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I didn’t need to call Keegan to get Coen’s number; Keegan had sent it to me early this week. His text had said it was in case of an emergency, but I wasn’t dumb, I knew why he’d sent it to me. I just hadn’t considered using it.
Until now.
Standing quickly, I walked into my kitchen and stared into the pantry, and then the fridge, looking for something to make for dinner. But I wasn’t seeing anything. I was freaking the fuck out because my son was having his first sleepover! Slamming the refrigerator door shut, I went back to pacing around my living room for another few minutes as I nervously played with the ends of my long hair.
I considered calling my mom for about five seconds before I realized how ridiculous that was. I’m twenty-two. I have a free night for the first time in a long time, and I want to call my mom? When did I turn into an old lady?
Walking to the coffee table, I bent and grabbed at my phone, determined to call one of my friends. But instead I was opening up Keegan’s texts and scrolling up until I reached the number. Before I could talk myself out of it, I pressed the number and hit CALL.
“Hello?”
“Distract me,” I blurted out.
There were a few seconds of silence, before his deep voice asked, “Duchess?”
Goose bumps covered my body, and I swear to God I had to stop myself from whimpering. This morning replayed through my head, the way his lean, muscled body had been covered in a fine sheen of sweat. The way his chest had felt under my hand. His tattoos.
I hated tattoos. Hated them. But I’d wanted to trace every one of his. I’d wanted to study every picture and word covering his arms and chest. I’d wanted to see what the letters on his fingers spelled out. I’d wanted to watch his tattooed hands as they touched me.
Bad. Bad. So bad. Calling him was the wrong thing to do.
Clearing my throat, I tried to put force behind my words, but I failed miserably. “I’ll hang up if you call me that again.”
He laughed softly. “Reagan.”
“Yes?”
Another laugh and I had to sit down on the couch when my legs started shaking. “You’re the one who called me. Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
“Oh, um. I need you to distract me.”
“Parker go to his friend’s house?”
I made some sort of affirmative noise, worried that if I said it out loud, I’d start freaking out all over again.
“Do you want me to come pick you up?”
“No!” I shouted, and scrambled to find something to say. “I—I just—can I just come over?”
I didn’t want him in my apartment. This was my place with Parker, and having Coen here didn’t seem right. If he came over, if he got comfortable being here, that would be a step in the direction of letting him into Parker’s life as well. I didn’t care that he’d met Parker . . . I was already over what had happened this morning; but I wasn’t ready for him to be here yet. And if we went out and happened to run into my parents or their friends, I would never hear the end of it. My mom would start planning a wedding the second she knew his name. Or maybe when she got over me actually bringing someone into Parker’s life.
“Sure . . . ?”
“I’m sorry, I just don’t want to go out.”
“Okay,” he said carefully. “Well, yeah, you’re more than welcome to come here. Have you eaten?”
“No.”
“All right, we’ll order something when you get here.”
I stood there playing with the ends of my hair for a few seconds before I said, “This isn’t a date.”
“Of course not,” he said, his tone amused. “It’s a distraction.”
“Right.” A very, very bad distraction.
He gave me his address before we hung up, and I ran into my closet. A part of me told me to go in my yoga pants and shirt, since that’s what he’d seen me in earlier and I didn’t want him to think I’d dressed for him. But another wanted to look like more than a tired mom when I was around him.
