Page 16 of Craving Consequences

EVERLY

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“Where’s your pet?” Lauren stretches her long, toned limbs and sweeps her glasses back into her tangled riot of corn silk gold.

“Lauren,” I plead, exhaustion heavy in the single sigh of her name.

She lifts a naked shoulder. “What? I can be curious.”

There is nothing innocent in her feigned casual remark. Lauren doesn’t have a subtle bone in her body, a fact that I usually admire, except when it comes to Bron ... or my relationship with him.

“He’s busy,” I remark, careful to keep my features neutral when slicing slivers of lime for the beers.

Lauren flops into one of the barstools at the island opposite and drops her chin into her cupped palm. “I didn’t realize being an absolute waste of space took up so much time. He makes it look so easy.”

“Lauren!” I have to suck in a breath to calm my annoyance before facing my friend. “I’ve asked you to stop. ”

Lauren purses her lips, utterly unbothered by the bite in my voice. She drums her manicured nails against the marble countertop, each tap deliberate. “I heard you, my heart. But I’m not about to lie and dress him up as something he’s not. You do that just fine on your own.”

I press the knife harder into the lime than necessary, the citrus spray misting my fingers. My shoulders tighten, guilt and frustration knitting tight across my spine.

“I don’t—” I start, but she cuts me off with a lazy wave of her hand.

“You don’t have to defend him to me.” She leans back, folding her arms under her chest, her breasts plumping dangerously high over the simple band containing them. “But maybe you should stop defending him to yourself.”

The words hit harder than they should. Harder than I want to admit. I force my gaze down, pretending sudden fascination with arranging the lime wedges into neat, trembling rows.

“I’m happy,” I lie, the words tasting like acid on my tongue.

Lauren doesn’t push. She just hums under her breath, low and skeptical, and spins lazily on the barstool.

“I’m just saying,” she murmurs, voice dropping into something almost too soft to hear, “if you ever wake up and realize you deserve better, you wouldn’t have to look far. ”

My head jerks up sharply, my heart tripping. Panic surges up my throat like bile. I half expect her to be looking out the patio windows at the two standing side by side, beers fisted in meaty fists, chatting comfortably between themselves.

But she’s not. Her sharp, gleaming eyes are knowing. Amused. Fixed on my face.

“What are you talking about?” I croak around the desert filling my throat.

She continues to sway lazily from side to side, expression the smug arrogance of a naughty cat.

“I’m just saying. You’re hot as fuck. You leave that pile of rancid trash and you’d have a parade of men begging at your feet.”

I relax. Slightly. The crippling tension is still a razorblade at my windpipe, but I manage to resume my task without slicing off a finger.

“I don’t want a parade of men. I’m fine with Bron.”

Lauren shrugs, unbothered. “Fine shouldn’t be your goal in life, babe. Fine is what you say about a paper cut or a lukewarm coffee. Not the manchild you’ve chosen to be your ball and chain.”

I slice another lime with too much force. The knife thunks sharply against the cutting board. “You don’t get it,” I mutter, focusing on the neat pile of wedges, the mindless precision of it .

“I get it just fine,” Lauren says, the softness falling away from her voice. “You think sticking it out with him makes you loyal. Makes you a good girl.”

I clench my jaw, refusing to meet her gaze. If I do, I know I’ll lose it.

“You want to know what it really makes you?” she persists. “Miserable.”

The words hang between us, thick and heavy, coiling into the warm summer air like poison.

Before I can summon a reply — before I can stitch together some clumsy defense even I don’t believe — there’s a deep bark of laughter from outside and I glance up on instinct.

Through the wide glass doors, Van and Lachlan stand in a patch of golden light.

Van throws his head back, laughing at something Lachlan said.

Van’s mouth hooks in a rare grin, his pale eyes crinkling at the corners.

He tips his beer bottle toward Lachlan in a mock toast, muscles flexing with the casual motion.

God, they’re beautiful.

And so far out of reach it aches.

I quickly tear my gaze away, guilt gnawing at my insides with sharp little teeth.

Lauren notices.

“Like I said,” she murmurs, dragging the sunglasses down to settle over the bridge of her nose, “you wouldn’t have to look far. ”

She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. It’s not a matter of wanting a herd of men to flock to me. It’s about necessity and commitment. Bron will never be the ideal choice, but he’s a choice I made for a very specific reason.

“I’m not interested,” I mutter, busying myself wiping lime juice from my hands, pretending I don’t hear her next mumble of words. Pretending my heart isn’t beating itself bloody against my ribs.

“If you ask me, you picked the wrong Shaw.”

Wrong.

I picked the one most suitable. I picked convenience.

Lauren doesn’t understand the cogs and wheels that run a town like Jefferson.

She still thinks like an outsider, someone born and raised beyond our confined borders.

No one expected her to assimilate with the order of things when she and Van moved to Jefferson after she was fully grown and fully set in her ways.

I still love her. She’s my sister in every way that matters, but this is an area I can’t explain to her. I can’t explain to anyone.

“Hey.” Her small, pale hand settles lightly over mine, ceasing my anxious scrubbing of the countertop with a damp rag. “I’m sorry, okay? I just fucking hate the guy, and I love you so much.”

I draw in a slow breath and face her. “I know. It’s just...”

She gives my fingers a squeeze. “Just let me kill him.”

Despite the weight, I burst out laughing. Lauren joins in a second later, grinning like she’s proud of herself.

“You’re not killing anyone.” I scrub a tear from the corner of my eye with the heel of my hand. “It’s Jefferson. You so much as threaten violence around here and someone’s great-aunt will organize a prayer circle about it.”

Lauren snorts. “Good. I hope they do. I’ll need all the prayers I can get when I’m burying his useless body in the woods.”

I shake my head, smile slipping into something sadder. “Thanks, though. For having my back.”

“Always, baby girl,” she says fiercely, squeezing my hand once more before letting go. “You don’t have to stay miserable just because you’re afraid of change or small minded gossip.”

Before I can answer, the patio door slides open and a gust of hot, beer-scented air rushes into the kitchen.

“Burgers in five!” Lachlan calls in before shutting the door and turning back to Van.

Lauren perks up immediately. She bounces off her stool with a little hop.

“Finally. I’m starving.” She brushes invisible dirt off her round backside as she waltzes over to the glass. She pauses to peer back at me from over her shoulder, her smirk almost threatening. “You know, I bet Lachlan—”

“Don’t,” I warn, meaning it with every shred of my soul; I did not need Lachlan pulled into this.

She bats her thick, black lashes. “I was going to say, I bet Lachlan has a few friends he could share you with.”

“Ew! Gross,” I blurt before I can stop myself.

I have never seen Lachlan with the other men in town, except my dad, not in a social setting at least, but there is literally not another soul in Jefferson I would want to be shared with.

“I don’t mean my dad!” Lauren exclaims, yanking the door open and stepping partially out. “Like, I don’t know, I’m sure he knows other guys.”

I hadn’t even thought of Van as a friend of Lachlan’s. They’re more like brothers, and I definitely did not lump him in with the other men.

Still...

I follow after her with my bowl of neatly sliced lime wedges.

“Not interested.”

“What other guys?” Lachlan chimes as we join the pair on the deck.

Heat crawls up my neck even as my panicked gaze darts to the big mouth next to me.

To my relief, Lauren shrugs, all innocent smiles. “Girl talk, Mr. Shaw. I’m bound by my oath of silence. ”

Both men watch us like we just announced we were plotting their demise. Van squints suspiciously over the rim of his beer bottle. Lachlan crosses his arms over his chest, muscles flexing.

But it all would have been fine ... if Lauren wasn’t the human embodiment of chaos.

“You know though,” she muses aloud, tapping her chin with a manicured nail, “Maybe you are the right person to ask, Mr. Shaw.”

“Lauren!” I hiss, fully prepared to football tackle my friend straight over the patio railing.

Lauren with her zero sense of self-preservation ignores me. “Do you have any friends, Mr. Shaw?”

“Lauren, I swear to God...” I begin through gritted teeth.

Van lowers his arm and cocks a head in Lachlan’s direction. “This asshole? I’m surprised I stuck around this long.”

Lachlan elbows him but returns his attention back to the blonde. “Define friends.”

“Like actual men.”

“Ouch,” Van mutters, bringing the bottle to his lips. “Hard not to take that personally.”

“Dude, I’ve been telling you to do better,” Lachlan teases and gets the middle finger in response.

Lauren rolls her eyes. “Obviously you’re a man, Dad, but you’re also really gross and as part of our girl contract, off limits. ”

“Lauren!” I snap, horrified.

Lachlan bursts out laughing, a beautiful rumble in the scorching afternoon. But all I see is my best friend spewing the worst lie.

Thinking he’s unappealing because he’s her dad is one thing, but to be so rude...

I try to understand Lauren’s staunch stance on her friends dating her dad.

From the very beginning, she’s made it painfully clear that her dad was off limits and the only thing that would sever our relationship for good.

It’s not the whole reason I keep my distance from the man, but it’s been a firm fixture in my mind.