Pretty Broken Hearts: A Pretty Broken Standalone

by Jeana E. Mann

  She pried the buns apart from the meat. Her shoulders slumped in relief. “Yes. It’s perfect. Thank you.”

  “Is there a reason you ordered it that way?”

  “Well, keeping the condiments separated maintains the integrity of the flavors. When you combine the two elements, they turn into something else.” The bridge of her nose scrunched. “Something yucky.” She bit into the sandwich and breathed a sigh of contentment. “You have no idea how difficult some people find it to follow basic instructions.”

  I laughed, amused by her pleasure over something so simple. “It doesn’t take much to make you happy, does it?”

  She cocked her head, considering. “No, I guess not.”

  “But your work makes you happy? I mean, you seem happy here.”

  “I love it here.” Her face brightened, and her gaze traveled around the room, filled with smug satisfaction. Jesus, who was this person? I’d been mildly amused by the klutzy girl at the coffee shop, but this self-assured woman intrigued and aroused me.

  “What—exactly—do you do, Dr. Hollander?”

  She laughed at the formal address. I smiled back at her, feeling lighter than I had in years. “I’m a synthetic biologist.”

  “Do I even want to know what that is?”

  “Probably not.” Her mouth curved in a half smile. The light caught her eyes, heightening the blue of her irises, sending a bolt of attraction straight to my dick. The sensation put me off balance. It wasn’t pure lust, like I’d felt for Hayden; this was a different type of desire. I wanted to know what made Bronte tick, how she came to be so smart, why some guy hadn’t already snapped her up.

  “What are you working on today?”

  “I’m deconstructing plant DNA, trying to replicate the process of photosynthesis for use as fuel in humans.”

  “Sounds complicated.” We fell silent for a few minutes while we ate. It gave me a chance to study her delicate features. Bronte could have walked straight out of the pages of a Viking novel. She looked nothing like Amy, who’d been dark and petite. The familiar stab of pain sliced my heart at the thought of my deceased wife. A flare of anger followed the hurt. I was so tired of living my life according to the feelings of a woman who no longer existed. Although I knew it was irrational, I hated her for leaving me here to continue without her.

  My appetite, which had been healthy upon arrival, disappeared. I tossed the food back into the empty sack. “I didn’t realize how late it was. I’d better get back.”

  “You just got here. Did I say something wrong again?” Bronte put down her cheeseburger, her fair brow furrowing.

  “No. It took longer than I thought to get the food.”

  “Oh, okay.” Her gaze dropped, and she bit her lower lip. She looked innocent, vulnerable, and disappointed. What the fuck was I doing? It wasn’t Bronte’s fault that Amy died, and I had no reason to feel guilty for being here.

  “Hey, it’s nothing you did.” I took her pointed chin between my thumb and index finger, tilting her face up to mine. Our eyes met, and my chest constricted, filling with the overwhelming need to kiss her. “We’re friends, remember?”

  She nodded. I brushed a thumb over her trembling lower lip. Did her lips taste as sweet as they looked? Would she moan if I kissed her? Her pupils enlarged, darkening her eyes. All of my male instincts rallied and screamed for me to take her mouth.

  “I have anxieties, too.” Instead of kissing her, I chucked her under the chin like a fucking coward. I wasn’t ready yet, and neither was she. “We’ll do this again, okay?”

  I don’t know why, but I let fucking Carter talk me into another night on the town the following Saturday. The thought of sitting at home, alone, on a Saturday night seemed more painful than warming a barstool at a dive bar and drinking myself into a stupor. While he hit on a busty brunette, I chatted with the girl next to me. After a half-dozen whiskey sours, I found myself in the alley with my dick in her mouth.

  I leaned against the brick wall of the building and tipped my head back, feeling a mixture of revulsion and relief. She reminded me of Bronte, pretty with large eyes and silky strawberry-blond hair. I buried my fingers in her hair and moaned as she took me deeper. In my inebriated state, it was easy to pretend it was Bronte kneeling in front of me and not some stranger. Bronte’s lips gliding along my shaft. Bronte’s blue eyes blinking up at me. My balls tightened, preparing for orgasm.

  “Bronte,” I murmured. I tugged on the girl’s hair, trying to warn her. “I’m going to come.”

  “Who’s Bronte?” the girl asked a few minutes later as she reapplied her lipstick, studying her reflection in a compact mirror. “Is that your girlfriend?”

  “No.” I zipped up my fly and straightened my shirt. If I’d felt like an ass with Hayden, I felt doubly so with this girl. Hell, I didn’t even know her name. What the fuck was wrong with me? Now that the heat of release had faded, the emptiness in my gut doubled in intensity.

  “Do you want to come home with me?” the girl asked.

  “No, but thanks for the offer.” An awkward pause followed. I wasn’t sure what to do next, so I gave her a hug.

  “My pleasure.” She laughed, shaking her head at my awkwardness. “Oh my God, you’re so cute. Do you want my number?” I didn’t, but I didn’t want to be rude, so I handed her my phone. She texted her phone from mine then handed it back. “There. My name’s Diane. Call me if you want to get together. No expectations, just a little fun.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Diane.” The pavement wavered under my feet. I braced a hand against the loading dock to stabilize myself. I wasn’t drunk, but I hadn’t eaten all day either.

  “You can stop thanking me now.” She moved up the steps to the back door on spiked heels. I followed her on unsteady feet.

  “Okay, thanks.” Jesus, I really was an idiot. “Sorry.”

  We’d only been outside about fifteen minutes. During that time the bar had emptied. Carter was nowhere to be found. Fucker. I eased onto a barstool and signaled the bartender. “Stoli on the rocks, please.” I watched him pour the vodka into a short glass filled with ice. “Have you seen my friend?”

  “Your buddy left with some girl. Said he’d catch you later. He paid your tab.” Before he slid the glass across the counter, he cocked an eyebrow. “You got a ride home?”

  “Yeah. I’ll catch a cab.” I made quick work of the drink and had one more for good measure. I flipped the bartender a twenty then weaved my way to the front of the building and waved down a taxi. The thought of going home to an empty apartment filled with reminders of Amy made my stomach turn. Unable to face the solitude quite yet, I gave the driver my address and asked him to take the long way.

  The cab cruised along the quiet streets. I rested my forehead against the cool glass of the window and watched the blur of lights flash by. After a minute or two, I pulled out my phone and deleted Diane’s number from my contacts. I scrolled past Bronte’s name, stopped, and backtracked. My thumb stuttered over her name, accidentally calling her.

  “Shit.” I hit the red button to end the call. It rang back immediately.

  “Rhett?” Bronte’s voice sounded twice as sweet over the phone. “Did you just call me?”

  “No.” I cleared my throat.

  “Yes, you did. Your name is on my caller ID.”

  “Um, I must’ve butt-dialed you.” I slapped a hand to my forehead. “Did I wake you?”

  “It’s only midnight.” An awkward pause stretched between us. “Where are you?”

  “In a cab, heading home.” I rubbed a hand across my eyes, struggling to remain coherent. “Can I come over?” Where the fuck did that come from?

  “Sure. Okay. I’ll text you the address.”

  Adrenalin rushed through my veins. I could feel every beat of my heart in my temples. Somewhere in the back of my mind, my subconscious threw up a caution flag, but the drunk part of my head squelched the warning. What was the harm in hanging out with a friend for a bit? It was better than watching TV a
lone and passing out on the couch like I did so often these days.

  I tapped the driver on the shoulder and had him change directions. Fifteen minutes later, we pulled up in front of a Victorian apartment building on the fringes of the historic district. I paid the cabbie then stumbled up the front steps. Bronte must’ve been watching from the window, because she buzzed me through the security door before I could press the call button.

  The apartment door was ajar. I hesitated at the threshold. This was either a really good idea or a really bad one. Only time would decide. I knocked, and the door swung open. Bronte came out of the hall wearing a tight pink T-shirt and a tiny pair of shorts. I’d never seen her wearing anything but conservative clothes before. Her tits were full and round, the nipples visible through the thin cotton. I swallowed hard, feeling my shaft lengthen at the sight of her.

  “Hey, come on in.” Catching the trajectory of my gaze, she blushed and shrugged into a robe, pulling the belt tight around her waist.

  “This is a nice place,” I slurred and braced a hand against the couch for support. The motion of the cab and lack of food had heightened my buzz.

  The apartment was spotless, sparsely furnished, and bright. Bronte’s bare feet moved noiselessly over the gleaming pine floors. She tugged on the sleeve of my jacket, helping me slide out of it like a child. “Sit down. I’ll make you some coffee.”

  “That’s funny. You’re making me coffee.” I snickered and slid onto the sofa.

  “Where have you been?” She moved around the galley kitchen with quiet efficiency, heating the water in the microwave, then pouring it into a French press.

  “I went to a club with Carter. He’s my best friend.”

  “I thought you didn’t have any friends.”

  “Well, he’s more like a brother than a friend.” I stood and weaved my way into the kitchen, filling up the space with my big, clumsy body. She tried to pass me. Her breasts brushed against my chest. My body jumped to attention.

  “I’ve never been to a club.” She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, a gesture I found endearing.

  “Never? Are you kidding? How old are you?”

  “I just turned twenty-eight.” Her forehead furrowed. I dragged a finger along the dent between her brows.

  “Twenty-eight and never been to a club. Unbelievable.” I clucked my tongue against the roof of my mouth. “Next, you’re going to tell me you’re still a virgin.”

  “I don’t tolerate alcohol very well, so I don’t drink,” she replied. “And I’m not a virgin.”

  “Thank goodness.” We were standing close enough for me to feel the heat from her body. I closed my eyes and drew in a lungful of her clean scent. “God, you smell good.”

  “Rhett?”

  “Yes.” I opened my eyes and wobbled. The movement made my head spin. I lurched forward, extending my arms to catch myself, catching a handful of Bronte’s breasts instead. I laughed and righted myself. “Oops. Sorry. About the boobs.”

  “Go sit down. At the table.” She pointed to the dining table. One corner of her mouth quivered with a suppressed smile. “And don’t touch anything.”

  I took two steps toward the table. My stomach, disturbed by the motion, lurched. The remnants of my dinner landed on the floor with a splat. “Oh, shit. I’m soooo sorry.”

  Bronte’s arm came around my waist, guiding me down the hall. “Here’s the bathroom. Don’t move. I’ll clean things up.”

  Chapter Seven

  Bronte

  While I cleaned up the mess in the kitchen, Rhett stayed in the bathroom. After a few seconds, I heard the shower turn on and the rush of running water. He was taking a shower? Rhett was getting naked in my bathroom. A strange thrill ran through me at the thought of his hard body beneath a spray of steamy water.

  I disinfected the floor, rinsed out the mop, and stowed the cleaning supplies in the broom closet. I turned in time to see Rhett walk out of the bathroom, stark naked and glorious. My mouth gaped open. Ripples of muscles stretched down his back on either side of the smooth groove of his spine. His legs were long and sprinkled with hair, strong thighs, a thatch of dark hair between them. A strange mixture of heat and dampness tingled between my legs.

  “What are you doing?” I moved after him. He didn’t answer but walked into my bedroom and fell face first onto the mattress. “Rhett?”

  He grunted but didn’t answer. I shook his shoulder, and he rolled onto his back, throwing an arm over his head. From the front, he was even more beautiful; rippled abs, hard pecs, a V of muscle below his hip bones, and a long, straight cock resting against his thigh. I swallowed and averted my eyes, feeling like a voyeur. The apex of my thighs began to ache, swelling with need.

  Taking my hand in his, he kissed the palm and tucked it into his chest. The gesture was so vulnerable, so trusting. It sent a rush of sympathetic tears to my eyes. A lock of hair had fallen over his face. I brushed it back. With his eyes closed, lashes fanning over his cheeks, he looked much younger than before. I sighed, fighting against desire and longing. I wanted to pull him into my arms, to protect him.

  I’d dreamed of having him in my bed, but I never thought it could actually happen. His breathing evened out, making it apparent he wasn’t moving anytime soon. After a minute, I extricated my hand. I only had one bedroom and one bed. The white sofa in the living room was uncomfortable and not meant for sleeping. I bit my lower lip and contemplated my options.

  He was in my bed. My bed. It only made sense that I should sleep there. He was too drunk to be a threat, but I knew on instinct that he’d never hurt me. I removed my robe and hung it in the closet. Then I stepped out of my shorts and climbed into bed facing him, wearing only the T-shirt and my panties.

  God, he was gorgeous. His thick eyelashes formed a dark fan across his high cheekbones. I swept a hand through his hair, pushing it further from his face. He mumbled something and wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me tight against his chest. I could feel every hard inch of his torso, the rough hairs of his chest. I tried to move, but he tightened his grip and tossed a leg over my thighs.

  The warmth of his body heated my skin. Instead of struggling, I blew out a deep breath and relaxed. He smelled like my shower gel. I nestled my nose into his neck and closed my eyes. I’d never been held by a man before, not like this. Sleep tugged on my eyelids. I didn’t know what the morning would hold, but for tonight, I meant to enjoy every minute.

  Something hot and hard pressed against my backside. I blinked a couple of times before I remembered where I was. A hairy arm held me in place. I stretched, testing Rhett’s grip. His front was to my back, my bottom snuggled into the curve of his groin. He growled, his nose nuzzled just above my ear. The sound vibrated through my body down to my sex.

  “Don’t move,” he whispered, his breath warming my earlobe. “It’s been forever since I held someone like this.”

  “Okay.” My pulse raced, knowing he was naked behind me.

  “Before my wife died, we spent every Sunday morning in bed like this.” His voice was rough and deep, rumbling through his chest. “It was an accident. She walked out in front of a bus.” His ribs lifted and fell in a sigh. “She was only twenty-four.”

  I turned in his arms to face him and cupped his face between my hands. Our eyes met. “I’m sorry for your loss, Rhett.”

  One corner of his mouth lifted in a sad smile. “It was two years ago. Sometimes it seems like forever ago. Other times it seems like yesterday.”

  “My mom died last year. She fell over dead in the coffee shop from an aneurism.” His arms tightened around my waist. “I was there when it happened. I did CPR until the ambulance arrived, but she didn’t make it. We were arguing about me moving out on my own. I hate that our last conversation wasn’t a pleasant one.” I swallowed against the ache in my throat, remembering the bright sunshine of that day, my mother’s expression as she drew her last breath.

  One of his hands reached to cradle the back of my head. “It s
ucks never getting to say goodbye,” he said. His eyes were the color of warm flannel, so soft I wanted to wrap myself in their depths.

  “I know.”

  A blush began to creep into his cheeks. Although he seemed powerful and in command, those hidden peeks of vulnerability endeared him to me even more. He tugged his upper lip between his teeth and glanced to the side.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I just realized I’m naked, and I puked in your kitchen. Is this awkward?”

  “A little bit.” I didn’t want to make him feel bad by laughing, but I couldn’t help it. “Do you remember taking a shower?”

  “No.” His boyish embarrassment made him even more attractive, something I didn’t think possible. “Where are my clothes?”

  “I’ll go get them.” I slipped out of his embrace. When I came back, he was lying on the bed, arms behind his head, a visible erection tenting the sheet across his hips. I stopped short. “Oh.”

  He glanced down and shrugged. “It happens in the morning. Especially when I’ve got a gorgeous girl in my arms.”

  “I’ll go fix some breakfast while you get dressed,” I said, uncertain how to handle the complement. He thought I was gorgeous?

  I floated around the kitchen on a cloud of bliss. Unlike Jo, my culinary skills were limited to a few dishes. I decided on omelets with cheese and bacon. Rhett came into the kitchen a few minutes later, wearing his jeans from the night before, and shirtless. Lord have mercy, his stomach was a thing of beauty. He perched on a barstool across from me and watched while I moved between the refrigerator and stove.

  “Are you going to your class reunion?” he asked.

  I glanced over my shoulder to see the invitation on the counter in front of him. Jo had brought it over yesterday, retrieved from the trash. She wasn’t going to let it go. “No.”

  “Why not? I had a great time at mine.” He turned the card over in his hands, reading the information. “You should go.”