“I’ll say I do.” He tilts his head. “I didn’t see you at Lizzie’s last night. So where were you? Did you get a new car?”
He’s merely asking about my skipping out on a party and cars, but the way my body flares in temperature, and the way my stomach flips, you’d think he was asking me to go to bed with him. I nod. “Sure did get a new car. A nice one.” My voice croaks. I hope he doesn’t notice.
“And last night?” A brow arches. “Did you have a date?”
Crap. I was on a date. No one special, just a nice dude to pass the time with. Jake Goode. A friend of Lizzie’s. Him and his family own this grocery store. Short, prone to pick out Converse to wear at a funeral. Definitely not Brett material. But how does he know I went out with someone? Narrowing my gaze, I stare at him hard and long. “What if I was on a date? Also, why would you ask that?”
He lowers his frame, encasing me more. Peppermint breath washes across my cheeks, cooling the heat in them. “Maybe I asked Lizzie because I didn’t like not seeing you there.”
I purse my mouth, not sure who’s prey or predator at the moment, but I like it. “You mean you noticed?”
“I didn’t not notice if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Is that what I’m asking?”
“So are you going to tell me what you did or not?”
“Umm . . .” Taking in his face, a wry smile tugs up my mouth. He’s only pushing because he’s bossy, and I don’t feel like following his orders today. “No.” My grin widens when he scowls. “No, I don’t think I will.” I duck under his arm and return to my cart.
“Damn.” He scoffs, then chuckles. “You’re so difficult.”
Flashing my teeth, I drop the bag of popcorn into my goodies. “Can’t make it too easy.”
“Ha.” He picks up a handheld basket and catches stride with me as I go down the aisle. “Then neither can I. Expect company until you leave this store.”
“Hmm.” I round the corner, giggling as he keeps up. “Is that supposed to be some kind of punishment?”
“Possibly.” He rubs at his nape with one hand and swings the basket in the other.
“You’re failing then.” Looking up, I wink. Lightness pulls me up to my tiptoes as he tilts his head back and laughs.
Reaching the baking area, I slow my pace. Thinking of Lizzie, I decide now is a good time to ask about her and Saber. She’s still not saying a dang word and I wonder if he showed up, because if he did . . . oh boy. I’m sure that threw Lizzie for a loop. “How was last night anyway?”
“Fine.” He shrugs, running a finger over a box of brownie batter. “It was the usual group you know.”
“And Saber, was he there?”
“No.” I don’t miss the way his features darken or how his jawline tightens. “Why are you asking about him?”
Deep satisfaction ripples down my limbs. “Jealous?” I purr the question out.
“Ha.” His brows lift, and some tension slides off his face. “You wish. Tell me why you’re asking about him.”
“Well, he seems to upset Lizzie, and I wasn’t sure if you knew anything about them or if they had some kind of past.”
“Not that I’m aware of. He’s never mentioned her.” The answer sounds honest and steady. “I can ask him if you want.”
“Oh, no.” I shake my head, regretting I asked anything at all. Lizzie would probably be upset if she knew I tried to pry. “Don’t worry about it. I was just curious. I’ll talk to Lizzie about it.” Again.
“All right.”
With the subject dropped, we say very little, completing our shopping in major waves of silence. I won’t even lie. The company is nice. And being with someone who lays on zero pressure for conversation is welcomed as well.
Talking only resumes after he’s helped me load my groceries and is walking me over to my car door.
“Hey.” I smile. “Thanks for your help today.” Pointing to the trunk of my new car, I curl my shoulders inward. “I appreciate it.”
He pauses for far too long, and his eyes pinch together. “My pleasure.” The words sound forced, and I can’t figure out what’s changed.
I shift on the balls of my feet, try to smile once more, then swivel on my heel. “See you later.”
“Who was it, Bianca?”
I stop dead in my tracks, confused by the question. “Wh-what?” Twisting my neck, I turn my ear toward him.
“Your date.”
My pulse rings in my ears. He’s not going to let it go, and I can’t figure out why he wants to know. He was adamant about not finding me attractive on our second night at the cabin. I don’t know what this is, but either way, I won’t entertain it.
Shaking my head, my lips purse into a hard line. “No one.”
“No one,” he echoes in a skeptical tone. “Kind of hard to go out with no one.”
My pulse taps harder at my neck. “Why do you want to know?”
His shoes drag on asphalt, and my breath sucks in when his warm chest presses into my back.
My eyes squeeze closed, unable to stay open as I fight the urge to sink against him. He feels so damn good hugging against my body.
“Because. . .” His voice fades away and he inhales deep, the span of his chest growing against me, and God, how I want to turn around and just rub against him. “Just tell me.”
“Again.” I strengthen my voice while saying it, trying hard to force away the magnetism which makes my head swim. “It was no one.” I take a stumbling step forward.
He stops me by wrapping fingers around my shoulder. “You’re frustrating.” His voice is low . . . dangerous. “Do you know that?”
I’m biting my teeth into my lip, almost drawing blood as he drags his hand down the length of my arm. “Am I?” It’s all I can think to say, he’s taking everything else away from me.
“Yes.” I swear he’s panting, and it’s causing my knees to wobble. “So fucking frustrating. I . . .” His voice fades away and I wish I knew what he was going to say.
I drown out the idea of him kissing me, holding me. Because now, that’s what I want—more than ever that’s what I want. He’s finally repositioned himself to my top obsession.
I just don’t want him to know that.
After everything we’ve been through, we’ll be too muddy and messy. So I’ll keep him at bay.
But for how long? The question mocks me the longer I stand here, because I know that the more I’m around him, the more I’ll weaken. But if he ever decides to make a definite move on me, then it’s endgame.
Not facing him gives me more courage than I should have. Straightening my spine, I pull out from his hold. “Have a nice day, Brett.”
“Yeah.” He sighs, his hand plopping against his pants as he lets it fall. “You too. See you around.”
There’s the crunch of gravel and I hear him twist on his heel. He’s leaving, and thank God.
My shoulders round, and with our distance, something compels me to turn around and watch him.
His posture’s a little lower and his pace is slower as he makes his way. Guilt plucks at my insides for shutting him out, and when he’s halfway across the parking lot, I decide I can’t keep it inside.
“I went out with Jake Goode.”
He freezes. Then he laughs. So hard, I can almost feel his shoulders shake for myself. His gaze locks with mine and he smirks. “Is that your type?”
Heat slithers up my cheeks and I’m sure they’re crimson. I shoot him a coy smile. “No.” I twist one of my shoes inward while saying it.
Pocketing his hands, he stares at me from across the parking lot. I swear I could float away as I see a glimmer twinkling in his gaze.
“Good,” he says, winks, and resumes his course. “See you.”
Good?
Good because he wants to be my type, or good because he thinks I could do better than Jake?
I’m not sure.
All I know is that I’m loving the answer. I manage a weak finger-wave goodbye and
finally return his final words. “See you.”
But he can’t hear it.
He’s already gone, zooming out of the parking lot. I wish he wasn’t. I wish he was still here.
Shit. Sucking in air through my teeth, I gaze at his abandoned parking spot and sigh. “I am so screwed.”
Chapter 17
It’s Thanksgiving, and a frosty chill wraps up my body as I climb out of Cora’s car. Carpooling is the norm when we meet up at her cousin Donnie’s house. He’s a nice guy, married with a few kids. Every year, his place is the spot we congregate before taking part in a pool tournament to raise funds for the local shelter, Margaret’s Hope.
Basically, a ton of people decide to ditch the usual holiday tradition of “gobble till you wobble” and instead spend several hours around cigar smoke, playing billiards until everyone wants to drop from exhaustion. The price for a game is met dollar for dollar by the pool hall, and all the proceeds go to the shelter.
Me, Cora, and Lizzie have been spending our Thanksgiving nights there and drumming up proceeds for years now. Over time, more people have begun participating, and somewhere along the way Donnie’s house became the place to round up and then depart after having a few snacks.
Lizzie won’t be here this year. She’s still laying low, but I’ve heard there will be more people than ever going tonight.
The comforting scent of warm bread swirls up my nostrils once I step in. That’s good. I’ll be pounding down more snacks than normal. I skipped lunch earlier, trying hard to outline a new book idea. My stomach is reminding me of the occurrence too. It grumbles as I drape my coat over the living room chair.
“Damn.” Cora peers into the kitchen a few feet away and her brows raise. “Don wasn’t kidding about how many people turned out this year.”
“So that means I can go home?” I try to infuse humor in my voice, but I’m only half joking. Billiards makes me think of Dad. He loved it, more than me or Mom, and the times he came home from a long night at the pool hall were always hell. I dread this event every year.
Cora knocks me on the arm and snorts. “Stop. You can’t hide in your house all the dang time.”
My lips fold backward. “I’m not always at home.”
“Uh . . .” Her face deadpans. “This is the first time I’ve seen you since poker night.”
Pfft. I stroll past her. “Whatever. No it’s not. Besides, you were gone for a little last week.”
“So I was.” She’s following right behind me, her thick boots thudding on the floor. “But I wasn’t gone for two weeks. That’s how long it’s been.”
“Oh, shut it.” Passing into the kitchen, I fail to hit up my usual route—plate, food, drink. My eyes immediately pull to the corner of the room. To Brett, and the look is mutual.
I feel like he’s drinking me in, pulling every ounce of moisture from my mouth, taking it as his own as his vision climbs up my body. He hits my eyes and toasts his Solo cup to me.
Raising a hand, I manage a meek finger wave, and my heart thumps so hard I feel its thrumming in my kitten heels. Shit. Even when I want to be strong around him, I’m weak. Brett Walker has my inner resolve hacked away. It’s no different at home. I’m getting off on him more than I’d like to admit and saying his name each time I spill over the edge. It’s pathetic, really.
Replaying my actions from last night, a fire pools in my cheeks and my smile goes sheepish.
Brett’s brows come together in a playful observation, like he knows something indecent flashes through my brain.
I turn my head away, grab a plate, and eat, keeping far away from my baffling obsession who seems to stick with me regardless how I feel about him.
As more time passes, I think he’s going to come over. Lord knows he’s staring at me enough to make it happen. He stays locked on me almost the entire time, not really even bothering to look at the people talking to him. Instead, he’s lingering on my breasts, waist, and hips before bouncing back to my eyes. Each time our gazes lock for more than a second, he smiles—each one steals my breath away.
By the time Donnie announces that we’re about to leave, I’m wondering if I’m breathing at all.
Cora walks up to me, breaking my attention. “You ready, Bee?”
“Almost.” I take a drink of water. Not that it helps. “I’m going to pee and I’ll be right out.”
“Well, hurry.” She jerks her head to the bathroom. “You know how Donnie is about all of us leaving on time.”
“I won’t be a moment.” Ditching my plate, I slink out of the kitchen and go down the hall.
Taking care of business, I try to make fast work, but also take time to cool off. Brett’s wound me tight. I already know I’ll be rubbing out built-up steam tonight after I get home. I need a few breaths to not act like a hot and bothered mess in public tonight.
After I think I’m composed enough I stroll out the bathroom, returning to the hall.
I’m blinking in shock when I don’t hear a peep. “Hello?”
Not a soul responds. The house sounds empty. Irritation flickers in my veins at being abandoned. “Great.” I meander out into the half-lit kitchen and sigh. “They left me.”
“They didn’t leave you.” Brett’s deep voice sounds from where I last left him, and a thrill coils up my spine. I didn’t see him right away because he’s in the shadows of the kitchen. Shoving off the wall, he draws closer. “I told them to go ahead. I waited for you.”
Damn. I love how all of that sounds, but I try not to let that show. Cocking a brow, I pucker my lips out to one side. “You didn’t want to carpool with a third or fourth person? That’s what most people do.”
“Please.” His tone drops and he rolls his eyes. “Do I look like a guy who carpools with someone?” He widens his stance and folds his arms. “Hell no. I bring my own damn car. You won’t catch me not going home when I want because I’m waiting on someone’s ass.”
I snort, then smirk. “But you’ll wait on my ass.”
He tilts his head back, indecency flickering in his eyes. “It’s a nice ass. I’m parked out back.”
A heaviness forms in my chest. It travels down, landing in my core, making it squeeze together. I try to ignore the sensation and wave my hand in dismissal. “Like you’ve noticed.”
“Oh, trust me, I have.” The words roll off his tongue, reaching out and slapping me with a heavy dose of wanting him.
The flirtation breaks a smile across my face and I tuck a stray hair behind my ear.
A softness rounds out his features. “Not as nice as that smile, but it’s nice.”
I stare at him for a beat, allowing my body to tremble under his attention—then I force it all away by pushing myself for the exit. I stride for the side door that’s a little beyond him. “Let’s go.”
I’m passing by when he stops me with his voice. “Do you want to go?”
My feet fasten themselves to the floor. Craning my head back, I glance at him past my shoulder. “Sure I do.” I shrug, knowing how weak it sounds. “I mean . . . it’s the right thing to do, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t ask that.” He shuffles closer. “Of course it’s the right thing to do. I asked if you wanted to go. I sure as hell don’t.”
The blunt confession steals my words, and my brows pull together. I try to decide if I’m brave enough to voice the same sentiment. Admitting I don’t want to help and raise money for people in need would riddle me with guilt.
I think he sees that.
“This might seem random, but I actually don’t like billiards. I know it’s for charity, but Saber’s dad played all the time.” He pockets one hand. “He gave me the lashing of my life one time when he caught me playing around. I used his Italian cue stick as a cane.” He takes a deep breath, and I swear he even shivers. “I never play unless I have to.”
His words hit a verbal bullseye and vibrate through me. I wring the bottom of my sweater in my hands and mirror his frown. “I don’t like going either.” Surprisingly, th
ere’s no guilt when I say it. Just a sadness waving across my chest.
He nods, urging me to continue.
“Dad played too. Actually, what happened the night Mom died was after he’d gotten home from a long tournament.” I end up shuddering even though I’m not cold. “I hate going and I always feel uncomfortable.” The strength in my voice wanes away, dragging my eyes with it. I end up staring at the floor with a glossy haze clouding my vision.
“Well, shit, that settles it.” Brett lifts and drops his shoulder. “We’re not going.”
My lashes flutter in disbelief and I almost laugh. Us not showing up won’t go unnoticed. He has to realize this. “Then what will we tell everyone?”
“A few options. One, we can say we got caught up talking.” There’s a pause.
Oxygen expands in my chest and sticks in my lungs when he dips his line of vision to my mouth. I can only exhale when he speaks.
“Two, we can tell everyone I lost my key fob.” He yanks it out of his pocket and dangles it in the air. “Or three, we tell them the truth. We didn’t want to go. We’ll look like assholes, but we’ll be honest assholes.”
I snicker, sliding forward a step. “I like number two.” My fingers grasp around the opposite end of the fob and playfully, I try to pull it from his hands.
It doesn’t go as planned.
He resists the tug and pulls me closer. My shoes slide along the wood, obeying his strength. Blood stops, reversing its flow and dumping into my stomach. Shit. I might be in trouble.
I know I am when heat washes through his gaze and he loses his breath. It rags out, hitting the air in uneven waves.
“I like option one.” His words rasp out, and he fixates on my mouth.
When he draws another breath, it’s shallow, yet it siphons all the supply out of me. My senses go heady and clouded. The room vortexes around me and my heart plummets into my heels. I think he’s going to kiss me and I’m going to let it happen.
“I like you.” He’s inched closer—close enough to where his minty breath wisps against my cheeks.
A whimper travels out my throat, forcing a confession with it. “I like you too.” My hands raise, fingertips ravenous to claw down the front of his shirt. “Brett . . .”
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