Page 23 of About Yesterday (Foothills #5)

Words completely, blankly, epically garbled in her throat. Head tilting to get a better look, tongue humiliatingly lolling out, she whimpered as she watched.

That grin, out in full force as he stood at the register to pay. Shoulders back, confidence in full bloom. And that jawline she couldn’t resist, accented by his refusal to go perfectly clean-shaven since the nearly-kiss that still haunted every waking thought.

Shallow. That was it. She was a shallow, horny, desperate individual. But damn, he looked good before, but, as he’d said, the fresh start, his confident expression with the new haircut…

“Trace?” Haley’s distant voice echoed as the phone had drifted from her ear.

“Yeah. I, uh, gotta go,” she slurred, drunk on way too many hormones firing all at once. Without waiting for a response, she lowered the phone and ended the call without looking away.

Smile wickedly lifting higher on one side as he saw her, Cole strutted to the door and pushed it open, the wind not daring to slam the door back in his face like it had hers. Short on the sides, a little longer on top so that hint of curl was deviously playful, the cut suited him brilliantly.

“Hi,” she said, hoping she remembered to close her mouth.

“Hey,” he said, still grinning at her, stopping a few feet away and stuffing his hands in his pockets. “You ready?”

“Uh-huh,” she mumbled, finally blinking and shaking it off. “I like your hair,” she said, knowing she blushed and grinned like an idiot.

“Thanks,” he said sweetly, shifting his weight and only slightly grimacing as his ankle must have tweaked with the motion. “So. Where’s this shop?”

“I really don’t think I can underwear shop with you watching, so you stick to your section, and I’ll stick to mine.”

“You don’t like the tighty whities your mom got me?”

“I will withhold comment,” she said as professionally as possible.

He chewed his tongue and looked over at her as they paused at the crosswalk, the guilt clear as she knew how hard he’d been trying to not flirt with her.

“I mean, I…” She cleared her throat and tried again.

“I cannot pass judgment as I have not seen you in said tighty whities but I can definitely picture you in them and they are probably more than appealing. On you. However, as you seem so horrified by them, and personally, I prefer boxer briefs—“ or nothing at all… ”—yes, yes you should consider buying underwear you feel sexy in while we are at the store that sells undergarments.” Wow, she could ramble incoherently when she put her mind to it.

Or, well, when she didn’t put her mind to thought formation.

“I mean, not that I’ve thought about your underwear…

” She bit her lips together and snuck a glance at him.

Chest full and frozen, he held his breath. His lips curled into a masked smile as he bit harder onto his tongue, and he didn’t say a word.

The light finally changed, and they started across the wide street, the wind gusting from all directions, turbulent as it got caught up in the web of entwining streets.

Both looking anywhere but at each other, they collided and separated.

Her knuckles brushed across his.

His brushed back.

She extended her fingertips closer for an extra sweep.

He swept back.

She stuffed her hands in her pockets.

He stuffed his in his.

When they reached the store, she put her hand on the left door, as his hand landed on the right.

Trace released her handle and stepped back.

Cole stopped and glanced at her before he opened the door. “Ellen also bought me boxer shorts.” He lifted a wicked smile. “With fruit on them. In very… creative locations. I only wear them when I’ve run out of tighty whities.”

A laugh burst from her belly, into her throat, and she tipped her head back, the image blasting her into the moment. She calmed the giggle and turned into him, smacking her palms on his chest to steady herself. “No. She didn’t.”

“You doubt it?” He gestured down at his classic old-man jeans. “Honestly, I know she was in a hurry and she probably didn’t even look at the print. My favorite has one big banana between a pair of kiwis that… exaggerate things, presumably to stimulate the imagination.”

She bit her lips together and snorted a laugh so hard her nose hurt.

“I saw fruit-themed boxers in the laundry and thought they were my dad’s, and I wondered if he was finally branching out from his love of stripes.

I was too afraid to look closely.” Although, no wonder she didn’t feel comfortable branching out.

She was pretty sure neither of her parents had changed their style since before she was born.

“Come on,” she said, pushing the door open and leading the way down the steps and into the edgy spa music, the bamboo and cream furnishings, jet black floors and walls, with gold fixtures glinting over each display.

Neither debated the change in plan as she led the way toward the men’s section.

Nor did either say a word as she grabbed a few slick, silky, short and snug boxer briefs for him, while he snagged some simple black undershirts in a much more appropriate size than the current shirt that he could do the backstroke in.

Trace ran her fingertips along the edge of the next display, sparkles in every color calling out for a tease. She hooked a green sequined jockstrap and stretched the waistband while she waggled her eyebrows at him.

Closing his eyes and sighing gravely, he shook his head. “No. Just. No.”

“Right. I almost forgot that you don’t wear color,” she said, moving along and grabbing a black set, this one with sequins and intricate straps. “Better?”

He laughed and walked over to her. Stopping an inch away, facing her and shaking his head at her, he plucked the thong from her hands and smacked it back on the pile, lacing his hand into hers and dragged her away from trouble.

“Payback’s a bitch, you know,” he muttered as they wandered into her section.

For a moment, he behaved himself, but no more than that. While she grabbed a few shapes and styles, he meandered toward the “sleepwear” section.

The moment she looked up, he had a pink fur-trimmed nightie draped in front of his torso and grinned impishly. “You like pink.”

“I do like the pink,” she said, letting a little blush flame over her cheeks. “But… no.”

“Got it,” he said, setting it back on the hook and wandered patiently, his hands in his pockets.

“Can I trust you to behave yourself while I try on bras?” she asked, passing over the underwear she’d found for him.

“Of course,” he said, lifting his eyebrows in a devious ascent that completely betrayed his words.

Completely untrusting, she backed away and headed for the dressing room.

More black and gold and spa-like plushness with mirrors everywhere, she geared up for the marathon.

Too snug. Too loose. Too nipply. Too conservative.

Too slutty. Ugh. She hated bra shopping.

A pair of numbers and letters did not adequately describe boob shape and size.

Mind fuzzed over from the harrowing trials of bra selection, she decided on a few she liked, and changed back to her normal clothes, collecting her finds and wandering out.

A gigantic case of sticker shock bit her in the ass as she handed over her credit card.

The cashier neatly folded every piece in recycled brown paper, setting each panty, each bra, each camisole, and even each of her indulgent nail polishes into a jute shopping bag with the store logo on it that she accidentally agreed to, a “seventy-five-dollar value” discounted to ten dollars thanks to the amount of dough she’d spent today.

Trace smiled politely as she took the bag.

By the door, Cole was glaring at his phone, his smaller brown paper gift bag stuffed full in his free hand.

They stopped on the landing before the final few steps up to the door, and he typed a message before stuffing the phone back in his pocket.

His rare scowl weighed down his expression.

He shifted his bag over his wrist and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Did you ask Asher to invite me to his bachelor party?”

“Not exactly. I hadn’t gotten a chance to mention it to you.”

“Fuck, Trace, I can’t go to a goddamn bachelor party.” Without waiting for her to respond, he turned and took a step up.

“Hang on,” she said, grabbing his forearm and stepping up next to him.

“Haley called while you were getting your haircut, and she said Asher and Sophie were doing a super low-key bachelor party thing tonight, then a very, very low key, last-minute casual wedding next weekend at the coast. I have perhaps expressed a dissatisfaction with always being the only single one amongst my friends, and Haley mentioned she’d see what Sophie and Asher thought of you coming to the wedding as my plus-one, and then she mentioned maybe you would appreciate being invited out tonight.

That’s it. I hadn’t even had time to run it by you. ”

He bit down hard on his tongue and shook his head, looking past her and onto the street.

“Cole. Seriously. You don’t have to. I was going to talk to you and see what you thought.”

“Well, Asher just texted and said to come with you to Ahab’s tonight.”

“I thought you liked Asher.”

“I do. He kept me in check when I was about to get us into more trouble than either of our records could handle, back in the day, and he’s one of the few people I’ve talked to since I got back.”

“So what’s the problem?”

Her hand still on his forearm, Cole slid his hand out of his pocket and linked with hers, solid, a plea and a subtly connecting gesture that crushed any idea she might have been brewing, that he was mad at her.

“I. Can’t,” he said, his voice weak and gravelly, his eyes red and telling miles more than his words could.

She nodded softly and gave his hand a gentle squeeze, leading him out of the store.

The damp wind swirled around them as the wind pushed the door fully shut.

She aimed toward the clothing store and stayed quiet until they reached the entrance.

The wind rustled through his new haircut, and he released her hand and scrunched his fingers in his hair.

No amount of distance or time could give her the right words, so she went with what she had. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand everything you’re going through, and I don’t know the best way to help you.”

He nodded, distant, his eyes glassing over.

Dammit. She hated how little she knew about him anymore. She hooked her hand around his middle and moved in, nuzzling into his neck. “Hug me back,” she whispered.

He laughed softly through the heavier emotions she knew rattled him, and he wrapped both arms around her. “If there are strippers involved, I could try tonight,” he said, and she felt him shifting into a shit-eating grin as he squeezed her tighter.

Like her mother, Trace was a hugger. As Cole had pointed out, not everything could be fixed with hugs.

Especially hugs that weren’t the same as they used to be.

No longer the friendly squeeze, now, she melted on contact.

Snuggled in for as much warmth as she could absorb.

To breathe him in and fill herself with him from head to toe.

She pinched his side as she brought her focus back to the moment.

When she was able to pull away enough to tip her head back and look up at him, he quickly shook away a look and forced a smile.

“No strippers, sorry,” she said playfully.

Easier, as she continued the joking banter instead of either acknowledging how her hugs had evolved, he laughed and held her close. “Who all will be there?”

“Asher, of course. Grady, you remember him?”

“Sort of. I don’t think he liked me.”

“Well, he’s changed a lot. So he and his fiancée, Claire. Then Zane, Asher’s buddy from the Navy. Zane’s got bad PTSD, so you guys can chat about getting shot at.”

“That’ll be a hoot.” He snorted an easy laugh and stepped back, linking his hand back with hers. “Finn?”

“Yes, with Haley. And Lincoln and Pippa. Freya is with Zane.”

“Lincoln wasn’t too fond of me either. Nor Pippa.”

“Lincoln is super laid back, always was, but he never exactly ran in your same circle. Anyway, you’ll like him.

He and Pippa got married, and she and I have always been friends, and as she’s Asher’s sister and Sophie’s best friend…

you get the idea. Foothills has remained a small town.

If it helps, he’s a lawyer, in case you get yourself into any trouble. ”

Shaking his head, Cole led the way into the store. With bland colors and blank walls, it was less hip than the lingerie store, but had more variety than they would find in Foothills. They stopped in the middle of the crossroad between sections. “I guess it wouldn’t be so bad.”

“I’ll drive so you can relax.”

“You going to wear that leather miniskirt?” he nodded ahead toward a badassly dressed mannequin.

“Maybe,” she said, feeling her cheeks flame red as she imagined strutting into Foothills’ most hopping waterhole in a black leather miniskirt.

Still holding her hand, he tugged her close and nibbled his bottom lip, angling a look as he held her tight against him. “With your boots?”

Rolling her eyes, she flicked her tongue over her teeth and spun out of his arms. “Maybe.”

He laughed and stepped back, lingering before turning to start shopping.