Always the Last to Know Read online

  As I return from the bathroom, bladder relieved and teeth brushed, I see Riley lying in the fetal position, holding closely to his injured appendage. Even though I know that I won’t go back to sleep, I am sure as hell going to try. I mean, it’s five in the morning. Even the birds in the nest outside my window haven’t started chirping yet. And, with Riley tending to his injuries, I have no fear of him spooning me while he sleeps.

  As soon as I get comfortable in my bed, Riley starts talking.

  “I can’t believe you did that to Knudsen.” He says quickly and quietly with a single breath.

  I sit up and stare at him, “Who the hell is Knud. . . oh my God, Riley, did you name your penis?!”

  “Do you not want me to have children, Reynolds?”

  I consider what kind of father Riley would be for a moment. Him and his son would play pick-up games of basketball in the driveway with the basketball goal attached to the garage. And he would help his daughter with her math homework and threaten boys that came to the door that he once shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die, and he wouldn’t care to have to do it again. Which would be highly effective if the boys didn’t know anything about Johnny Cash. Of course, Riley would never let his daughter date a boy who didn’t know anything about Johnny Cash.

  No, Riley would make a great dad. But there is no way that I can tell him that because then he will know that I was thinking about him being a father. And I’m not sure to what awkward place that would take our friendship.

  “Actually, I think it would be best if the crazy Riley gene stopped with you.” I add, “And I’m sorry about elbowing you there. I was aiming for your ribcage.”

  He lets out a sardonic laugh, “Well, that makes it all better. Thank you, Jess.” His sarcastic smile falls into a scowl.

  “I am sorry. Really.” I yawn and let my head fall back on the pillow. So comfortable, so sleepy. . .

  “No. No way in Hell are you going to sleep. Not when I’m in this much pain.”

  “Come on, Callahan, no one has ever died of an injured Knudsen.” I laugh, “Where did you even get the name Knudsen?”

  “That’s between me and Knudsen.”

  “Whatever.” You freak.

  I watch him as he uncurls from the fetal position and attempts to find a sleeping position that won’t add further injury to Knudsen, all the while glaring at me.

  I turn my back to him and am fairly certain that I can actually fall back to sleep. That blender-size margarita I had drunk is still floating around my body and making me sleepy. I’m one of those fortunate people that never get hangovers, as long as I take two pain relievers and drink at least two glasses of water before going to bed. The only thing is that, after a night of drinking, I am always tired most of the next day which I usually hate. At this moment, however, it is a blessing.

  So it’s no wonder that someone would be knocking on my bedroom door.

  “It’s open.” I say sadly.

  The door creaks open. I can’t help but plaster a smile to my face when Matt enters the room in only a pair of University of Oklahoma sweatpants.

  Jesus loves me, this I know. . .

  “Jess, your eyes, they go in your sockets. Put them back. It’s disgusting.” Riley says, and not quietly, I might add.

  “I’m not afraid to hurt Knudsen again.” I reply through clenched teeth. Then I turn to Matt, “Hey, what’s up?”

  Matt rubs his face sleepily, “I heard some commotion. I wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

  He is cute, nice, funny, AND concerned. I look at Riley who just rolls his eyes. Evidently he views Matt’s concern as being nosey. But, then again, Riley is crazy. I mean, who the hell would name his dick Knudsen? No sane person, that’s for sure.

  “No, everything’s fine. Riley and I were just arguing.”

  Matt looks over at Riley and grins. Riley covers his chest up with the blanket. Like he was being ogled or something. Which SO wasn’t happening.

  Fine, so I was ogling him last night. But that was only out of pure shock at the appearance of his chest and abs.

  “We didn’t wake you, did we?” I ask, unable to take the smile off my face.

  Matt shakes his head, his curly hair bouncing, “No. I had my alarm set to go run a few laps up the street but it’s raining outside.” He kind of laughs, “I forgot how much it rains here in the summer.”

  I nod. I have lived in Kentucky my whole life and, really, it isn’t a bad place to live. It always gets made fun of in movies and television shows but you will never find a state that has nicer people in it. Seriously, I never can pass a car on a back road without getting a wave and a smile from the driver.

  The only real beef I have with Kentucky is the weather. Specifically, the summer weather. We have some beautiful falls and winters, but the summer months of Kentucky are equivalent to the seventh circle of Hell. It’s not only hot, but it’s humid. And it tends to rain every few days, which we always need for crops. Well, not me necessarily but the neighbors or family members that farm or own cows do. In most places, rain tends to cool the temperature down for a few days.

  Not in Kentucky though. Oh no, rain causes the humidity to go up a few degrees here, which means that if you have curly hair like Matt, it gets curlier (and cuter). If you have frizzy hair, like myself, your head tends to take on its own zip code.

  I lean over Riley to catch a glimpse of myself in my dresser mirror. Dear God will I need some Frizz-Ease later.

  “Anyway, since you guys are up, would you care if I took over your kitchen? Maybe fix some breakfast?”

  My smile reaches my ears. “Yeah, go ahead. I think there’s some frozen waffles in the freezer.”

  “I was thinking that everybody might like French toast, from scratch.”

  Am I still asleep? Because a guy who is willing to fix breakfast (from scratch, no less) would definitely fall into the category of my dream man.

  “That sounds amazing. Do you need any help?” Not that I can cook, but I can point out where food is in the cabinets.

  “Sure.”

  YAY! Everyone knows that making breakfast with a cute boy is one of the most romantic things ever. I mean, think about it. How many music videos and movie montages have a scene where a couple is fixing a meal together? And how many of those scenes follow with them making whoopee on the kitchen table?

  That’s right, all of them.

  My grin spreads past my ears and into my hairline, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “See you in the kitchen.” Matt laughs before leaving my room.

  Once I’m sure he is gone, I jump out of bed, do a little victory dance, then go in search of my hairbrush.

  “Seriously, Jess? That’s all it takes? Offering to cook you breakfast and you go all. . . gaga?” Riley snorts and gets out of bed. Not without some difficulty, due to Knudsen’s injury. I can’t help but watch him move around the room, my face turning more and more red the longer I stare at his naked torso.

  “Gaga, Callahan?” I find my hairbrush (and voice, for that matter) and fight with it to go through my hair. He just stares at me as I pick the knots out of my hair. “What is wrong with you anyway?”

  “I’m sorry. It’s five in the morning and, last I checked, I didn’t set my alarm clock to elbow me in the crotch.”

  As soon as the final word leaves his mouth, Riley’s cell phone’s alarm beeps. He looks up at the ceiling and mumbles something about God’s sense of humor.

  “Like I said, I’m sorry about injuring little Knudsen. . .”

  “Little Knudsen? Talk about adding insult to injury. Geesh.” He makes a scoffing sound as he, I admit sadly, puts on his shirt.

  “Again, I’m sorry.” I give up on my hair and apply a quick layer of lip gloss before heading out of the room, not particularly paying attention to Riley mentioning something about me getting burned.

  I walk into the kitchen, sad to see that Matt has put on a shirt as well. That will just make for more obstacles once w
e’re on the kitchen table.

  “Glad you could make it.” Matt smiles as he fights with the twisty-tie on the bread. “If I was going to look for powdered sugar. . .”

  “Cabinet above the stove. Here, I can get it.”

  “Nonononono. I’m the one wanting to fix breakfast for everyone. You just sit back and enjoy me making a wreck of your kitchen.”

  I grin, “As long as you don’t burn down the apartment.”

  “I’m not making any promises.” He smiles as I hop on the counter. I somehow manage not to drop any f-bombs when my ankle collides with the cabinet door. Matt doesn’t notice me biting my lip to keep from swearing. “So, how long have you and Riley been together?”

  “Huh?”

  Wow, that was real cool, Jess. A cute guy who can cook asks you a question and you respond back with dumb eyes and a ‘huh’. I hate me sometimes.

  Matt turns his attention back to the French toast, dousing the bread in eggs, as he talks, “I just didn’t realize that you two were dating.”

  “Riley and I aren’t dating.” I say quickly. And, don’t ask me why, but this weird pang hits me right in the ribcage when I say that sentence. Maybe all that alcohol is causing me belated heartburn or something.

  “Oh. Sorry, I just thought that since you two were in your room and. . .” His face turns red with embarrassment. He is just too adorable. He sighs, “I am such an ass.”

  As he continues to fix breakfast, it turns out that he isn’t an ass at all, but he is definitely a talker. He tells me that he is one of six children (he is kid number four, to be exact), just graduated from the University of Oklahoma with a B.A. in geography, has an unhealthy obsession with Hulk Hogan, and didn’t realize that pickles and cucumbers were the same thing until he was nineteen.

  To be blunt, I love this man.

  Which, okay, is probably totally superficial. I’ve known him for about a day but, you know, Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock fell in love in just a few hours in Speed. And they had way more important things to worry about. Like keeping the speed of the bus over fifty miles per hour. So, ha, I am totally justified.

  “What’s that smell?” Evan mutters as he stumbles into the kitchen. Carla isn’t far behind.

  “Is that breakfast?” Carla asks sleepily.

  Breakfast that doesn’t come from a Pop-tart package or pizza box is a rare thing to witness in this apartment. Not because none of us can cook (okay, all I can cook is a tasty lasagna, a fact that Matt would probably appreciate, given his Italian heritage and all) but because we are all far too lazy to get out of bed earlier then we have to just to fix food when there’s microwaveable breakfast sandwiches in the freezer that can be hot and delicious in thirty seconds.

  Plus, if you fix food for yourself, you have to fix food for everyone in the apartment. And none of us are that nice.

  “Is Riley still in your bed? I don’t want him to miss out.” Matt doesn’t look up at me, which is all well and good since my face is contorting itself, deciding whether it wants to show annoyance or embarrassment.

  “Why would Riley be in your bed?” Carla wants to know.

  “Because he slept there last night.” I can feel my face turn hot and red. Stupid pale skin bringing out my shame more than it should. Not that I’m really ashamed of myself. Well, except for the fact that I’m still thinking about Riley being shirtless. Is it wrong that I’m looking forward to living with him just for the chance to see him walk around shirtless?

  Yes, it’s really wrong and very sick. What the hell is wrong with me?

  “What?” Carla looks at me like I have a horn sprouting out the middle of my forehead.

  “I’ll go get him.” I keep my head down to avoid the stares as I walk back into my bedroom.

  “Riley, we would love it ever so much if you joined us for breakfast.”

  “You don’t mean that.” He pulls the eyelash curler out of my makeup bag, “What’s this?”

  “Something I’ll threaten to shove up your ass one day, I’m sure.” I sigh and try to ignore the overwhelming feeling I have to fix his hair. “Come on, Callahan, he made French toast for everyone. Which, okay, is a little unpatriotic considering his Italian heritage but still… you love French toast!”

  “Hate to miss it, but I need to get back to my house and change. I don’t want to have to go through the Walk of Shame at work.” Riley says nonchalantly while putting on his shoes. He stands up and reaches into his pants pocket, pulling out a ring of keys. “Which reminds me, here’s a key to the house.” He fidgets with the key ring before getting the key off and sitting it in my palm.

  “Thanks, Riley. This means a lot.”

  “Yeah, well, you know.” Riley scratches the back of his head, only somewhat calming down his hair. He finally shrugs, “This would be easier than you picking the lock.”

  I smile. There’s no reason to tell him that I’ve known where he’s been hiding a spare key for the past year (underneath a gnome he named ‘Geronimo’ that sits on his front porch). And there’s definitely no reason to tell him that I’ve used it several times to borrow his blender and tequila.

  “What the hell is going on in here?” Carla asks, opening the door dramatically. It ricochets lightly off the wall. “What did he just give you?”

  Riley and I shoot a panicked look to each other before he gives me a nod.

  “A key to his house.” I say, just above a whisper.

  “Why? Did he move his spare key from underneath Geronimo?”

  I mentally slap my palm to my forehead. Nice way to get us busted, Carla. Okay, nice way to get me busted. I was the one who realized where the key was hidden and I was the one who always went on the missions to retrieve the blender and tequila for margaritas.

  “I’m definitely going to move the key now.” Riley glares from Carla to me. I shrug at him.

  “No, Carla. It’s just that, well, because you and Evan are getting married and moving in together, we thou…” Riley elbows me in the side, “Fine, Riley thought that it would be best if I got out of your guys’ hair. So, he asked me to move in with him. And I said yes.”

  “It’s part of our wedding gift to you.” Riley adds, probably hoping to change Carla’s expression.

  No such luck.

  Her right eye is squinting up while her left one grows wide. How does she even do that?

  “You’re moving in together?”

  “Congratulations on your marriage, sis.” Riley smiles. Now it’s my turn to elbow him.

  “I’m renting out the spare bedroom. There’s a difference between that and moving in together.” I’m driving this fact home because my mother may very well have an aneurysm if she thinks that I’m shacking up with some guy. Even if it is a guy like Riley, who she adores.

  Although, judging by the look on her face, Carla may be the one to have the aneurysm.

  She’s looking at Riley now, her eyes only a little more calm, “Does Mom know?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “What?” She and I both ask.

  He looks at Carla, “Mom would freak.” Then he gives me a look, “And my mom would tell your mom and I know how much she would love to know that you’re living with a man out of wedlock.”

  “But I’m just renting the. . .”

  “… the spare room, I know. But your mom won’t believe that. And my mother definitely won’t buy it.”

  “Yeah, I can’t imagine why Mom wouldn’t buy the fact that you and Jess were just sharing a house and not a bed.” Carla says to Riley in an uppity tone. I don’t miss the glare that he gives his baby sister.

  I hate sibling connections.

  Carla turns her attention to me, “Jess, you don’t have to move out for mine and Evan’s sakes. We love having you here.”

  Love having my kick-ass DVD collection here, is what she means to say.

  “No, I know, but you two need to be alone for awhile. And I don’t want to be in the way of newlyweds.”

  Carla smiles and I thin
k that she might even be tearing up a little bit. “Thanks Jess. And you too, Riley.” She wipes her eyes before pulling us both into a hug. “This is really sweet of you.”

  While still in Carla’s bear hug, I see Evan walk by my door, only glancing inside. A moment later, he walks backward and stares at us.

  “What’s going on?”

  Carla flits to Evan’s side and smiles, “Jess is moving in with Riley to give us more space.”

  Evan grunts, “You two are living together?” I nod and he laughs, “That’s an episode of Cops in the making.”

  Carla smacks Evan in the chest. “I think it’s a great idea. You two get along so well when you’re not arguing. . .”

  “They always argue.” Evan mutters. I think this is the most he’s ever spoken in my presence. The Green Bay defense rant aside, of course.

  Carla sighs, but nods in agreement, “Still, with both of you living there, maybe one of you will remember to feed that damn dog.”

  Ever since Jackson confused Carla’s wedding binder as a threat last month (trust me, Jackson is not the only one that views the wedding binder as a threat), Carla has referred to him as ‘that damn dog’.

  And ‘that damn dog’ always has food. Who is she kidding? ‘That damn dog’ eats better than we do.

  Well, except when cute Italian boys make us breakfast from scratch.

  “What are you guys doing in here? The French toast is getting cold.” Matt walks in my room, spatula in hand.

  “Do you know that if you two live together for, like, six years, the state will declare you legally married?” Carla asks, heading to the door.

  “If we live together for six years, the state will declare me legally insane.” I mutter.

  “Who are you living with?” Matt asks, looking at me, then at Carla. His eyes land on Riley’s raised hand. “Oh.”

  Is that. . . does Matt look sad? That I’m living with a guy?

  Oh my God, Matt loves me!

  ***

  Even though Ms. Callahan doesn’t know that I’m moving in to Riley’s, I can still get paint for the kitchen. She also doesn’t know that I’m showing up to solicit cheap – or, hopefully, free – paint from her store, but, hey, she adores me. After all, I’m her goddaughter, she has to be happy to see me. It’s like a rule or something.