Page 24 of About Yesterday (Foothills #5)

Nice guys finish last

S o many first days, Cole didn’t even know where to rank this one. More schools than he could remember, growing up. More apartments, trailers, couches, group homes, foster homes. Assignments, squads, jobs.

Couple of drinks in a noisy, crowded, bizarre sort of bar with some people he once knew, plus a few he didn’t. Cole didn’t exactly suffer from social anxiety, or he hadn’t in the past. But holy fuck, he didn’t want to go.

In his bedroom, panic attack sprouting under his skin, vibrating into his head until he was nauseous, he clutched and released his fists. Closing his eyes, he drew in a breath to a slow count of four, hold for four, out for four, hold for four. Why in the fucking hell had he agreed to this?

A trill of knocks interrupted the stream of excuses he was working on. “Yeah?” he answered.

“Cole? Can I come in?” Ellen’s sweet voice shined through the door.

Shit. He didn’t want her to see him freaking out. He dashed to the door and eased it open, stepping back so he wasn’t blocking the door.

Ellen’s hair was pulled back in her usual loose bun, a few stray curls bouncing atop her forehead. More gray than strawberry blond anymore, but she was still a redhead through and through. “Well don’t you look handsome,” she said, beaming with a twinkle in her grin.

“Thanks,” he said, presenting his calm, collected, confident persona. Charismatic, unpretentious, likeable. He could blend in, stand out, become someone else entirely. For tonight, he was going to have to tap into some skills he thought he’d never need again.

“I see Trace made sure you had a nice-looking wardrobe,” she said, beaming as she looked him up and down, stalling with a slight wince as she noted the holes in his jeans and snugger fit of his shirt.

Apparently, Ellen assumed he needed a female touch to help him dress well.

Cole was glad to have had Trace there for opinions, but he did his own shopping.

His slim-fit jeans and Chelsea boots were very European compared to what most guys wore around here, but he couldn’t adapt back to baggy jeans.

Although, Pacific Northwest weatherproof armor was practical, so he’d thrown a featherweight fleece hoodie over his t-shirt to protect himself from the torrent of rain that wouldn’t quit.

The belt had been Trace’s idea, simple black leather with double notches to add a little edge.

“She’s got an eye,” he said warmly as Trace passed by on her way back to the bathroom. She scrunched a goofy wink as she walked past. Leather miniskirt swapped out for denim, she looked less self-conscious now, her walk more confident.

“Are you up for tonight?” Ellen asked him, leaning against his bedroom door jamb.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, almost able to settle without adjusting his shoulder awkwardly at the seemingly innocuous but remarkably uncomfortable resting position.

“Sure,” he said. “I mean, no,” he quickly added, not wanting to flat out lie twice in as many minutes.

“But I’ll have Trace with me, and Finn offered to drive me home if I need to bail early, if Trace isn’t ready to go yet. ”

Ellen glanced back over her shoulder, and then ducked into his room, closing the door behind her. Voice so quiet he could barely hear, she said, “You’ll make sure Trace doesn’t do anything too crazy?”

His chest lurched painfully with a stifled laugh. “What?”

“You’ve always looked out for each other, and I already had the talk with her about making sure you feel safe tonight. But…” Ellen looked around again, seeming to make sure Trace hadn’t snuck in and was hiding under the bed or some place she would overhear. “Did you see what she’s wearing?”

“I did,” he said, nodding to cover his mind-boggling confusion over this entire conversation.

Hot as hell in the leather skirt and tall boots, but when his jaw dropped to the ground and he went completely nonverbal when she asked what he thought, she blushed and grinned and dove back into her bedroom.

Best of all, she didn’t seem to realize that the denim skirt she came back out in was even hotter, with a little slit that showed extra leg, and he was a sucker for ripped denim.

Apparently, Pippa and Freya had conspired and picked up bridesmaid-themed tank tops with sparkly gold lettering.

Cole was on the verge of an aneurism seeing Trace in hers, but her mom hadn’t even seen it, as Trace had tossed on a cozy black hoodie that was by no means “sexy,” but the whole look was so Trace and so irresistible.

“Jeremy says that I should just let her do her thing, that she’s adjusting to Finn and Haley being together and that she’s finding her place in the world right now.

Emotionally speaking. But I’m afraid she’s going to get hurt if she tries too hard and it doesn’t go the way she wants it to.

Or if she…” Ellen cleared her throat and blushed wildly.

“I won’t pretend I didn’t know what she and Finn were up to when he’d come over and stay until late, and I can’t tell you what a tough decision it was to take my teenage daughter to the doctor to get birth control.

” Ellen’s eyes widened distantly and her cheeks flamed at the memory.

Perhaps a little old-fashioned, but they did the right thing.

“Finn has always been such a nice boy. Nice family. She’s dated some very nice boys the last few years, too.

But… she’s never… um… been with someone who was, um, assertive, or, experienced… ”

Cole adored Ellen. She was a hugger like Trace, and he’d gotten addicted to the affection. This house, her bakery, her attitude and… everything. She exuded warmth and welcome, and he’d never felt like an outsider.

Until today.

“Cole, I’m only saying this because I trust you and I respect you.” Ellen folded her arms over her middle and nodded firmly. “You’re a nice boy, too.”

He chewed his tongue, wondering if he should finish her sentence for her. He’d certainly heard it enough before. Just never from either of his foster parents.

“Since getting home from her big Paris trip, and then Finn and Haley getting engaged, well, Trace seems too eager to… explore a little…”

Fury and shame and all that nasty bile rose in his throat and no matter how hard he swallowed, he couldn’t force it down. In one conversation, he was about to lose years of—

“Don’t let her hook up with someone who’s not a nice boy,” Ellen finally finished.

“What?” He choked a cough and shook his head. He must have heard her wrong.

Ellen looked at the door again, then stepped closer. “Lately, she’s been, I don’t know, more outgoing? Yes. Outgoing, which is so nice to see, but… if you wouldn’t mind keeping an eye out for her tonight? Bachelor parties can get a little wild.”

“I think she can handle herself, but I’ll keep an eye out for her, like I always do. Like she always does for me,” he said, nodding as relief and confusion and a wallop of defensiveness for Trace took over any shred of hurt he’d anticipated for himself.

Maybe not the best time to remind her that he was the not-nice boy she should be worried about.

That he had over a decade’s worth of wicked fantasies about Trace, and she was definitely not a nice girl in many of them.

Nor did he think now was the right moment to mention that if Trace wanted to experiment, that was up to her. With him or someone else.

Ellen dragged him in for a rocking bear hug and did her adorable little growl along with it, squeezing him so tight he laughed out loud.

“Have a wonderful time tonight,” she said, finally releasing him and grinning like she was sending him off to prom again.

“You could use a nice girl in your life, if you happen to meet one tonight? Flash her some of that charm. You know, that smile you do.” She buzzed out of the room before he could respond, energized as if ready for a night on the town herself.

As he strolled out of his room, Trace was heading out of the bathroom.

Halting, he leaned against the doorframe and stuffed his hands in his pockets to watch her walk by.

Outgoing, yes, she was owning her style, not too loud, but not the sweet-girl uniform either.

While he’d been getting the strangest of lectures from Ellen, Trace had pulled her hair back into a ponytail.

Hot as hell, but he knew it was because she was more comfortable with it pulled back.

“What’s got you grinning like that?” Trace said as she approached.

He glanced toward the stairs, then back to her. “Your mother,” he whispered.

“Uh-oh. What happened?” Trace stopped in front of him, putting her hands in the pockets of her skirt, the subtle action pulling it down just enough that he could see a strip of skin. Not helpful.

He chewed his cheek to quiet the grin, then said quietly, “I think I know why you camouflage, with clothing for sure now.”

“What?” Trace tilted a curious nod and scrunched her nose, looking at the empty stairwell. “Oh. I get it. My parents have terrible taste in clothes. Everyone has their time period, and this is not theirs.”

He shook his head and resisted the urge to wrap his hands around her middle and pull her close. “That, and she’s worried you’re going to be at risk of having a rebound with the bad-boy sort, and I am to look out for you.”

Trace erupted with a full-out giggle, convulsing and tipping her head back, covering her mouth as she tried to calm it. She reached out toward his waist, then stuffed her hands back in her pockets and shook her head, still grinning. “What makes her think that?”

“Uh, Trace,” he whispered conspiratorially, “You’re wearing a ripped denim miniskirt and sexy boots.”

“These boots are classy,” she said through a giggle.

“And she thinks you picked out my new clothes, especially my new black shirt that’s too tight and my jeans that have so many holes in them. Because that’s what happens when a man and a woman go shopping together.”