She opens the refrigerator. “Where’s the wine?”
“You drank it,” Wyatt says.
“Anything else alcoholic?” she asks.
“Whiskey,” he replies. “The good stuff. Wasted on you, so don’t even think about it.”
She huffs and turns to me. “Do you have a bossy big brother?”
“I’ve got four brothers.” I scoop vanilla ice cream onto a cookie. “Two older, two younger. Only the oldest bosses.”
“It’s the firstborn’s privilege,” Wyatt says with a smirk. I don’t mind his smirk when it’s directed at his sister.
“Any sisters?” Kayla asks, standing next to me at the island.
“Nope.” I press a cookie on top of the ice cream for my first sandwich.
“Oh, that’s sad,” she says.
I turn to her, surprised. “Why do you say that?”
“Because sisters have a special bond.”
I glance over at Wyatt, who took her in when she was heartbroken and bought her tampons. “I’d say your brother is doing a great job. I don’t see any sisters around here taking such good care of you.”
Her lower lip wobbles, and I shoot a look of alarm at Wyatt. His eyes soften as he looks at his sister.
“Sorry,” I say. “Didn’t mean to bring up a sore subject.”
“It’s fine,” Kayla says. “They’re just busy with their careers. One is in Chicago for the month for work, and the other is in the city for her big job, which has crazy hours, but she’s also living with this guy, and there’s no room for me. Wyatt’s all I’ve got.”
I suck in air, offended on his behalf. All she’s got? He just shrugs.
I jab a finger at her. “You’re lucky to have him. Now thank your brother for buying you tampons and chocolate. Geez, you think just any brother would do that? Mine wouldn’t.”
“It’s fine,” he says, holding up a palm. “She already thanked me.”
Kayla’s eyes go wide with shock. “They wouldn’t? Not one of your brothers? Not even the oldest?”
“I don’t think so.” Not that I ever asked any of them to. I’m trying to imagine tough Drew braving the tampon aisle, or Adam with his reserved nature. Yeah, just don’t see it.
“That’s a shame,” she says, her voice full of sympathy. “Sometimes when you need tampons the most, you feel the worst, and going out to the store is the very last thing you want to do.”
“True,” I say. “Guess I always thought I just had to suffer through the cramps alone. I get really irritable too. Like ragey.”
“All right, can we get back to ice-cream sandwiches?” Wyatt asks. “Enough with the lady talk.”
I hand him the first ice-cream sandwich.
“Thank you,” he says, taking an aggressive bite. He chews for a moment. “Really good. The chocolate chips are melting in my mouth.”
“Great contrast with the ice cream and perfect for a snowstorm,” I say smugly. “And you questioned my snowstorm essentials.” I get to work making more.
“Can I help you?” Kayla asks me.
“Sure. I’ll scoop and you press the cookie on top.”
We get into a rhythm making the sandwiches. Wyatt leaves, saying he has to take care of Snowball.
“So how long were you seeing the guy who broke your heart?” I ask.
She leans over the island, dropping her head in her hands. “Wyatt told you.”
“Only because I saw you crying at my restaurant, so I wondered if you were okay. He just said you were heartbroken. No details. I’m a good listener if you want to talk about it.” I squeeze her shoulder. “I promise to take your side and say evil things about your ex.”
She straightens. “He is evil.”
“Most exes are.” I get back to work, scooping ice cream on a cookie and sliding it over to her to finish it.
She grabs a cookie and jams it on top. “He spent two months fawning over me, showering me with compliments and flowers and cards with mushy stuff inside. Super sweet stuff.” Her voice cracks. “And then…"
When she doesn’t fill in the sentence for several long moments, I make a guess. “He cheated on you.”
“No! He proposed.”
I scoop more ice cream, confused. “Oh. And you didn’t want him to?”
She jams a cookie on top of my scoop of ice cream before I can even slide it over, and then breaks off a piece of cookie and pops it in her mouth. “Ooh, this is good. Did you just bake these?”
“Yup. Straight from the tube of premade dough.” I put a fresh cookie on top of the sandwich and shift the broken one onto a plate for her.
“So he proposed, I said yes, and we decided to have a secret elopement at our favorite Italian restaurant on New Year’s Eve. It was going to be so romantic. He knew the owner, we got the town mayor to preside, and they closed the place so it would be private for our wedding.” She sighs and breaks off another piece of cookie from the fresh one I just put there.
I shift the broken cookie and replace it with a new one, sliding it over. “Just press on that. Why was it a secret elopement?”
She stares at the fresh cookie. “Mostly to save money. We’re both in grad school. I’m getting my master’s; he’s getting his PhD.”
“Why not wait until you graduated?”
“He couldn’t wait. That’s what he said.” She meets my eyes, her brows knit in confusion. “He wanted to marry me as soon as possible, and then he didn’t show up.” She grabs the fresh cookie and holds it up, shaking it. Bits of ice cream splatter on the counter. “I was left at the altar by that idiot!”
Not exactly an altar, but I get it. The guy backs out after being the instigator of a major romantic event. Makes no sense, but who can understand the male mind? They think they’re being logical, but let’s get real, their logic can get twisted with emotions just like women’s. Of course, women more frequently draw the correct conclusion with the help of emotion. Guys get all turned around. They should make an emotion GPS to help get men back on track.
“Did he tell you why?” I ask.
“Cold feet!” she exclaims. “I mean, really. It was his idea to get married so quick. He sent a message through the restaurant owner, who was so sympathetic he offered to let me take our wedding food to go at no charge.”
I shake my head. “That sucks big time. What’s the plan for revenge?”
“Revenge?” she asks as if the idea never occurred to her.
“Yeah, you’ve got to do something for payback.”
She stares at me. “Well, Wyatt wants to kick his ass, but I won’t let him. I want my ex to think I’m over it.”
“Were you in a wedding gown or just a nice dress?”
Her face crumples. “Wedding gown.”
“Uh-huh. Payback. Maybe he left a favorite shirt at your place? Burn it. Do you know some of the same people? Let every woman know what he did. No one will ever want to date him. Except the crazy ones, who think they can change him. If you’re really mad, and you think you can get to his car undetected, you could key the driver’s side.”
Her brows shoot up. “Have you ever done that stuff?”
“Mostly I burn my ex’s stuff. It’s cathartic. I may have made a voodoo doll and stabbed it in his junk multiple times.” At her wide-eyed look, I add, “Kidding!” I’m not crafty enough to make a voodoo doll. I imagined it in vivid detail.
She pops a piece of cookie in her mouth and looks at me with admiration in her eyes. “Wow, Sydney, your mind veers toward evil. I hope you don’t get involved with Wyatt because I’d hate to think what you’d do to him.”
“I’d only want revenge if he broke my heart.” Heat creeps up my neck. “I mean not that I’m—we’re—you know.” I can’t exactly say we’re friends. I don’t know what we are.
She looks down at the melting ice cream on the cookie in front of her and puts her half-eaten cookie back on top. I give her one of the broken pieces from another cookie she ate part of to top it off. “Have you ever had your heart
broken? I mean, just shattered?”
I wince. That must be how she feels. “Yeah, a few times. Twice after a year relationship. That seems to be the tipping point, a year. And then once in high school, but I don’t know if that counts.”
She squeezes my arm. “It all counts.”
We finish up with the sandwiches, and I finally take one for myself. I realize Wyatt never came back.
“Where’s your brother?” I ask.
“Probably hanging on the sofa with Snowball. That’s where he usually is.”
“Oh.” My shoulders droop, and I immediately hitch them up again. It seems he invited me over just to talk to his sister, not because he was interested in me.
That’s cool. It’s good to know these things up front before expectations can be raised and dashed.
In fact, it makes it that much easier to approach him for a business deal. I’ve been working up to it, trying to figure out terms we can both be happy with.
I’m fine.
8
Wyatt
Kayla and Sydney have been talking in the kitchen for a little over an hour. I hope it helped. I still don’t know the name of the guy who rushed Kayla into a wedding and then dumped her. What kind of moron does that? I was sorely tempted to eavesdrop in case she dropped the name to Sydney, but I refrained. She needed the womanly bonding time. I do my best, but I remain sans ovaries.
It’s around six, already dark outside, when Sydney pokes her head into the sofa room, where I’m camped out. “Hey, I’m going to head out before the snow gets bad.”
I close my laptop and set it down on the far end of the sofa. Snowball takes the opportunity to climb into my lap, putting her front paws on my shoulders, and leaning her head against my neck. I put a hand on her back, accepting her hug. “How did she seem?”
Sydney closes the distance between us, and I lose focus, distracted by the way her green V-neck sweater clings to her sexy body. Long legs in black skinny jeans and high-heeled boots. She left her auburn hair down. I love that. Her hair’s long, past her spectacular breasts, the kind of hair you can wrap around your fist like silken rope.
She speaks in a low tone. “Heartbroken, like you said, and so damn sweet she doesn’t want revenge.”
My gaze snaps to hers. “I want revenge for her.”
“Me too. What an asshole.”
I pat the sofa cushion next to me because we have a common goal now. I want to talk to her more. It’s not because of that sexy sweater, though that doesn’t hurt. Snowball thinks I patted the sofa for her, so she takes the seat. I shift her to my lap so Sydney can sit next to me.
She joins me, and I catch the scent of flowers. Sweet flowers, like summer in the middle of winter. I have to fight the urge to lean close and breathe her in.
She meets my eyes, oblivious to my growing lustiness. “I can’t tell you everything she told me. Sisterhood code, you know.”
Focus. This could be good intel. “Did she tell you the name of the guy?”
Her brows lift. Up close her eyes are a light brown with gold tones, reminding me of honey. Sydney with the honey eyes and sweet scent. It’s natural to be drawn in. She’s not sweet, which I like because sweet women always take offense to my direct way of speaking. Except Kayla, but she’s used to me. Sydney looks and smells sweet, but with a fiery personality. Want.
“You don’t know his name?” she asks.
I blink a few times, trying to remember what we were talking about. Oh, yeah, Kayla’s ex. “I never met him. This whole thing was a nasty surprise.”
She shakes her head. “She never actually said his name. Just that he was a PhD student.”
“That narrows it down. How many could there be in the biostatistics program? She said they went to the same school.” I shift Snowball to the floor, who gives me an aggrieved look, and retrieve my laptop. I click over to the university’s website and search the biostatistics department for PhD students. Sometimes they’ll list grad students if they work as teaching assistants.
Sydney looks over. “She didn’t say he was in the same program. They could’ve met in an overlapping class or at a student lounge or mixer or something.”
I ignore her. I’m on the hunt. There’s two PhD guys working as teaching assistants. Nerdy types like Kayla favors. I shut the lid. “I’ve got two potentials, but you’re right, she could’ve went outside the program. She said they met online, and then she found out they went to the same school. Why can’t she just spit out the name?”
Her eyes gleam. “What’re you going to do to him?”
“I’d like to punch him in his stupid face.” Snowball lifts her head from where she’s curled at my feet.
Sydney nods eagerly. “Then what?”
I give her a wary look. Bloodthirsty, this one. “I hadn’t gotten that far.” Snowball curls up to sleep.
“You’ve got to kick him in the nuts,” she says, as if this is obvious.
“Remind me never to get involved with you.”
She stands and takes a step back. “Not a problem. You’re not my type. At all. Actually, you’re the opposite.”
I ignore the jab, and the sinking feeling of disappointment. I kinda thought we were building something here. She talks to me a lot and came over to my place twice now. And I didn’t miss the appraising look in her eyes when she first got here. She likes what she sees.
I keep my voice cool, instinctively knowing she’ll run hot in response. “That’s convenient because you’re not my type either.”
She crosses her arms, which gives her breasts a nice boost in that clingy sweater. “You probably exclusively date models.”
I gesture wearily. “And actresses and heiresses. Anyone in the wealthy fundraiser circle.” I sigh like it’s a curse. Not that I mind beautiful women throwing themselves at me. I just wish it was actually me they were interested in, instead of my bank account. “That’s who I meet. As a matter of fact—”
“I don’t want to hear about your women,” she snaps, those honey eyes flashing.
The blood rushes through my veins. “They’re not mine. They’re on loan. Let me guess, your type is big dumb jocks.” My exact opposite.
“Why is that my type?”
“You know why.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You care more about the package.”
She jams her hands on her hips. “So now I’m shallow?” Her head swivels, and I know I’m in for it now. “Why the hell you think you know me well enough to predict my type is beyond me. You don’t know me at all.”
“Sure I do.”
“No, you don’t. Not even close.”
This is so blatantly untrue I have to correct her. I tick everything off on my fingers. “You’re broke, you have no business sense, you’re hot tempered, which is great in bed and terrible in business, refer back to failing business, and you don’t know when to cry uncle.” At her silence, I think of one more so all five fingers are accounted for. “You’re entirely too stubborn and independent, and it’s not doing you any favors.” Technically, six, but I keep to my one hand out.
She lifts her chin. “You prefer your women docile and dependent.”
“I prefer a woman with good sense.”
Her face flushes. “Go to hell!”
I might’ve played that wrong.
She flips me the bird and marches out of the room.
I really need to stop making her mad. It’s not like I was trying to insult her. She is too stubborn and independent, struggling to keep that restaurant afloat, ignoring all my good suggestions, refusing to take a loan from Harper. I guess I get that with them being childhood friends, but still. The rest was all true, and she knows it.
I sit there for a few moments, debating if I should catch up to her and apologize. She did come out here in a snowstorm to cheer up my sister and brought homemade ice-cream cookie sandwiches.
I head back through the kitchen and find Kayla sitting on top of the island, scrolling on her phone. Snowball f
ollows me in.
Kayla looks up. “Sydney just left in a hurry.”
I ignore the stab of guilt. “She was trying to get home before the storm got bad.”
Snowball looks up at me expectantly. Her people barometer approved of Sydney.
I screwed up.
Sydney
Damn him! Softening me up with that protective big-brother stuff, and then wham! Insult city. To think I came out here in the middle of a snowstorm with ice-cream sandwiches to help out his sister! This is how he thanks me. By insulting me, my restaurant, and my good sense!
No more. I am done with Wart forever.
Even the pelting snow can’t touch the heat of my anger. I step outside just as the storm is picking up, the trees bending with the wind. I make my way over to my old black Honda, yank open the trunk, and grab the ice scraper. Front windshield. Back. Side windows. I toss the scraper back in the trunk and dash back to the driver’s side, getting inside. Crap. I left my ice-cream scoop in his kitchen. I should’ve taken that and all my ice-cream sandwiches with me. He doesn’t deserve any of my snowstorm essentials. Now I have to go home with nothing.
I shiver and consider going back inside for my stuff. I don’t want him to enjoy my food. I want him to eat dirt. Forget it. I just want to get out of here. I start the car and blast the heat. I swear he’s insulted me for the last time, and if I never have to see him again, I will be one happy camper.
I slowly ease forward, not wanting my tires to spin on the fresh snow. A monstrous crack rends the air right before a huge pine tree looms overhead. I scream as it crashes right in front of my car. The car shakes from the near miss. The tree trunk on its side is nearly as high as my car. I put a hand over my pounding heart, adrenaline rushing through my veins.
I could’ve been killed.
Fetching: A Frenemies to Lovers Romantic Comedy (Unleashed Romance, Book 1) Page 7
