by Elise Faber
She blinked, surprised that he’d admit to liking the poppy ballad. “Really?”
“What can I say? I’m a Gaga fan.” He smiled, slow and sexy. “The woman’s got pipes.”
Lips parting, she scrambled to say something. Hell, to say anything.
But nothing came.
Which seemed to suit him just fine. He just tucked her closer and swayed them to the music.
“Why are you doing this?” she whispered.
Silence as they moved to the music. Silence for long enough that she thought he wouldn’t answer. But then as the chorus ramped up, he murmured, “I’d like us to be friends.”
Now it was her turn for silence.
Then . . . she burst out laughing.
Probably not the wisest thing to do in the middle of the dance floor, the music soft enough that her outburst garnered attention. But she couldn’t help it. The man was going to be an A-list comic if he thought that was even in the realm of possibility.
She glanced up, lifting a palm from his chest—how had that gotten there?—and using her fingers to wipe the tears forming at the corners of her eyes.
His pretty hazel irises were focused on her, the golden and green deepened to a rich brown with the twinkling lights and navy sky above them. “That’s a no, then?”
“That’s a no.”
He nodded, his eyes on hers as the song wound down, as a faster one took its place, the DJ breaking into it with the announcement that the cake cutting would begin in just a couple of minutes.
“I should—” she began.
Another nod, his arms slipping from around her, one hand grasping her elbow as he led them off the floor. Once on the side, he kissed her cheek, making her breath hitch and her heart skip a beat as his heat came close again, as his scent—spicy and earthy and tempting—filled her nose.
“I should have said goodbye,” he whispered.
And then he was gone, walking away, his broad shoulders stretching the white cotton to alluring degrees, his stride purposeful as he disappeared into the restaurant that Kate and Jaime had rented out.
The urge to follow him was strong.
Really strong.
But the moment she actually gave in to the temptation to follow him, the moment she took a single step in his direction, Kate came up and grabbed her arm. Saving her from doing something incredibly idiotic. “Did you do that?”
Run off the sexy, gorgeous man who clearly wanted to give her another glorious night of sexy time?
Yes, she had done that.
But out of self-preservation.
Because . . . self-worth and value and . . . some other things that were important for some reason. She blinked, shook her head. No, not for some reason. They were important for her to keep hold of her self-respect, not to mention her feminist card.
But it turned out that Kate wasn’t staring after the gorgeous Brad.
She was looking at the cake table, the mishmash of flowers and supermarket cakes she’d thrown together.
Heidi winced. “Yeah. I know it’s not—”
Kate hugged her tight. “Why the hell did I spend that much money on an expensive cake when you could create that?”
“It’s not—”
Kate released her. Then promptly gripped Heidi’s chin between thumb and forefinger. “You are an amazing friend, and I love you.”
Shit.
Now Heidi’s eyes stung.
And then they were hugging each other, and yeah, so maybe it was mostly because Kate was deliriously happy—and perhaps had consumed one too many of the signature cocktails—but Heidi was still emotional. “I love you, too, Katie girl,” she whispered then nudged her friend back. “Now, go find that sexy husband of yours and let’s cut some cake!”
“Holy shit,” Kate breathed. “Husband? Husband. I’m married!”
Heidi grinned. “You are, honey.”
Kate did a little dance. “And now I get to eat cake.”
“The literal embodiment of having your cake and eating it, too.”
“Precisely.” A grin. A kiss to her cheek. And one more squeeze that hurt Heidi’s heart—in the best way. “I’m going to go find my husband.”
Heidi nodded her chin behind Kate’s shoulder. “I don’t think you have to do much searching.”
Not that the happy couple heard her.
They were smiling and staring into each other’s eyes in a way that should have been sickening, but she couldn’t fault her friend for that type of love, even if Jaime had regrown his man bun solely because Kate demanded it.
The man had nice hair, but—Heidi shuddered—she just couldn’t get behind man buns.
And she digressed down the rabbit hole of unnecessary thoughts.
Luckily for her, the DJ called the guests to attention at that moment, directing everyone to the cake table for the cutting ceremony. Heidi caught a glimpse of Brad—because, of course, he wouldn’t miss an important part of the wedding. People could say what they wanted about the wayward traveler, but when he was in town, he was a good brother.
He had good qualities, she supposed.
His family, Jaime included, were great.
But she supposed he was also a decent person—the sneaking-out-of-bed-before morning-problem aside. And really, as much as she wanted to be mad at him about that, she had invited him into her townhouse, she had wanted him, she had slept with him. Because she’d made that choice. Had she anticipated something different for the morning after? Fuck yes, she had. Did it hit a little too close to home because she was feeling vulnerable and the sneaking out he’d pulled hadn’t been the first time that had happened to her?
Also, yes.
Did she still really want to hold it against him? Yup.
Did she understand that was unreasonable? Sigh. Also, yup.
But was she going to sleep with him again? That was a no.
A big, fat no.
Her gaze drifted from Kate and Jaime, posed with their hands intertwined on the knife, the blade poised above the frosting, to Brad, sexy in a freaking T-shirt and slacks, a slight scruff on his sharp jawline that she’d spent serious time kissing. He was too fucking pretty, and she hated herself for wanting him.
And maybe she hated herself even more for wanting to skirt the crowd, to take his hand, and lead him into that tiny bathroom for some counter-hoisting and skirt-lifting.
But while Heidi might be a lot of things—book smart, successful, a decent person—she wasn’t a liar.
Including to herself.
So, when Brad’s eyes shifted from the cake cutting to hers and her breath caught, heat curling in her abdomen, need flaring anew, she embraced that she would always feel that want, that the attraction would always be there.
Because she could also be one more thing.
Incredibly stubborn.
There was no freaking way she would ever open her heart—or body—to Brad again.
Five
Brad
He heard the soft curse long after he’d thought everyone had left the wedding.
Frowning, he pushed up from the bench where he’d just met with the restaurant manager to make sure the final bills had been taken care of—they had, because Kate and Jaime had planned this wedding down to a tee—and stared out into the dark parking lot, trying to discern where the noise had originated.
“Shit,” came another mutter, though this time, it was accompanied by the click-clicking of high heels.
He’d been enjoying a moment of quiet after the events of the evening, a few minutes to regroup and reset before he headed home, but the noise had him turning in time to see Heidi exiting the back of the building, presents stacked so high in her arms that he was surprised she could even see enough to navigate the dark walk.
“Here,” he said, hurrying over to her.
“Brad?”
“Yup,” he answered, snagging the teetering stack of boxes and opening up her vision. “What are you doing?” He’d seen her drive off earlier.
She led the way to her car, opening the trunk once they’d arrived, and after they’d gone back to the gift table for one more load of presents, they began the real-world game of Tetris, trying to see if the remaining packages would fit amongst the ones she’d already loaded.
“Kate and Jaime made out,” he said, shoving a gift bag into the one remaining hole.
Heidi was cramming boxes into the front seat. “No kidding,” she muttered. “It looks like a Bed, Bath, and Beyond exploded in here.”
He laughed.
Then attempted to close the trunk.
His attempt was unsuccessful.
“This isn’t working,” he said. “Let’s load up my car. I’ll follow you over.”
Heidi’s lips parted, and he thought she’d protest, thought she’d bury herself in the driver’s seat with presents before she agreed to more of his help, but she surprised him once again, nodding then wedging the passenger’s door closed and coming to the rear of her car. “You’re right,” she said, pulling several packages out.
He snagged a few more, and then they managed to close the hatch.
This time, he led the way to his small hybrid—because there was no point in him keeping a big, fancy car when he was hardly in town—and he and Heidi squeezed the remainder of the bags and wrapped boxes into his car.
“I am so glad I don’t have to write thank you notes for these,” she said dryly.
He laughed. “Me, too.”
Then he walked her to her car, said again, “I’ll follow you over.”
Her eyes came to his, held, and for a moment, he thought he saw some heat in those depths. But it was dark, the moonlight overhead hardly doing anything to illuminate the lot. Shadows and blurred lines. Fantasy in thinking this woman would be anything more than polite to him.
“Okay,” she murmured, opening the driver’s door and sitting down.
A moment later, the engine was on and he was heading back to his sedan, starting up his own car’s engine, and carefully pulling out of his spot then following Heidi through the quiet roads and up the winding street that led to the small ranch-style house that Jaime and Kate had bought on the outskirts of town.
Mostly because Kate wanted all the animals.
Including the freaking rooster, who’d caused no shortage of pandemonium.
Last he’d heard, they had adopted a trio of goats that had been destined for slaughter, Fuzzy McFeatherston, the evil rooster, and his half-dozen harem of hens, two dogs, three cats, and a turtle.
At least his brother was a vet, so they didn’t have to worry about bills from that front.
But bills coming from the human baby front?
If Brad were a betting man, he’d say those would be coming soon.
Heidi turned into the driveway, and he followed her, making sure to leave enough room between the cars so the doors could open all the way. They’d need all avenues of maneuverability in order to get these presents out of the cars and into the house.
A moment later, Heidi was out of her sedan and ladening herself with packages.
He popped his door.
“Will you use the keypad and open the door?” she asked, gift bags lined up on her arms like oversized bracelets. “The code is—”
“I know it,” he said, grabbing a few boxes before high-tailing it up the walk.
He punched in the code, pushed inside, and dropped his burden with the rest of the presents in the living room then went back outside. Along the way, he made sure the latch was open, but not the door—because he didn’t want to be responsible for kitty escapes.
Heidi was coming up the steps, so he doubled-back, opened the door for her, did his whole latch but not wide-open procedure, then returned to his car.
They repeated the process, unloading the presents and stacking them inside the house, until that front room appeared to have become the landing ground for every shade of sparkling silver wrapping paper and the entire stockpile from the tissue paper industry.
When they were done, Heidi set the alarm and they closed the front door behind them.
“The pet-sitter will be here in the morning.”
“Hopefully the cats don’t get into the bags.”
She winced. “I didn’t think of that.”
“How much trouble can they get into?” he asked.
Another wince. “Have you met the Terrible Two?”
“No, why?”
Her lips twitched. “They make the Fuzz look like the most well-behaved rooster you’ve ever seen.”
His brows lifted.
“I’m not joking.”
“Shit.”
Her shoulders slumped as she turned back to the door. “Maybe I’ll lock the cats in Jaime and Kate’s room, and tomorrow I can come back to move the presents into the spare bedroom and lock the door.”
“I can help you move them now,” he offered.
“I’m tired,” she said, chin dropping to her chest. “And my feet hurt.”
He nudged her toward her car. “Go home,” he ordered.
“I—”
“You took care of Cake-Gate,” he said. “I can deal with Present-Gate. Plus, there’s no telling if we’ll be able to find or catch the cats.”
Her nose wrinkled. “That’s true. But I should really—”
“Go home and rest?” he said, guiding her to her car. “Yes, that.”
“But—” He opened the driver’s door, and still she hesitated.
Another nudge had her sitting in the seat, and he closed the metal panel as soon as her feet were clear, trapping her inside.
“Drive home. Get sleep,” he said loud enough so she could hear him.
She made a face but didn’t protest further, just turned her car on and backed out of the driveway. Brad watched the taillights disappear down the street then went back into the house and got his workout moving those packages from the living room into the guest bedroom, making sure he closed the door securely to prevent any kitty escapades.
Then he drove home.
And when he finally made it into bed, after a long, hot shower that washed the remnants of cake and frosting from his body, he dreamed of silken brown hair fanning out on the pillow beside him.
The Monday following the wedding, he pulled into the underground parking garage then made his way up to his apartment.
His lonely, empty apartment.
Funny how he’d never much minded the tiny unit with its drab lighting and noisy upstairs neighbors. Usually, it was just a stopover to the next adventure.
Except . . . he didn’t have any more adventures planned.
And the itchy feeling, the one that usually crept in after a few weeks home, coaxing him off into the sunset, was noticeably absent.
Instead, he was drawn in a different direction.
Drawn toward one person in particular.
“Which just confirms what you already know,” he muttered, fighting with the old lock for a moment before he managed to let himself into his apartment. “Heidi is the best thing you’ve ever come across.”
Small and dark were the apartment’s best qualities—aside from kickass internet, that was. The rest of it, he’d done his best with. A cheap couch that was covered in a tapestry he’d picked up in Peru. Several prints from a local artist in Iceland on the far wall—mostly so he could pretend there was another window there. His bed was behind a screen he’d purchased in Japan. His shelves were made by an artist in Indonesia, who’d collected driftwood washed up onshore.
His life in objects, and yet none of them could fill the hole inside him.
None of them told him who he was.
But then again, why did he need to be told?
Now there was the itchy feeling, rearing its ugly head, making him think too much, feel too much.
Jaime was the caring one. Tammy was the smart one. Penny was the go-getter. And he was . . .
What?
Driven by fancy? Lacking attention and focus?
He knew neither of the last two were true, and if there was any fancy involved, it was from simply wanting to make the most of every moment, because he undertook a great deal of planning with his trips, ensuring he didn’t waste his money or his opportunity to visit.
“Fucking hell,” he muttered, going to the one window in the space. It was half-blocked by the refrigerator, but it provided fresh air and sunlight, and most importantly, a way out.
A fire escape that led up to the roof.
Yanking open the panel, he clambered ungracefully out the frame, grasping onto the metal ladder and climbing.
It was late, and he didn’t want to be that creeper outside of someone’s apartment, freaking them out, so he moved quickly and quietly up the ladder, past the other windows, until he’d ascended the three floors above him and reached the roof. Not too long ago he’d stashed a blanket on the rooftop space that was definitely not approved by management, adding it to the chair and the lamp other people had brought. Tonight, however, he wanted to feel the chill on his skin, so he hauled himself over the ledge, straightened, and looked up at the sky.
God, he’d seen it in so many iterations, the stars in different alignments depending on what side of the globe or which hemisphere he was in, but somehow it still brought him comfort.
There were bigger things out there than him and his small life—no matter how big he tried to make it.
His cell rang.
He answered without bothering to glance at the screen. Only his family and a few old friends had this number.
“Brad,” Jaime said, sounding blissfully happy. “I’m surprised that you’re not somewhere without an internet connection.”
Considering he’d spent a fair amount of the last decade in exactly that scenario, he didn’t comment except to say, “I’m here.” Of course, it wasn’t until after he’d spoken the two words that he realized his tone was all wrong.
Silence.
