had football games, I would draw his number on my cheeks in paint and chant his name across the field. When Robby sprained his ankle, I offered to lug his backpack and mine across school from class to class.
Eventually the crush turned into somewhat of an infatuation. I’d expected us to be doing what everyone else was doing in our grade—holding hands, or kissing, or something. But Robby seemed content to keep me in the friend zone.
I spent two hours at the mall finding a gift for his birthday that year while my parents followed distractedly behind. They were arguing about something, I remembered, their voices getting more cutting and definitive with each word. Too busy with their impending divorce to even give it a second look as I picked something out and swiped the credit card out of my father’s hand without a thought.
I expected Robby to finally take the hint when he opened the hand-wrapped box in front of everyone at the party, unveiling matching bracelets, one for him and one for me. The hanging charm was one half of a heart that fit together with the other bracelet. Instead, Robby had turned a brilliant shade of tomato red, quickly laughed it away, and messed the hair on the top of my hair like an older brother would.
A month or so later Robby Clancy was dating one of the cheerleaders who walked around school wearing his oversized jersey on game days, and that was the first time I had ever gotten my heart broken.
That experience had unknowingly set a precedent for every relationship to come for me, and if I thought hard enough, it might have even been the reason I was still single at twenty-six. I was cautious of men, to say the least. There was a staggering pattern of miscommunication, infidelity, and all-around inability to commit in my rearview.
And mommy issues, for some reason, which might have actually been the worst of it. Nothing parched the pussy quite like a grown man with an Oedipus complex.
All of this fed into my hesitation with Frankie, or what was my hesitation with Frankie. I wasn’t an idiot; I knew what we were doing was pure, lust-filled philandering with a clear end in the not-so-distant future. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t make myself hit the brakes. I’d never have to worry about Frankie showing up to my sister's seventh birthday with a bottle of vodka and a funnel.
Anyways.
Any reticence was tossed out Natalia’s car window as we whizzed beneath the sunset to the house. I was wearing my bawdiest bra and panty set beneath an otherwise conservative outfit. My legs looked spit-shined and my hair smelled like vanilla and cardamom. I’d taken a razor to places I’d never even seen before with my own two eyes. The shampoo bottles in the shower got a free show.
In a way, it was kind of like what had happened that fateful day at Robby Clancy’s birthday party all those years ago. Except instead of matching bracelets, I was gifting matching lingerie, still hoping the man it was meant for wouldn’t balk at it and give me a playful noogie in return.
At least I knew Frankie wouldn’t be breaking my heart.
That was the deciding force when I slipped into the black lace set I thought I’d only packed as a precaution. The line in the sand with the pilot was drawn, and it made whatever debauched fling we had going on feel safer than starting a relationship on cloud nine and then realizing I didn’t have a parachute.
Their living room still looked as perfect as we’d left it. The candle on the center of the coffee table was lit, and the tree was sparkling in strands of green and gold tinsel. Four perfectly matched stockings hung from the mantle of the fireplace that was mimicking fire and softening the room in a warm dim.
Mateo and Natalia had disappeared, leaving me staring at the ceiling—until I noticed the spread of baking ingredients I’d requested perfectly organized across the island waiting to be made into cookies.
I smiled to myself, running a hand over the unopened bags of flour and chocolate morsels. Chopped walnuts, not whole—he’d gotten it right. Several different brands of condensed milk, coconut flakes, graham cracker crumbs, steel cut oats, baking powder, bright red and green M&M’s. Stacked beside them were way too many mixing bowls, and inside the one on top was a whisk, three wooden spoons, a spatula, and a scraper with the tags still attached. I picked one up and twirled it under the kitchen light.
“Hey.”
A deep voice rang out from across the room and I dropped the new scraper back into the metal bowl with a clatter. Frankie was leaning against the wall, the strands of dark hair around his ears still damp from the shower he must have just been in, and the shirt he had yet to put on bunched in his fists.
He stretched the neckline of the white tee between his fingers and then pulled it over his head, his eyes only leaving mine for a brief second. That tiny disconnect was all that kept me from begging him to drag me down the hall and show me what he would have done to me the night before.
“Hi.”
His gaze swept down my legs and back up again. The frilly cutoff Daisy Dukes I had on obviously doing the job I hired them for as I watched his tongue traverse his bottom lip.
“You got everything, it looks like.” I gestured to the table and tore my eyes away from the man across the room. His blatant appraisal scorched the back of my neck and the tips of my ears. I felt completely naked under it.