Chapter 17
CY
“Cy.” Asher’s voice is loud, his tone more stern than usual. Like maybe this isn’t the first time he’s said my name.
I’ve retreated to my room for privacy. For a few minutes without the constant cameras and women every-fucking-where.
Who’d have thought I’d ever get tired of either?
And because I need to talk to my best friend.
About Sydney. About the way she’s lived rent free in my brain since our conversation in the car.
The last few days have been an exercise in self-control.
I’ve spent each of them avoiding her when I want to do anything but.
From here, I can see her. She’s always easy to spot, the soft flame of her hair drawing me to her. She’s in one of the pool chairs, separate from the rest of the women.
In more ways than one.
A second pool party, this one before a compass ceremony.
The show is nothing if not predictable. Dressed in a hunter green bikini top and those fucking well-worn denim shorts that make my fingers itch to touch them, to trace the curves they lovingly cup.
She’s wearing dark glasses, but she’s alert.
Her entire body is poised. Like she’s waiting for something to happen.
She looks so isolated.
Alone.
Her choice? Or theirs?
Showing up with me after the shelter earned her plenty of ire and painted a target on her back. But she isn’t exactly warm and fuzzy like Josie. This may be her choice.
Except the more I analyze her attitude, the clearer it becomes that she uses her prickly nature as protection. She doesn’t let many people close.
“Hello? Are you even fucking listening?” Asher’s voice cuts through the fog.
Again.
Fuck.
“Sorry.” I spin away from the window and squeeze my eyes shut.
He chuckles. “Damn, man. When you called, I didn’t expect that I’d basically be talking to myself the whole time.”
I was the one who called. I need a connection to reality. A distraction. Because if I don’t keep myself busy, I’ll pull Sydney aside and make sure she’s okay. Then I fear I’d kiss the ever-loving shit out of her.
“What were you saying?”
“When does filming end?”
“Six weeks.”
Six more weeks and then I can get back to my life. Blowing out a breath, I lean my head back and I stare at the ceiling.
Time can’t move fast enough.
“That’s perfect. I connected with Greg Turner—”
“Who?”
“Sydney’s dad. It was probably a good thing she emailed him first. The man grilled me like he was a damn cop. Where is his daughter? Is she safe? Why would she go on a show like that? Something tells me she has a lot of explaining to do the next time she talks to him.”
When Asher mentions her name, a weird electric current zips down my spine and my feet move of their own accord, taking me back to the window. I study her again. Her dad’s questions make sense, given what she shared about Katie. But that story isn’t mine to share with Asher.
“Did he give you any ideas for the adoption fair?”
“He did. The Wag and Whisker House is now officially planning the Young at Heart Dog Jamboree, a place for people to find their four-legged companions.”
Warmth floods my body. The senior residents of Wag and Whisker finding forever homes. All because Sydney followed me to the shelter.
“What can I do to help?” I ask.
“I think it’s time we told the world what we were doing. Think you’d be up for some publicity once you’re done dating eight women at once?”
I laugh. “It’s only seven. Soon to be six.” Although which six remains to be seen.
My sanity tells me to send Sydney home.
My heart and my body don’t agree.
“Whatever, man. Better you than me.” He chuckles. “What do you say? You up for lending your charming front-man persona to the cause?”
I hesitate. I want to help my friend. I want to help the residents at the Wag & Whisker House find their forever homes. But if he’s looking for publicity, that may involve other people. People I’d rather not see.
“Who are you thinking you want involved?” I ask.
If Soren is one—and that’s Asher’s decision—I’ll figure out some other way to help. I’ll get people there.
Asher sighs, reading my mind. “I know how you feel about him, bro. He’s not part of this.”
Asher still talks to him occasionally. All the guys do. I refuse. And that alone will make for an awkward-as-fuck reunion tour if we were forced into it.
No, this is why you’re here. To avoid that.
According to Asher, the rest of the guys are up for it. But Luca, Maddox, and Asher weren’t painted as the villain in a supposedly tell-all memoir crafted by someone I once called my brother. No, Soren Langley only named one villain. A drug-addicted, alcohol-dependent, tantrum-throwing dictator.
Me.
According to him, I’m the reason Boys Next Door failed. Everyone else was willing to continue the way we always had been. But I was tired of sharing the spotlight, so I broke up the best thing to ever happen to us.
That story doesn’t even remotely resemble the discussion and mutual agreement we came to one night on a tour bus.
But the damage has been done.
After his book released, it took three months to land another job. And that was only after I hired a publicist to do damage control. Even then, it’s been nearly impossible to avoid being typecast.
Always the bully. The villain.
Empty-headed heartthrob.
Superficial.
Not anymore.
Not after I finish this show.
Sure, I’ll have to keep up appearances with the woman I pick at the end. But there is an end date to this agreement. We might not have even begun, but I’m prepared for the breakup.
A mutual decision—I’ll insist the situation not make me once again look like the bad guy—driven by schedule conflicts. Different lifestyles.
But first I have to get through today. This next ceremony.
“Do you know who you’re sending home today?” Asher asks, still mind-melded to me.
I know who I should send home.
“Not yet.”
“You’re not sending home Sydney, right?”
Fuck, it’s spooky how well he reads me. Even over the phone.
“I don’t know. Maybe. I—”
“She’s good for you, Cy. Don’t sabotage it before it’s even begun.”
Jesus Christ.
“I should probably go.” I huff out a breath. “I need to get ready for the compass ceremony. Email me the details for the adoption fair. I’ll be there.”
After we’ve said our goodbyes, while I’m in the shower, standing under the stream of hot water, I consider who to send home tonight.
This choice isn’t based on a connection the way it would be with any other searcher.
No, I’m looking for the woman America won’t mind seeing me dump after the show.
Josie will eventually have to go—she’s too sweet for what I have planned.
Kendall is a wildcard. But Jade? Would she be up for a mutual parting of ways?
Something tells me she might.
Once this is all over with, I’ll jump into casting for Beneath the Broken Sky. Finally.
I’m rinsing the soap from my body when there’s a pounding on my door.
“Fucking great.” I crank the water off and wrap a towel around my waist.
More pounding.
What the fuck? Am I late for something?
“Just a minute,” I shout through the bathroom door.
More knocking.
What in the fuck could be so important?
“Jesus Christ, can you not fucking hear?” I ask, jerking open the door.
I don’t know who I was expecting—Mara maybe? Or Danny?—but it definitely wasn’t Sydney.
“I need to talk to you.” She rushes in, slamming the door behind her.
My dick kicks to life beneath my towel. I mentally warn it to stand down.
“Please come in. Make yourself at home.” I hold out an arm, gesturing to the bed.
Will she take the bait?
Those green eyes roll. “You fucking wish.”
Fuck. Her mouth. I want to kiss the sass right out of her.
“You came to my room to see me, BB. Can’t blame a man for trying.”
“BB?” She frowns, a line forming between her brows.
Oops. I didn’t mean to say that part out loud
Chuckling, I move closer, eager for an up-close-and-personal vantage point to observe of her reaction. “Ball buster. You said you didn’t want to be called angel.”
She crosses her arms, the move lifting her breasts, and a smile plays on her lips. “I don’t.”
“Is BB okay?” I ask, moving closer.
She retreats a step, then spins and strides to the window I was just spying from.
“It’s better than angel,” she mumbles.
I move closer, so close that the heat from her skin wraps around my still-damp body.
Close enough that the scent of her sunscreen teases my nostrils. The flutter of her pulse at the base of her neck calls to my lips, beckoning them for a taste. I lean down, intending to savor her, but before I get the pleasure, she flips around, her eyes widening.
“You’re sneaky,” she accuses.
“I’ve always been light on my feet.”
She glances down, and when she realizes what I’m wearing, she swallows thickly.
“You’re in a towel.”
I lift a shoulder and let it drop. “I was in the shower when you practically pounded my door down.”
She drags her attention back up, fixing it on my face, desire burning in her eyes.
With a sharp breath in, she shakes her head and blinks. “You’re distracting me. I want to talk to you.”
“This couldn’t wait for the compass ceremony?”
“No,” she says. “I need to speak to you privately.”
“We’re alone now,” I whisper.
She ducks around me and scurries across the room, putting the bed between us.
“Stop trying to dickmatize me.” She jabs a finger my direction.
I bark out a laugh. “What?” Dickmatize? That’s a new term to me.
“I won’t repeat myself. So quit.” Between one blink and the next, her scowl morphs into a frown, her expression turning serious. “What I told you in the car…about…”
She doesn’t say Katie’s name. She doesn’t have to. The way the energy in the room shifts and the guilt and grief bleeding from her make it painstakingly clear what she’s talking about.
I want to close the gap between us, to pull her into my arms until that grief recedes.
“I remember.”
But I don’t go to her. I couldn’t if I tried. Not with the wall she’s put between us, this one taller and thicker than before.