“I just think it might be awkward being around Cortland.”
Her brows lift. “Cortland? The oldest one?” She continues to watch me like she can’t figure out whyhe’dbe the issue. “I thought you were worried about Clint, Sebastian’s old friend.”
I snort. “Clint is cute but he’s not my type.”
“Oh.” Enya’s hairline rises. “And do we have a type?”
I laugh at how she continues to referencewe, instead of me. Yes, I’m the problem. I’m picky, and for good reason. While Hudson has often been my excuse for not wanting to bring a man into our lives, concerned that he will disappear like Hudson’s father did, the real reason is a deeper secret. A personal one.
Again, I’m the issue.
“Of course. Tall, buff, and bearded.” I sigh.
Enya laughs. “Sounds a lot like Cortland and—” Her head flinches slightly, taken aback a second, like the truth hit her in the face. “Oh my gosh, you have a crush on Cortland Haven.” Her mouth falls open before her smile grows wide. I can almost predict what she’ll say next and hear the teasing tone of her voice.
You love Cortland. You love Cortland.
Only her expression sobers, and her voice softens, as she quietly repeats, “You have a crush on Cortland Haven.” Like it’s the worst news she’s heard all year.
“How does that work with Stone?” she adds.
“Hopefully, Stone doesn’t have a crush on him?” I shrug and wince, knowing that my brother would be so hurt to learn that I’ve crushed on Cortland Haven most of my life. Even when he married that bitch Bailey, I forgave Cort. How could I not. I was ten when it happened. But in my heart, Cort was always going to be mine.
Unfortunately, he has already proven he isn’t.
With a heavy sigh, I shake my head. “It’s silly, really.”
“What’s silly?” With concern in her eyes, trusting Enyashould come easily. She is a no-judgment zone. Entering into all our lives two years ago, Enya was the first stitch in expanding our family. Enya and Adara, that is. From one single mom to another, we became friends instantly, but there’s an even deeper connection between us now. She really is like the sister I always longed to have. The sister I wanted to share secrets with and bounce ideas off.
Hell, when I got my period in my early teens, I had to go to Trudy Wallace, one of our mother’s best friends, for advice on why I was bleedingdown there.
Now my heart is erupting in a way I can’t define. A way I don’t understand.
Why Cort? Why now? Why, after all this time, are those old feelings buzzing about again?
I could chalk it up to unresolved business between Cort and me or I could conclude the results are lingering side effects. Ones that never truly disappeared and are resurfacing again.
Like a bleated warning, telling me to finally admit the truth, I blurt out:
“I had sex with Cortland Haven twelve years ago.”
8
[Cort]
Haven Hitters’ practices are Saturday mornings and early in the evenings on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I didn’t see Vale at either the first official practice or the Tuesday afternoon one.
Despite our interaction during that initial massage therapy appointment, I know I need additional sessions. While I’d like to believe the laundry-basket-mishap was just a tweak, my back has been spasming on and off for months. I can’t have some random stranger touching me, even if I went into the first therapy session knowing that might be the case. The truth is, Valentine Sylver is a therapist, and there isn’t anyone else I want touching me.
I don’t want to work on building trust with a new person every week. I know me, and I’ll never get there. Vale offered patience. She gave respect. Plus, she and I have history outside Reflexology. Not the most pleasant backstory but still a storythat connects us on some visceral level that suggests I can trust her.
Still, trepidation and eagerness battle within me before my next therapy appointment.
When Vale enters the massage room, I’m already facedown, boxer-briefs on this time, and ready for her hands to be on me. The breaths I’ve taken intending to calm myself have wound me up instead, but I’m here and I’m prepared.
Until she touches me.
She straightens the sheet laying haphazardly over my back and settles her hands mid-spine. And my heart knocks again.
