Home > Yanked (Frenched #1.5)(5)

Yanked (Frenched #1.5)(5)
Author: Melanie Harlow

I groaned. “You’re killing my buzz, Coco.”

She turned off the engine. “Sorry. I just don’t want you to pin your hopes on something if it’s not gonna happen. I know how you get about these things.”

That annoyed me a little. Would I forever be judged for my mistake with Tucker? Or criticized for wanting to find someone I could spend forever with? “I’m not…getting how I get, Coco. I’m not picking out china patterns or anything—but I love him, and I want to know if we have any kind of future together. A future that’s more than phone sex and occasional weekends.” My voice had risen in frustration, and Coco patted my leg.

“OK, OK. Don’t get upset. I’m on your side here. And I like Lucas. If you want to talk to him about moving in together, then do it. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Um, he could freak the f**k out and run the other direction.”

She shrugged. “Maybe. And that’s a risk you’ll have to take. But he could surprise you. Maybe he is ready to talk about it. It’s all in how you approach it, I think.” We gathered our things and Coco took my elbow as we made our way through the lot and down the icy sidewalk. “But I do have a question for you. Let’s say he agrees to move in with you. Let’s say it’s amazing and you fall even more madly in love. Then what? Is that going to be enough for you? Or will you want that next commitment too?”

I sighed. “I don’t know, honestly. I just know that I want more. And I feel like…if we move in together and it’s amazing, maybe he’d consider the other things.”

“Just be careful you don’t approach it like you want him to change for you,” she said. “Men hate that. You have to make him think it was his idea, if you can.”

“Right.” I nodded. I didn’t really want to change Lucas—I was crazy about him. I just wanted him to change his mind about spending forever with someone, namely me. That wasn’t the same thing, was it? “What’s the best way to bring it up, in your opinion?”

“Hmmm.” She considered it as we climbed the cement steps to the front porch. “Tell me exactly how you left things the last time you talked about it.”

I opened one of the glass-paned double doors and motioned for her to go in first. “We haven’t really talked about it at all since Paris. At that point we kind of just agreed to take things day by day and see where they went. But he did say anything was possible.”

“Can you tell him you’re unhappy?” She looked at me over her shoulder as we ascended the wide, creaky staircase up to the second floor of the house, where we had a suite of rooms—an office for each of us and a meeting space between them.

“Well, I’m not unhappy, exactly.” I stopped on the landing and considered the question. “But I could be happier. I think I could make him happier. But I also think he’ll be scared to even consider it because he’s been so anti-marriage for so long.”

“Well, my first piece of advice is to avoid using the M word,” Coco said wryly as she opened the door to her office. “But you could say you’re unhappy about living so far apart, and the stuff about wanting more.”

My stomach jumped, and I put a hand over it. “I think I have to, or it’ll drive me crazy. Are you OK if I take off this weekend? We have that wedding at the Yacht Club.”

“You’re thinking this weekend?” Her eyes widened. “Wow. You mean business.”

“Yeah, I know it’s a little sudden. But I feel like something is unresolved, like I need to know. I’ve gone eight months without making demands or asking questions about the future, and I guess at this point I’d like to ask him to think ahead a little. That’s fair, isn’t it?”

Coco nodded. “I think it’s fair. Go for it.”

I threw my arms around her in an attack hug, hampered by our bulky winter coats, computer bags and purses. “You’re the best. Thank you!”

She laughed as she regained her balance. “You’re welcome. Good luck.”

My phone was ringing as I let myself into my office, and I got busy quickly, booking a last-minute retirement party for March, a corporate event in July, and a wedding for October. I called Karen White and apologized for my inattentiveness this morning and finalized the details of her contract. I was just about to email it to her when Coco burst into my office, closed the door, and backed up against it, a look of sheer terror on her face. “Don’t leave me.”

“What?” Taken aback, I gestured to the chair in front of my desk. “Come sit. What’s with you?”

Chewing her lip again, she walked over and took a seat, crossing her legs, which looked even longer than usual today in a short black lace skirt and black stockings. I knew that underneath her skirt, those stockings were held up by garters because Coco thought tights and modern panty hose were the most abominable-looking things in the universe, and she refused to wear them. Her lingerie collection looked like she might have inherited it from Marilyn Monroe. Actually, so did much of her wardrobe.

“I’m scared about this New York thing.”

“Why?” I asked, closing my laptop. “You don’t think you can handle the wedding?”

“No, it’s not that. But I was thinking, what if he realizes how amazing you are and decides yes, you should live together in New York. I’m scared I could never run this business without you, Mia. I was a history and English major, for f**k’s sake.”

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