He tips his chin to his right. “Walked in on her riding his dick.”
I bring my hands to my face, my breath hot against my fingers. “Reed.”
He doesn’t react to my voice, his name, doesn’t lift his eyes from where they stay glued to some spot on the floor.
Oh, God. I knew she hurt him somehow. I thought she ended things, blindsiding him and breaking his heart. But this? Walking in on something like that?
Bitch.
I understand now why he froze up, but that still doesn’t explain why having the party here is an issue for him.
My one hand circles his wrist while my other falls to my side. “Why does it matter that it’s here?”
Now he can’t seem to look anywhere but where I’m holding him. He blinks once, turning his arm so my fingers slide to his palm.
“You’re about to hear how pathetic I used to be. I’m not sure that’s something I want you to know.”
“I bet I won’t think you were pathetic.”
“Sweetheart.” He licks his lips, wetting them. “I was the definition.” Lifting his head, he drops it back against the wall and stares at me through half-closed lids. His light hair is disheveled, some pieces falling close to his eyes. He looks tired, but God, he’s so sexy I almost forget what we’re talking about. Reaching up with the hand not occupied with mine, he yanks at the knot in his tie and pops the top button of his collar.
Now he’s unkempt. Unruly.
I’ve been known to get a little rowdy sometimes.
His words to me from our day together. A joke at the time, but now with this visual in front of me I’m finding it difficult to imagine him ever controlled. And strangely, I don’t want to imagine it. I want him messy, up against a wall. Clothes partially undone.
Me, completely undone.
The sound of his throat clearing has me searching for his eyes in the soft light. I had been staring at his mouth. His jaw. The cords in his neck. Did he notice?
“I was fine with her going away to college. Four years was a long time, but I knew I would be okay. I wanted her to know that. Wanted her to see how serious I was about us.” He pauses to scratch the back of his head, then his hand slaps against his thigh. He shakes his head. “I don’t know. Maybe at the time I felt desperate. I loved her. Love makes you do stupid shit. And I was definitely a dumb motherfucker back then to ask that bitch to marry me.”
I lean closer, sliding my hand up to the crook of his elbow. “You asked Molly to marry you?”
“Yeah, pathetic, right?”
“No, no that’s not pathetic. You loved her.”
He seems to find my response amusing. His lip curls up, and his chest rumbles with a quiet laugh.
A loud whistle sounds somewhere outside the house and a burst of light flashes behind the window pane. Reed and I lean over to catch the next firework shooting off against the night sky. It’s a beautiful distraction from the ugliness below, but my eyes can’t enjoy it. Not while my mind is swimming in guilt.
This is all my fault.
“I’m so sorry I put you through all this.”
Reed’s head slowly turns away from the window. His eyebrows pull together into a tight pinch, conveying his confusion as he looks down at me.
I explain through a stressed voice, “I just wanted to do something for you. I’ve never felt immediately comfortable around someone before, but that night at McGill’s, you made it easy. You made me smile, and I hadn’t smiled in months. Then Molly walked in and it was like she snuffed you out. I hated it. After five minutes of conversation, I became protective of you. I know that probably sounds crazy, but it’s how I felt. I thought maybe seeing you happy with someone else would get to her. I wanted her to look how you looked. But I had no idea I’d be dragging you into all this. I shouldn’t have done that in the bar. I’m so, so sorry.”
I move to back away, to take my hand off the part of his arm I’m still clutching, but Reed reaches out and grabs my other wrist. He flattens his back against the wall, pulling me closer until I have to lift my chin to look at him.
A softness passes over his face, but his eyes, my God, his eyes are electric.
“You didn’t drag me into anything. I said I would come to this, didn’t I? I’m the one who picked you up and drove us here, and I don’t remember you having a gun to my head, forcing me out of the truck.” His mouth twitches. “Fuck, Beth. Can a guy have a little credit? This disaster wasn’t all your doing.”
I almost smile. “You wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t pretended to be your girlfriend that night.”
“How do you know?” he asks, losing the smirk. “That woman down there is a fucking bitch. She would’ve found a way to invite me to this shit with or without you. And I would’ve been here, proving to her I didn’t care anymore, with or without you. You were a bonus in all this.”
My skin becomes hot at the base of my neck, and I suddenly wish I had worn my hair up this evening.
A bonus? Has he actually enjoyed being with me tonight, despite everything?
“Fuck,” he says through a groan, drawing my attention back up from where it had wandered. His head hits the wall as he looks over the top of me. “Can’t believe I just stood there. Probably still be standing there if it weren’t for you dragging me away. I bet that bitch is laughing her ass off knowing she got to me.”
“We can leave,” I suggest.
I would completely understand if he wanted to get out of here. Reed’s discomfort isn’t worth proving a point, and I’m not sure I can handle seeing it anymore without hurling a champagne flute in someone’s direction.
He dismisses my suggestion with a jerk of his head. Releasing his hold on me, he scrubs his face again with his hands. He’s rough about it. His palms harsh against his skin. Trying to remove any trace of emotion before we go back down there.
When he lowers his hands, I falter at the hold his eyes have on me. The desperation in them. The worry that he won’t be able to handle this. He’s silent again, but my ears hear the words he’s not saying.
Please, don’t leave my side.
Please, help me through this.
Please, distract me from them.
Our lunch from the other day. The bet.
Distract him.
This man makes me do the craziest things, but I don’t feel foolish moving closer. Something comes over me as my body threatens to form against his. A drive, a need to keep him from feeling anything except what I can control.
Distract him.
Time suspends in that room. Everything seems to happen in the longest second of my life. If there was anything to stop me, his rejection would do it, but as I eliminate all space between us, as my hands run up his chest to his neck, my fingers filtering through his hair, he wraps his hands around my waist and welcomes my assault.
“I want to use my advantage now,” I say, sounding hurried. Frantic. Desperate.
“I was picking up on that.” He stares at my mouth, tilting his head down. “What do you want, sweetheart? You want to kiss me?”
“Mm.”
His breath bursts against my hair. “Mm. Is that a yes? A no? If I remember correctly, you get to do anything you want. Winner’s choice, right?”
I lift my chin, grinning, and he takes that as my decision.