She grins, but it falls away. “Why do I feel like there’s a big but coming?”
I wrap my hands around my glass. “Savvy, it’s like he’s really seeing me as more than this space-case party girl for the first time. He’s been opening up to me, and I’ve been opening up to him. This is becoming more than the physical fling we planned.”
Savvy sighs. “But?” she asks softly.
“But he’s seeing someone else.”
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry. How’d you find out?”
I laugh. “He told me. Twice, actually. He was so sweet about it too. Like, hey, I know this is supposed to be casual, but I wouldn’t feel right if you didn’t know.”
“That doesn’t surprise me at all. He really is one of the good ones.” She grabs the bottle of wine and tops off my glass, even though I’ve barely sipped at it.
“As much as I want to be the kind of girl he’d choose, part of me knows that’s a pipe dream.”
“You don’t know that.”
But I do. If Bobby couldn’t handle the skeletons in my closet, then Kace never will. My eyes flare hot, and Savvy becomes a blur as tears well. “I’m gonna get hurt, but I’ve never had anything like this, and I . . .” My throat feels too tight to finish.
“You think he might be worth getting hurt for,” she says.
I nod. “I want to know what it’s like to be treated right. Even if it’s temporary.”
She cocks her head to the side. “Maybe he’ll want to treat you right for longer than that. Maybe this is a piece of good that’ll stay in your life, Stella. Kace is smart. Give him a chance, and he’ll see you’re worth it.”Chapter TwelveKaceDean turns in a slow circle in the middle of the pool house. “Jesus, maybe I should let Stella have my place and I can move in here.”
“You’d really give up your house to live in a tiny pool house? In my backyard?” I arch a brow. “Because Stella might take you up on it.” And that might be for the best. As much as I enjoy talking to Itsy on Random, the Stella fantasies are still coming at me full tilt.
“Nah. I love you and Hope, but this is a little too close. It’ll be perfect for Stella, though.”
Dean, Smithy, and I have been working the last two days to clear out the old stuff that was stored in the loft and main room. Some of it needed to be donated, some organized and moved to the main house, and some just needed to be pitched. Why was I saving the box full of Amy’s college essays? Right, because she always wanted to keep them, but once it came time to find a space for them in her new house, she didn’t want them anymore. She told me to throw them out, and I just . . . couldn’t. Today, I did, and I’m going to call that progress. I think Itsy would be proud of me. Maybe I’ll tell her . . . if she ever responds to the message I sent this morning. It wasn’t much—just asking how she slept and thanking her again for last night.
“Why would you want Dean back here?” Smithy asks, eyes wide. “Fuck, man. Stella in a bikini every time you look out your window? Sign me up.”
“Smithy,” Dean says, “just because someone lives in a pool house doesn’t mean they’re out at the pool all the time.”
When Smithy turns to me, it’s with an expression so tragic that you’d think someone just told him he has testicular cancer and is going to have to forfeit his balls. “Bummer, man.”
Sometimes this guy makes my brain hurt.
My phone buzzes, and I dig it from my pocket and grin when I see I have a new message on Random. Maybe I didn’t scare her off, after all.
ItsyBitsy123: Hey, handsome. Sorry I didn’t reply this morning. I overslept and had to hustle out the door. So, to answer your question, I slept great—too great, apparently. What about you?
GoodHands69: Like the dead . . . well, maybe not the dead. I had dreams about Jessica Rabbit last night. Which was . . . different. I hope you’re proud of yourself.
ItsyBitsy123: Jessica Rabbit, huh? And was she animated in the dream? Did you play PATTY-CAKE? (Omg, I can’t even type that without laughing. That movie is too much.)
GoodHands69: I guess you could call it that. Ahem . . .“Who is she?”
My head snaps up, and Dean and Smithy are both staring at me like I’ve grown a second head. “What?”
Dean waves to my phone. “Dude, you’re grinning like Selena Gomez just sauntered in front of you buck naked. Who are you talking to?”
I close the app and shove my phone back into my pocket. “Just . . . someone I met on Random.”