“Perfect. Now you’re as uncomfortable as me. Also, damn. You’re so fucking difficult,” he grunts. “Frustrating too.” The chair next to me creaks as he settles his weight into it. “Anybody ever tell you that before?”
“Several times.” From Dad. After I dropped out of law school, he was quick to remind me that I was a source of major pain in his ass.
A weird ache of remembrance whips across my chest, and I rub at my sternum. Somewhere deep down, I think I always hoped Dad would come to accept the choice I’d made for myself—maybe even like it. Support it. Support me. That never happened. He made certain to prove that point. His will reading was the final blow to any hope I tried to hang on to. He cut me off from his estate and gave everything to my estranged cousin.
His last words to me being:
And to my daughter, Bianca, I bequeath the lasting gift of wishful failure. May your writing career and your hopes die, just like your mother.
I take a deep breath, letting his hate fuel me for a second. All it does is make me want to write harder and actually succeed this time. But I don’t want to focus on it. Instead, I force all attention on the current annoyance. Brett. If Dad soured life, then this man is souring my dinner. “Why do you want to talk to me all of a sudden?”
“Sudden?” His brow raises. He almost looks annoyed. “If you knew me, you’d know this isn’t sudden.”
Knowing him sounds like the worst idea in the world. I pass over the subject and look at him past my shoulder, furrowing my brows. “You do realize that I came here to enjoy myself? You’re ruining it.”
“Me? Ha.” His shoulders raise with the fake laugh. “Let’s talk about what you did. You’ve screwed over a date I’ve been trying to land since I got here, dumped ice water on my dick, and given me a public erection at a family restaurant.” He rolls his eyes. “You’ve botched my whole night.”
“Good.” The pleased word purrs out.
“Good?” A darkness flashes across his gaze and his jaw clenches. “I have half a mind to shove you to the nearest wall and finish that kiss you bitched about, making it last long enough to where you’re begging for more.”
A cold thrill rushes down my limbs. I grab at my necklace, clutching so hard it hurts my palm. “You wouldn’t.” For some reason I can see him doing that, and I bet he’s skilled enough to make that threat come true.
He squints and I’m leaning back, desperate for space as he closes our gap. “No. Instead . . .” His chest lifts then deflates. “I’m going to try to talk to you.”
I frown. “Why?”
“Because communication is what separates us from the animals, and I need that reminder right now.” A shiver runs up my spine when his eyes go pure black, burning out all the brown. “I didn’t want to make time for you, but I might as well if you’re endlessly going to be bugging the shit out of me.”
I’m turning my head away faster than I can blink, afraid the fire I see in him will singe me, leaving me desperate to be totally consumed.
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and the silence is kind of nice.
Resting my elbow on the table, I prop my chin on my palm. An odd tug makes my heart beat out of control when I noticed he’s ordered chicken marsala—my usual. I adjust my gaze to the ground, not wanting to see that. My fingertip taps on the table in a nervous rhythm when he finally speaks.
“How’s the head? You’ve been to a doctor yet?”
“Ugh.” This time I tap my finger in frustration and jerk my line of sight to him. “Wow, great. Do Lizzie and Cora just blabber everything about my life to you?”
He scowls. “Jesus, Bianca. Everyone at the cabin was talking about it. I mean, shit, you were alone in your room for two days.” He raises his arms, shrugs, then allows his hands to plop against his legs with a drop. “Excuse me for having ears and being worried about you.”
“Oh. Nice.” A hot seethe unleashes down my body. “Real good communication, Brett. Your gentleness is really going to encourage me to open up.”
“Gwad.” He rakes through the sides of his hair, even in the dark I spot a crimson tint flooding the shells of his ears “Why are you like this?”
“Like what?” I push his plate away from me, becoming irritated by it.
“Just, just . . .” A large hand scrubs over his face. “Shit. You really are the most . . . the most . . .”
“Say it. You think I’m annoying as hell, right?” Sitting high in the seat, I brush my leg against his, loathing the tingle it sends through my jeans.
His hands drop. “I wasn’t go—”
“Because that’s how I feel about you.” I bite the inside of my cheek, grinding away at the tender area, hoping to work away some of my frustration. “You’re so fucking annoying that half the time I want to slap you, and the other half of the time I want to kill you. There.” I said it. I finally worded most of my frustration.
A short burst of gratification works down to my toes. But it withers faster than it appeared.
It happens as a frown casts over his carved features. When he breaks our gazes by jerking his head off to the side, it’s more like a flinch. “I wasn’t going to say that.” He sounds . . . disappointed?
Hurt?
I’m unable to place my finger on it, but something’s there, and it’s sending my heart into a free fall plummet.
Shit. I despise this feeling. The tops of my shoulders knot up and I try to form a sentence. “Wha-what were you going to say?” My voice is weak, almost getting lost in the low music.
His vision flicks to mine. “Seeing how you just spilled your feelings . . .” His wide chest expands. “Maybe you don’t want to know.” His response is softer than mine, and that softness creeps up into his expression.
“You’re right.” I hug my arms around me, walling myself off from him. “I don’t want to know.”
He sighs. Something about it works down to my soul, and each muscle in me tenses. I attempt to suck in a breath, but there’s nothing. My chest is too tight, too full, vicing around my lungs as he reaches his hand out and wraps his finger around the top spoke of my chair.
He squeezes so hard his knuckles whiten and his shoulders tremble. A pit shreds my stomach when he swivels around, facing me head on. “Bianca.” My name drips off his tongue and like slow-flowing honey, his eyes dip to my mouth.
Holy shit. I want to run away and hide in a corner. Instead, my ass seems to glue itself to the seat. “What?” I manage the response, but it sounds dry.
“The real reason why I asked to talk to you is because I’m tired of this.” He keeps his eyes locked on my mouth. “Let’s call a truce. I want to start over.”
“After everything you did?” One side of my nose curls up. “Why would I be interested?”
“I don’t know.” If he’s trying to take a deep inhale, it fails. It looks shallow and strained. “All I know is that I’m sick of fighting with you. Let’s be fri—”
“Friends?” I jerk away, like I’m electrocuted by the word. “Fat chance in hell. Not after you ruined Mom’s blouse and threatened me.”
“Fuck.” He lightly knocks his hand on the tabletop and shakes his head. “Will you please stop making me feel bad about the damn blouse? It was an accident.”
“You seriously expect me to believe that was an accident?”
“Do you really think I would have purposely ruined something that meant that much to you?”
My eyes narrow. “I think you’re perfectly capable of that.”
“Then you don’t know me very well.”
“Don’t want to.” I shimmy my shoulders away, wanting distance.
“Well, even if you don’t, I’d like some peace, and I regret fucking up your mom’s blouse. Now.” He takes a long inhale and pauses for a beat. “Tell me what I need to do so we can avoid frustrating each other in the future.”
The answer is simple, winding up and out of my mouth before I can even think about stopping it. “You can leave.”
Hi
s frame turns rigid and a hard gulp toys with his Adam’s apple. “Leave?” He sounds unsure. “As in leave this town? You mean there’s nothing I can do to try and fix things?”
“Yep to the first one, nope to the second.” Crossing my legs at the knees, I recline. “We’re never going to get along, Brett. Not after the way things started. This town is too small to keep our paths separate, so we’re always going to continue running into each other, and we’re always going to be like this. I think the sooner you finish your business here and go back to wherever you came from, the better.”
Wide shoulders deflate like a popped balloon. “You don’t mean that.” He whips his gaze to mine, but it’s not fiery. It’s rounded and I hate the guilt it stirs up at the bottom of my stomach.
I curl my shoulders inward, trying to freeze out the unwanted feeling. “I do mean it.” My heart flutters in my neck as he leans in close. Close enough to make me aware that there’s the scent of leather cologne mingling with the usual fragrance of soap.
“Prove it.” His eyes wash over my face, scanning every inch of it, testing my resolve. “I see something different every time I look at you.”
“Then you’re delusional.” I peel my shoulder blades off the seat back and jut my chin out. “Whatever you think you’re seeing doesn’t exist.”
At last, I think I’ve gotten through. He hangs his head and sighs. “I think the mistake here is me. Go to your table. I shouldn’t have asked you to sit with me.”
Blood stops in my veins at the defeated way it sounds, and my heart sinks to the floor. Maybe I was too harsh. I shake my head, trying to soften my approach. “No, I didn’t—”
“Go.” His head snaps up, and he scowls, dark red eating up his natural tan complexion. “Get to your table. Fuck trying to talk things out.”
“Brett . . .”
He cuts me off by grabbing ahold of my arm and forcing me out of the seat. “You’re right. We’ll never get along, and I’m sorry I thought we could. Goodbye, Bianca.”
Regret pins me to the ground for far too long, and I stand there, ignoring the chill from the air-conditioned surroundings which nips at my damp ass through my jeans. My mouth hinges open to speak, some sort of apology resting on the tip of my tongue.
“Save whatever it is, Bianca.” He shoves to his feet, muttering what sounds like ‘fuck,’ then he leaves, maneuvering around me quicker and vanishing faster than any reply I can conjure.
Damn. I stare blankly at his empty seat. Somehow he’s taken the life with him, unleashing a deadness in the atmosphere—one that has me hugging around my middle for warmth and comfort while a giant hole gnashes away at my stomach.
Safe to say nothing went as planned just now, but nothing ever does with him. I cock my head, trying to understand the conundrum of conflict coursing through my limbs.
He’s gone, and while he probably won’t leave this town, at least he’s out of my hair for now.
So why don’t I feel better?
Why is remorse yanking at my chest so hard it has my frame slouching? And worse, why do I feel like I made a mistake by chasing him away?
Chapter 11
“Gone?” The teacup shakes in my hand. I decide to place it down before I drop it. “What do you mean Brett’s gone?”
“Pretty sure gone means gone.” Cora keeps her head down while answering. She’s too absorbed in adding more sugar to her coffee. “He left a few days ago.”
My mouth drops open as the room swims around me for a beat. “But, I mean, he’s coming back, right?”
Lizzie finishes her sip, shaking her head. “I don’t think so. He told a few folks yesterday that he came to snag some property. I guess he got it, so now he’s gone.”
The explanation sounds logical, but being privy to certain details makes the situation coat over like the biggest lie of the century.
Today is Sunday—we passed words on Friday. He’s gone.
Coward. I shove away the guilt lying in the corner of my brain when I think of one of the last things I said to him.
“You can leave.”
It appears that’s what he’s done, and screw him for listening. My stomach sours on top of it all when I think of him accomplishing all his plans. After using Monica and keeping it from her husband, he got his land and left. Disgusting.
“What’s that grumpy look about?” Cora’s voice breaks through the contempt swirling in my head, and I realize it must be written all over my face.
A coyness plays across her aquiline features. “You look pretty upset. Miss him?”
“What?” My head jerks back. “Eww. No way.”
Of course I don’t miss him.
“Not even a little?” Lizzie’s brows hit her hairline.
“No.” Swiping up my drink, I take in my friends widened stares. “Are you guys sad he’s gone?” When they don’t say anything, my shoulders deflate. Their silence makes them look so guilty—like they are disappointed but don’t want to voice it. Great. My eyes roll. “Please tell me I’m not the only one who didn’t like him?”
Lizzie averts her eyes after taking an awkward-looking gulp. “I didn’t dislike him. I mean, sure he was kind of standoffish—”
“And intimidating,” Cora says.
“Agreed,” Lizzie says. “But we all thought he was cool. Kind of like he was too good to be with us, so were all in awe of him.”
I wasn’t. I bite the words back, afraid a can of worms will burst open if I say them.
“He did have that way about him.” Cora crosses her legs at the knee and rests into the seat back. A shiver trails down my spine when she looks at me and waggles her brows. “He took a special interest in you. Everyone saw that.”
Special interest. I go queasy. That’s one way to put it. I put up my palm, dismissing the remark. “Trust me, he wasn’t interested in me.”
“That so?” Cora rolls her brown to-go cup between her palms. “Then he must not have told you about how concerned he was with your headache episode.”
“My headache?” A crease forms between my brows. “He mentioned something, but I doubt he—”
“Told you.” Lizzie throws Cora a sideways glance. “I told you he wouldn’t mention it. Guys like Brett don’t talk about things like that.”
Curiosity is so strong it has me leaning halfway across the table. “Like what? What didn’t anyone tell me?” Frustration batters my nerves. Once again, I feel like I’m the last person finding out about my own life.
Lizzie rests a finger to her chin, tapping it lightly. “When your headache hit, he was always the first person to ask how you were doing after Cora and I checked on you. Always.”
My mouth drops open.
“Yeah.” Cora folds her arms across her slim chest. “And I found him pacing outside your room on one occasion too. He even stopped me at the grocery store after we got back just to ask about you.”
My throat dries up. “He did that?” Cora nods, and I sense every ounce of blood drain from my face. “No.” I set my cup down, almost too hard as irritation and horror ripples in my stomach. “He didn’t do that. I don’t believe it.”
“Then don’t.” Cora’s voice is flat. “It doesn’t change what he did. He may have seemed a bit of an intimidating bad boy to us, but with you, he was all hung up.”
“And you guys didn’t think to tell me?”
Lizzie ducks her head, her voice going timid. “He practically begged us not too. I would have felt bad if I went back on my word while he was in town.”
“Same here,” Cora chimes in.
I scowl. Cora and Lizzie wouldn’t lie, but it’s too bad they can’t see Brett’s motives for what they were. He didn’t care. He only acted that way to see what I told them.
That’s all it was.
And if I am wrong for some reason, then screw him and his concern. I don’t need it. It can all go to hell. But I won’t tell them that. Using silence as my weapon, I give them a stiff smile, pick up my cup, and take the longest sip of my life.
“Anyway,” Cora slides her attention from me, giving it to Lizzie. I can’t help but think she knows I’m deflecting the topic of Brett. “How are things with Kace?”
A high flush hits Lizzie’s thin face, but it looks weak compared to the smile on her mouth. Turns out the guy at the lounge is working his way into her heart pretty fast. “He’s super sweet. I really like him.”
“Oh, we can tell.” Cora smirks. “We haven’t seen you since we got back. You’re either working or with him.”
Lizzie trails a long finger down her neck, tilting her head. “I won’t apologize for that.”
“Real talk then.” Cora nestles deeper into her seat. “What’s he like in bed? Does he fuck hard?”
“Cora!” Lizzie smacks her friend on the arm.
I almost spew out my tea.
“What?” Cora’s eyes widen. “I’m just asking. Besides, we’re all adults.” Rubbing at her arm, one side of her lip puckers out. “Plus, I want to make sure you’re happy. He looks really skinny. Can he work you good enough?”
“He has some muscle.”
“Some?” Cora snorts.
I bite back my laugh, not wanting to knock Lizzie’s choice in men. She’s always hanging around blond-headed, slim-chested guys. Totally not my thing, but hey, to each their own.
“Yes.” Lizzie’s brows fall, darkening the color of her deep blue eyes. “I shouldn’t even be entertaining this, but he can get around just fine.”
“Well, you look happy,” I say, picking up my cup. Poor Lizzie’s endured enough for one morning. “I’m glad it’s working out so far.”
“Me too.” There’s a brightness in Lizzie’s gaze, and she’s sitting ten times higher than normal. This girl is the happiest I’ve seen in a long time. She’s always trying to act like she enjoys the single life, but I know she despises it. If anyone deserves their HEA—writer’s talk for happily ever after—it’s Eliza Morgan.
I’m savoring my spot of tea when Lizzie sends me a pointed look that causes my spine to stiffen. Breath stalls in my chest when her eyes narrow. “What?” I pull my head back. “I don’t think I like that look.”
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