my turn on Wednesday.”
She hoped Trent wouldn’t stop their weekly outings. It had gotten fun trying to one-up the other person’s plans, and she knew she’d win this time.
“Honey, that’s in two days. Do you really believe you’re going to be over this and be able to maintain a friendly relationship? You could barely handle that when you thought he was gay.”
“I know,” she sighed, reaching for her glass of Chablis. “It’s just…I really like him. And maybe this is what I need. A friend. I’m not going into this blind. I know there won’t be a ring at the end of this relationship…well, I hope this relationship never ends. If it’s a true friendship it will go on for years and years.”
“Uh huh,” Sage said skeptically. “And you, what? Are going to throw him a bachelor party when he finally settles down? Be his child’s godmother? Come on, Raynie, you know this is too much. You gotta end this…this…whatever it is you two have.”
Rayne studied her beautiful pedicure and smiled. “No. This time I’m stronger. I’m not following my heart. That, I’ve packed away. I’m following my head and keeping it screwed on straight. I’m friends with a hot guy who sleeps with other women and I don’t care because I’m not looking for a relationship.”
She searched the bottom of the Doritos bag and found nothing but smooshed-up chips. Rayne tipped up the bag and let the crumbs fall into her mouth and down her shirt.
What a freakin’ mess.
***
Trent
Normally he would have called her the night before to confirm the meeting time, but he wasn’t so sure Rayne wanted anything to do with him anymore. She never called or texted him after her abrupt departure on Sunday, and he didn’t think she’d want to continue with their weekly adventures, not after his insensitive rebuff.
Trent stood in his kitchen in his boxers and contemplated his choices—a) Call her and reassure her their friendship is really important to him. b) Leave her alone and never talk with her again. c) Call and apologize for being an ass and tell her that he’d like to take this further. All the way to his bed.
No, Option C couldn’t happen. He knew a quick roll in the hay with Rayne would never be enough. After a few weekends, maybe even a couple months, they’d become bored with each other. Or rather, she’d get bored—he couldn’t imagine growing tired of her—and either find someone else, or ask him for forever and ever. Neither of those options appealed to him.
Yeah, he was a head case.
Running his hands through his bedhead, he contemplated going for a run or letting off some steam in the bakery. His employees were used to him waltzing in on his day off. He glanced at the clock. Eight. The morning rush would be over and he could sulk and pound on dough for a while. Maybe get a head start on the Wilsons’ wedding cake.
Just as he sat down at his kitchen table to sketch out another wedding cake design, the doorbell rang. Frustrated, expecting it to be Katrina—she had no neighborly boundaries—he growled, “Hang on!”
Not wanting to open the door all the way, as she’d see that as an open invitation to his life, he kept the chain on the door and opened it a few inches. “What?”
“Well, aren’t we Mr. Grouchy Pants this morning,” Rayne chirped.
He closed the door, unlatched the chain and swung it open again. “Hey. Yeah, come in.” She was beautiful. Her dark hair was pulled back in her trademark ponytail and she wore a bright blue Dri-fit shirt that somehow made her dark eyes glow. Her fitted pants—spandex? Yoga pants?—whatever they were called, he thanked God for inventing them. He didn’t like feeling like a girl, but the effect she had on him was potent.
“Or should I say Mr. Grouchy Boxers?” she teased.
Trent looked down and swore. Any second now she would see how happy he was to see her.
“Yeah, um, I’m going to go throw on some clothes.” He turned to leave,
She hoped Trent wouldn’t stop their weekly outings. It had gotten fun trying to one-up the other person’s plans, and she knew she’d win this time.
“Honey, that’s in two days. Do you really believe you’re going to be over this and be able to maintain a friendly relationship? You could barely handle that when you thought he was gay.”
“I know,” she sighed, reaching for her glass of Chablis. “It’s just…I really like him. And maybe this is what I need. A friend. I’m not going into this blind. I know there won’t be a ring at the end of this relationship…well, I hope this relationship never ends. If it’s a true friendship it will go on for years and years.”
“Uh huh,” Sage said skeptically. “And you, what? Are going to throw him a bachelor party when he finally settles down? Be his child’s godmother? Come on, Raynie, you know this is too much. You gotta end this…this…whatever it is you two have.”
Rayne studied her beautiful pedicure and smiled. “No. This time I’m stronger. I’m not following my heart. That, I’ve packed away. I’m following my head and keeping it screwed on straight. I’m friends with a hot guy who sleeps with other women and I don’t care because I’m not looking for a relationship.”
She searched the bottom of the Doritos bag and found nothing but smooshed-up chips. Rayne tipped up the bag and let the crumbs fall into her mouth and down her shirt.
What a freakin’ mess.
***
Trent
Normally he would have called her the night before to confirm the meeting time, but he wasn’t so sure Rayne wanted anything to do with him anymore. She never called or texted him after her abrupt departure on Sunday, and he didn’t think she’d want to continue with their weekly adventures, not after his insensitive rebuff.
Trent stood in his kitchen in his boxers and contemplated his choices—a) Call her and reassure her their friendship is really important to him. b) Leave her alone and never talk with her again. c) Call and apologize for being an ass and tell her that he’d like to take this further. All the way to his bed.
No, Option C couldn’t happen. He knew a quick roll in the hay with Rayne would never be enough. After a few weekends, maybe even a couple months, they’d become bored with each other. Or rather, she’d get bored—he couldn’t imagine growing tired of her—and either find someone else, or ask him for forever and ever. Neither of those options appealed to him.
Yeah, he was a head case.
Running his hands through his bedhead, he contemplated going for a run or letting off some steam in the bakery. His employees were used to him waltzing in on his day off. He glanced at the clock. Eight. The morning rush would be over and he could sulk and pound on dough for a while. Maybe get a head start on the Wilsons’ wedding cake.
Just as he sat down at his kitchen table to sketch out another wedding cake design, the doorbell rang. Frustrated, expecting it to be Katrina—she had no neighborly boundaries—he growled, “Hang on!”
Not wanting to open the door all the way, as she’d see that as an open invitation to his life, he kept the chain on the door and opened it a few inches. “What?”
“Well, aren’t we Mr. Grouchy Pants this morning,” Rayne chirped.
He closed the door, unlatched the chain and swung it open again. “Hey. Yeah, come in.” She was beautiful. Her dark hair was pulled back in her trademark ponytail and she wore a bright blue Dri-fit shirt that somehow made her dark eyes glow. Her fitted pants—spandex? Yoga pants?—whatever they were called, he thanked God for inventing them. He didn’t like feeling like a girl, but the effect she had on him was potent.
“Or should I say Mr. Grouchy Boxers?” she teased.
Trent looked down and swore. Any second now she would see how happy he was to see her.
“Yeah, um, I’m going to go throw on some clothes.” He turned to leave,
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