“No,” I admit, my voice shaky. “I think he does like me like I might like him. But I also know that doesn’t matter.”
Hearing that out loud is sobering. The words seem to hang over our heads, not disappearing into the past like some words do.
I blow out a breath, trying to rid myself of the heaviness of the moment. I go back to the closet and sort through the clothes. Shirt after shirt goes by, none of which I really see. All I can see is Trevor’s face lowering to kiss my cheek. All I can feel is the way my heart wants me to let it happen even though it knows the pain of the inevitable destruction.
“I don’t think you give the guy enough credit,” Claire says.
“It’s not about credit. It’s about what he’s told me from the start he believes and wants and accepts as his truth, and all those things don’t mesh with mine.” I yank a mustard-colored dress off a hanger and add it to the suitcase.
“Are you falling in love with him, Haley?”
“No,” I say, my head snapping to hers. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying I don’t want to get to that point because he doesn’t even believe in love. Not like I do. Not like you get married and build a family and dedicate yourself to that.”
“But . . . ,” she prods.
My shoulders fall. “But he’s pretty great.”
“Yeah. We’ve known that from day one.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly.
Claire gets to her feet, a look of resolve on her face. “Here’s what I think you do: Go to Nashville. Have a blast. Follow your heart but don’t lose your head.”
“Right.” I groan. “He looks at me or stands too close, and I just want to forget my heart and head and let my body take over.”
“Can’t blame you there. But,” she says, grabbing the bag of popcorn and putting the clip back on it, “I also know you’re smart. And super strong. And whether you know it or not, you’ll do what’s right for you.”
“I haven’t always done that.”
She considers this. “No, you haven’t. One word: Joel.” She laughs. “But you’ve changed lately. I like this new you.”
We exchange a smile before she takes the mustard dress out of the suitcase and puts it back on the hanger. “You aren’t taking that. It makes you look ashy.”
“I love that,” I say, breathing in a sigh of relief.
“Yeah, and I love you.” She puts it back in the closet. “So back in the closet it goes . . .”
I lug the suitcase up and set it on the bed. It’s loaded to the max with a little of every color, fabric, length, and degree of sophistication I own. “I, once again, have no idea what to wear,” I say, remembering dinner at the steakhouse. I wince. “I’ll be damned if I show up to a place with his ex, or exes, and look like crap.”
Oh, God. What if there is more than one Liz there? What if several of his past cling-ons are there? He’ll have slept with all of them.
I can’t do this.
“I’m not sure you could look like crap. And that’s probably what he thinks too.” Claire tosses my hair like I’m a child. “Stand up.”
“Why?” I ask as I get to my feet. “You know, maybe I should call this off.”
Claire takes my hand and walks me to the mirror over my dresser. “Look at yourself.”
I do and then look at her.
“At you. Not me,” she says, bumping my shoulder.
“Fine. Now what?”
“That girl you’re looking at is pretty great. She’s so pretty it hurts to be seen with her. And so smart that her gorgeous friend comes to her with language arts homework because she’s the only person in town who knows what alliteration is.”
I laugh. “That’s not true.”
“Shhh.” Claire brings a finger to her lips. “She’s also caring and kind and is probably a great kisser.”
“Oh, my gosh, Claire.”
“And,” she says, pointing back to the mirror, “she deserves to be happy in whatever way she wants to define that, and she should absolutely not accept anything less.”
My emotions get the best of me. I blink back tears. “Thanks, friend.”
“Have fun this weekend. Enjoy getting dressed up and drinking champagne and being around Trevor.” She looks at me through the mirror again. “And for the love of God, if he wants to touch you, let him.”
I step away from the mirror.
“What time is he picking you up?” she asks.
“In about an hour.” Panic sweeps over me and I sit back on the bed. I’m not ready for this in so many ways. “I need to jump in the shower.”
She grabs the popcorn and tucks it under her arm. “I’m going to get out of here so you can do all the things. Get your shower. Shave. Wear the good perfume. And call me if you need anything.” She heads for the door. “And I’m taking the popcorn. It’ll be stale by the time you get home, anyway.”
“Bye, Claire.”
Her footsteps grow more distant before the door pops closed. Before I know it, I’m alone. I glance at the clock. Forty-five minutes to go.
Taking a deep breath, I look at myself in the mirror again.
“You are going to be fine.”
“She deserves to be happy in whatever way she wants to define that, and she should absolutely not accept anything less.”
Thank God for Claire.
I head to the shower.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
TREVOR
This is incredible.” Haley walks slowly into the suite at the Bellader Hotel. She spins in the middle of the great room, her jaw slack. “I mean, this is gorgeous.”
I lean against the wall and watch her turn another slow circle. Her hair hangs down, having dried on the drive to Nashville. There’s not a drop of makeup on her face, which I find amusing. I’d almost guess she’s making an effort to appear unattractive.
If I wanted to assist her in that endeavor, I’d point out how fucking beautiful she is without all that shit. I’m a man, and I’m a visual guy. I’d tell her she’s gorgeous, even more so when she’s stripped of makeup. And I might tell her that’s what I’ve imagined—but without clothing—while lying in bed at night jacking off, since the day I met her.
But I don’t.
“The view from here is as gorgeous as it always is,” I say.
She faces me and raises a brow, getting the innuendo. “That’s against the rules, Kelly.”
I smirk, walking through the great room. “We were talking about the room, were we not?” I stop next to her and watch a dose of embarrassment flicker through her eyes. “I mean, if I were able, I’d tell you how everything in this room sort of fades when you’re in it, but that might get me smacked. Apparently, being nice is frowned upon these days.”
She’s not sure how to respond. Instead of making her react, I walk away.
The windows making up the back wall overlooking downtown Nashville are one of my favorite things about the hotel. It feels like you’re in the clouds. Like nothing can bother you. Like no one can touch you.
I don’t have to look to know Haley is standing beside me. My body is aware of every move she makes. I continue to look across the city and not at her because if I do, I don’t know what I’ll say. Only that it won’t be helpful.
I peek at her out of the corner of my eye. She’s looking at me with a smirk of her own.
“What?” I ask.
“I was thinking.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
She laughs, her voice breaking the stillness of the air. “How much longer until the party?”
I glance at my watch. “We have a couple of hours. It’ll take thirty minutes to get to Dad’s if traffic isn’t bad.”
Her jaw drops. “The party is at his house?”
“Is that a problem?”
“No. I just . . . I didn’t know. I had it pictured to be at the hotel or at the office or something.”
There’s a heavy dose of trepidation on her face. In lieu of kissing it out of her, I coa
x her back with a joke. “Don’t worry. This house isn’t nearly as big as the one in Dogwood Lane.”
She laughs, her shoulders falling. “If your dad has two houses the size of the Taj Mahal, I’m going home. It’s not even fair.”
“I thought you didn’t want a house that big?”
She shakes her head as she looks out the window. “I don’t.”
As I watch her, I realize how much of her is a blank space to me. Suddenly, I want to know everything, to fill the hole with every bit of information I can get about her.
“What would you like?” I ask. “If you could have anything in the entire universe, what would it be?”
She takes a while to answer, but that’s okay with me. I’m perfectly content with having a few moments to take her in.
Her nails have been painted a pale pink color, and I wonder if she has them painted often or if she did it just for tonight. For me. The thought makes my cock twitch in my pants, and I can’t adjust it or she’ll see. Thankfully, she’s preoccupied with my question.
“See that ridgeline?” She points to a spot in the distance. It’s past the last tall buildings of Nashville, in an area where the hills begin to form. “I’d put a little place somewhere like that. With a great view of the sunrise and a field with tons of wildflowers. There’d be a room with windows like this and a woodstove because there’s nothing more romantic than that. And a claw-foot bathtub nestled in a corner and tons and tons of bookshelves.”
“And?”
“And that’s it.” She shrugs. “I don’t really know what else someone could want.”
“A Viking range. Heated floors. A poodle spa,” I say, rattling off a few items from Meredith’s list.
She grins. “None of that matters to me.” She folds her arms over her chest and looks back at the city. “I would like to trip over kids’ toys. And have a little oven I can bake cookies in. And a hammock for the trees for springtime.”
I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that. It wasn’t something so fresh and simple.
“I love the way you say ‘that’s it’ and then ramble on more things than you start with.”
She grins. “What’s yours? And I’ll assume the Viking range and heated floors are a given.”
I shove my hands in my pockets to keep from pulling her to me while I think about her question. What kind of house would I like?
A few weeks ago, my answer would’ve been simple. Something clean. Modern. Organized. Lots of stone and steel with wooden beams in the downstairs.
Now, I’m not sure. My taste in architecture hasn’t changed—I still prefer a modern look over a rustic aesthetic. But maybe the change is in the feel of the place.
I read once in a magazine that Jake had lying around that a person’s personal space mirrors their internal thoughts. It made sense. Mom’s house was always a crazy jumble of things. Dad’s was an attempt at being a trendsetter but missing the mark. Jake’s is clean, thanks to a housekeeper, and mine checks off every box. But Haley’s is different.
Her space is warm and inviting. It doesn’t need a large square footage like Mom’s to be interesting or the newest trends like Dad’s to be relevant. You can tell someone lives there, someone does shit they love there, someone orchestrates a full life out of that little space.
And that has me thinking. What do I want?
I’m not so sure. Now the perfect place seems less and less about the place itself. Less about the view or the insulation of the space or the accessibility to my job.
It feels more and more about . . . something else.
Ideas like that will fuck a man up. Just like what happened to my dad.
I shrug. “I don’t know. I do love a good heated floor in the winter.”
She gives me a look. “You would.”
“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” I chuckle.
“It means you’re a bit of a diva, I think.” She laughs at me, not with me, and turns toward the room on the opposite end of the suite. “I need to get ready. This hair isn’t going to fix itself.”
I think about calling after her and telling her she’s goddamn beautiful. I also consider offering to have someone from the spa downstairs come up and help her. But as she slides me a grin as she closes the door to her bedroom, separate from mine at her request, I think better of it.
I want her to go with me tonight just the way she is. Like a beautiful woman that I’m lucky likes me enough to be my friend. To humor me and my crazy ideas. To let me into her world, even if for a minute.
With a grin, I stride across the room into my bedroom. I leave my door open, just in case.
“Wide under narrow,” I say.
I watch myself attempt a tie in the mirror. It’s not something I’ve ever been particularly good at. There’s usually a woman somewhere who is all too happy to help me get it right, and I’m all too happy to let them.
My fingers fumble with the smooth fabric of the tie. I clumsily attempt to pull the wide end up over the narrow. The material falls from my fingers. I sigh. This feels all too reminiscent of prom, and feeling like a teenager has me worried about the success of this evening.
I look at my reflection and wonder if I really need the tie. My charcoal-colored dress pants and crisp white button-down look nice enough. I wasn’t going to wear my watch, but I can’t stand the sleeves buttoned at my wrists, so the watch adds a little something to the blank space of my forearms.
Running a hand through my hair, I keep half an eye on the door. Haley exited her room a few minutes ago. I haven’t seen her yet. That’s probably why I can’t tie a motherfucking tie any better than a ten-year-old boy.
A knock sounds softly through the room. I spin on my heel and see Haley standing in the doorway. I nearly fall over.
Her hair is half-up, pieces of her jet-black tresses falling all over the place in loose waves. A deep-blue dress covers her body. The neckline is wide, the fabric kissing the rounds of her breasts in a subdued way. There’s a little tie at her waist that showcases the narrow circumference of her body. The bottom section comes together in the front like two separate pieces of fabric, leaving a little slit as a tease to men like me.
And if I have to fight them all tonight, every damn one of them, I will.
Mark my motherfucking words.
“Haley,” I say carefully.
“Hi,” she says back. She plays with a strand of hair, her doe eyes drawing me in.
I mosey her way. It’s mostly to give myself time not to overreact. If this were any other woman, I’d have the dress off her already and be between her thighs.
But it’s not.
This is Haley. She’s more than that—more than a quick lay. But how much more, I don’t know. I don’t know if I even want to know.
She twirls the lock of hair around her finger, her lips forming a perfect bud. My body screams, my restraint slipping as I get close.
There’s a slight shift in her posture, her body leaning my way. A hunger skims the surface of her gaze and cuts me like a knife.
I force a swallow as I approach her. “I have bad news,” I say.
She drops the strand of hair. “What’s wrong?”
Stepping in front of her, my body boxing hers against the wall, I breathe in her sweet, natural scent. “I’m going to break some rules right now.”
She gasps softly as she looks up. “Trevor . . .”
“First,” I say before she can object without hearing me out, “you look absolutely stunning. Just fucking amazing, Haley.” The words come out soft with a grit that makes her cheeks flush. “I don’t care whether I’m supposed to say it or not, but wow.”
She giggles, lifting her chin. “Are you trying to be charming?”
“I’m not trying to do anything but tell you how beautiful you look tonight.”
I step closer. Her chest rises and falls in deep movements. I can hear her breath flowing past her muted-pink lips. Each intake of air draws my attention to her mouth, and I want t
o capture it with my own.
“Thank you,” she whispers. Her tongue darts across her bottom lip, leaving a coat of wetness behind.
I can’t take it.
“Also,” I say, my voice ragged, “I’m going to touch you.”
Her eyes widen, her breathing going uneven as I bring my hand to her face. I cup her cheek in my palm, her skin smooth and warm. She looks me in the eye, holding my gaze, before nestling her face in my hand. She grabs my wrist, pinning my hand to her with locked fingers.
My blood soars through my veins. All my senses are overwhelmed. I can barely breathe, let alone filter all the warning lights going off in my brain.
I inch closer until her back is against the wall. My head is screaming with directions, my pulse strumming in preparation for the explosion it hopes is coming.
My legs straddle hers, one on either side, as I lower my lips toward her. She rises up to meet me.
My hand goes to the side of her neck, the edges of my tie flirting with the top of her cleavage. I can barely think anything rational as my cock stretches the fabric of my pants.
Knock, knock!
“Motherfucker,” I growl, much to her amusement.
Haley sags against the wall. Her shoulders drop as the adrenaline of the minute before disappears.
She laughs, straightening out her dress as I take a step back. “Saved by the bell . . . hop.”
I’m too irritated to comment on her joke. Nothing about this is funny to me.
“Sorry,” she says, hiding a smile. “I just . . . That’s probably for the best, right?”
“Sure.” I march through the room. Making it to the door, I don’t trust myself to answer it for fear I’ll just start throwing punches. “Can I help you?” I ask through the wood.
“Yes. Mr. Kelly?”
“Yes.”
“I apologize for the intrusion. I have your complimentary champagne, sir.”
“What the fuck,” I grumble. When I swing the door open, a man with a cart holding an ice bucket and a bottle of chilled champagne awaits me.
Tangle Page 15
