Chapter 20
20
LEO
B riar sits in front of me looking as beautiful as I’ve ever seen her, nervously tucking her curled hair behind her ear as she looks at the menu.
“Do you have a favorite here?” she asks, her voice unnaturally small.
The second I think that we have a breakthrough, Briar always takes two steps back. I get it. You have someone as terrible as her shitty ex in your life, you start to question every man.
And I also know I haven’t been the most upstanding man in the world, too, and I’m not sure how much of her view of me comes from Owen being rightfully pissed at me for what I put him and my sister through.
And as much as I hate being told what to do, as much as I hate that we were put in this situation where we have to fake a relationship to get the media off my ass, I really do want to be better.
There’s something about Briar Crosby that just makes you want to be a better man, and I’m not sure what.
It could be her softness while also commanding respect and attention. Briar knows her worth—most of the time—and demands you know it too. Or maybe it’s her intellect.
I can’t deny that with each passing day, I find myself wanting her attention more and more.
And not in the way that I have other people’s attention. Being the funniest guy in the room only gets you so far. Sure, it gets me validation. It gets me friends. Acting like a complete idiot is my specialty, but that’s not what I want to do around her.
I want her to know I’m smart enough for her attention. That I’m kind enough. That I understand her to an extent, and that I’m a good person.
And I don’t think I’ve ever wanted something like that so badly.
“I usually get the steak,” I tell her, picking up my whisky and giving it a little stir before bringing the glass to my lips. The alcohol burns on my tongue, and when Briar’s beautiful brown eyes meet mine, I can’t help but think how it would taste on her lips.
Stop it, Warner, I tell myself, licking my lip.
“That makes sense,” she says quickly before looking back down at the menu.
“Do you not like steak?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “No, I love steak. Just should have known better. It makes sense you like it.”
I’m not sure what that means, but alright.
When the waiter comes, we put in our orders and hand our menus over. I watch as Briar smiles at the man before her face falls, and she settles back into her seat, looking around.
“You know, if we’re going to trick people you need to look like you actually like me and I’m not just holding you here against your will,” I tell her with a chuckle, taking another small sip of my drink.
She sighs, and when she looks up to fully meet my eyes, her hair sweeps past her chest. A small movement I can’t bring myself to ignore.
Briar Crosby is gorgeous, and it kills me that she thought, even for a second while she was in that fitting room, that she wasn’t.
I could see it in her eyes. The way this usually intense, strong woman shrunk when she realized I was looking at her. The way she thought my comments were anything other than positive.
She’s always been a beautiful woman. From the very first time I met her, I knew that it was going to be nearly impossible for me to ignore my attraction to her.
I always found myself interested, but respected Owen enough to never go after her. And so I didn’t. Over time my curiosity never faded, but I forced the attraction deep down within me until I saw her as just Briar.
But Briar should never be thought of as just anything.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “This is just new to me and I haven’t been on a date since…” her words fade as she studies her hands sitting on top of the table. Her nails are a light baby blue, but they’re chipped a little.
I’ll have to remember to schedule an appointment for her to get them done. Maybe even a whole spa day. She deserves some time to relax.
“Since the divorce,” I finish for her, squirming in my chair.
I hate thinking about that douche.
She nods.
“Not a single one?” I ask, and when I see her face I realize that my words aren’t helpful in any way. “Sorry. I just expected you would have.”
Biting her lip, she looks around before taking a long, large sip of her espresso martini. “I haven’t wanted to.”
“Makes sense.” I think for a moment, wondering how I can make this a little more comfortable for her. “How about we do just that though. How about we pretend like this is a first date?”
This elicits a small smile from her. “What, like I ask you questions?”
I nod. “You go first.”
“What was your first pet?”
“A salamander named Larry.”
Her brows furrow. “Aren’t you not supposed to touch them?”
I shrug. “If we’re going to be completely honest, it was actually technically an eastern newt that I found under some leaves when I was away at camp in upstate New York. He was a cool little guy. Begged my mom to let me bring him home. My mom has always had a soft spot for animals, so she got me a ten-gallon tank. Larry lived a really good life.”
“Have you had any others?”
“I think it’s my turn to ask a question.”
She smiles. The first real, genuine one I’ve seen today. In weeks, actually. “I’m so sorry. How terrible of me. Okay, go.”
“What are your hobbies?”
She considers this for a minute, taking a sip of her drink before leaning back and getting comfortable in her seat. A happy comfortable, not the timid, unsure look she had before.
“Well, I collect records and CDs. Obviously. I’ve been doing that since I was a kid. It was one of the ways my dad and I bonded. Other than that, I cook.”
And her cooking is amazing. I’ve been wanting to ask her to teach me, but I don’t want to come across as desperate. I’ve also had no trouble with my workouts considering I’ve been eating my favorite takeout pizza less and less.
The other night I had a dream the pizza was angry I had abandoned it though, and I have to say, it was terrifying.
“That sounds fun. Now, since I’m abiding by the rules, it's your turn. ”
She bites her cheek, blush creeping up her cheeks. “What’s your favorite food?”
I sit back, crossing my arms over my chest. “Sunny, let’s be honest for a second. You know the answer to that. Where are the hard-hitting questions? Ask something surprising.”
Reaching for my drink, I take a sip.
“Okay. Well, what’s your favorite sex position?”
And I promptly choke on it.
Sputtering, I cough into my fist, trying not to die.
But the woman across from me laughs.
“Do I have to answer that?” I ask. Please say yes.
“According to the rules, yes.”
“I feel like we’re just making up rules as we go.”
She shrugs. “You started it.”
“Fine. What’s my favorite sex position?” I think about it for a second. Sex is sex. Always has been for me. But what I fantasize about is a different story.
“I think that missionary is criminally underrated, and anyone who hates on it is an idiot,” I tell her with a shrug.
“I think I agree,” she says, her eyes darkening. “Not that I’d really know.”
My heart stops. “What does that mean?”
She sucks as her lip, her white teeth peeking out. “I just haven’t had it in years, is all.”
“That’s a shame,” I tell her. “There’s just something about looking into a woman’s eyes as you watch how much pleasure you bring her,” I smile, watching her squirm.
“I’m sure they’ve all had to fake it at least a little bit,” she responds with a smirk.
I shake my head. “I can promise you they haven’t.”
“Is that the only one you like?”
“Nah. I’m not sure what it’s called, but I love taking her from behind as she lays on her stomach,” I act like I’m thinking for a moment, “while giving her a backrub.”
Although I’m really only having fun with her, enjoying how squirmy she’s getting while also looking criminally interested, I’m not exactly lying.
Sex is amazing. It’s something I’ve definitely enjoyed far too much throughout my life. But the thought of having sex with someone I actually really loved is a whole other ballgame, and one I have yet to truly experience in my life.
And I’ve been jealous of it.
“I’m sure they’ve appreciated that,” she tells me, her face impassive.
I run my thumb along my lip. “They did.”
I’ve never tried it.
“Well,” she says, squaring her shoulders and avoiding my gaze, “your turn.”
“What’s your favorite sex position, Crosby?”
She bites her lip. “I don’t think I have one.”
This surprises me.
“Why don’t you have one?”
She lets out a sigh. “I answered your question, that counts as a new one. My turn. Why don’t you show everyone this side of you?”
I’m confused about what she means, and when I tilt my head, she continues.
“Why do you put up a front, Leo Warner?”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
I gulp. “I like being in control,” I say simply.
“Leo, you’ve done some wonderful things. Don’t reduce your good deeds to just simply wanting to be in control.”
I stare at her. Really take her in.
Her warm brown eyes are hard as they stare into my soul, so intense they verge on calculating. Her hands are in her lap, her posture relaxed.
She’s been wanting to ask me this for a long time.
I open my mouth but nothing comes out. Scratching my head, I try to think of an answer that won’t infuriate her .
“I like being in control of what people think of me. The expectations from me. My family knows who I am, and although they have gotten a lot from me, they don’t expect it. But everyone else?” I look around. “Everyone expects everything from me. Why not keep those expectations as low as possible?”
“So you lie to everyone?”
“No,” I tell her, shaking my head. “I don’t lie to them exactly. I just put on a mask. And I happen to do it well.”
“So all of this isn’t even necessary?”
I swallow, shifting uncomfortably. “I think that counts as a new question.”
“I don’t,” she says, her voice monotone.
I take a deep breath, wanting the conversation to end. I look in the direction of the kitchen, hoping and praying that the waiter will walk out with our food any second and save me from this.
And then what? We eat in awkward silence?
Why did I ever suggest getting deeper?
“I’ve been told that I tend to spiral out of control when I can’t control something,” I say slowly. “I can’t control what the media says about me. Can’t control what someone thinks of me. I can manage their expectations, sure. But one wrong move, some negative press, and I spiral. I self-sabotage. At least, that’s what my therapist told me.”
She looks surprised at my honesty. “You go to therapy?”
“I went once. Hated it. Haven’t been back.”
Finally, the waiter returns with our food, placing our plates in front of us.
“Do you need anything else?” the waiter asks.
“No thanks,” I reply, not sure if I desperately want him to stay or to leave and not bother us for the rest of the night.
“I think you should go back,” she says suddenly, unfolding her cloth napkin and placing it on her lap .
“I can do that,” I nod. Whether I’ll actually do it, I’m not sure. But it’s the goal.
“Now, I have one last question for you.” I tell her.
She looks at me, nervous. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Briar, how many times did your ex make you come?”
I expected a big reaction out of her, but her face stays stony, only a small blush creeping up her neck to show me how my words hit her.
“You really want to know that?” she asks.
I nod.
“He didn’t.”
“Not at all?”
“Nope,” she says, popping the p.
“That’s a shame,” is all I can bring myself to say.
Because with those words. With that little answer, something clicked into place for me.
I want to show this woman how it feels to be loved.
And if there’s one thing about me, it’s that once I set my mind on something, I’ll do anything and everything to make it happen.
But first I have to prove to her that I’m worthy of her time.
“Do you want to go out for drinks?” I ask as we finish our dessert.
She looks me up and down, taking the last bite of her chocolate cake. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
Throughout the entire dinner, I’ve been devising a plan. A large plan to win her over. To show her that I’m not the idiot she thinks I may be. Sure, she can see right through my act, but I’m not na?ve. I’ve acted like a complete moron for so long it’s become fact.
“I can take care of myself,” I smile cheekily.
“I don’t think you can, that’s why we’re in this position in the first place, Warner.”
Fair enough.
“I’ll be a good boy,” I promise with a wink.
She smirks. “I’m not sure you could do that if you tried. But okay, as long as I can invite Zara.”
“Deal, as long as I can invite Cooper and Emmett.”
“Deal.”
Thirty minutes later we’re at Lulu’s ordering drinks. Briar gets another amaretto sour while I get a beer. We’re in the backroom, which I’m surprised to find fairly empty. It’s a weeknight, but this place is almost always slammed.
“You know, at some point we’re going to have to kiss for the cameras,” I blurt out, immediately regretting it.
Briar rolls her eyes, running her hands through her hair. She looks up at me, her head tilted. “You’re going to have to try harder than that, Warner.”
“So what you’re saying is I have a chance?”
Instead of answering, she downs her drink, heading for the bar for a new one. “Put it on my tab!” I call after her.
“Don’t worry, I was already going to!”
I watch as her hips swing, her hair swaying with each step. When she reaches the bar, I almost swear she looks at me.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were falling for the Ice Queen,” a voice says from behind me, and I jump, caught .
“I’m not sure that’s what you’re talking about,” I tell Cooper, taking a swig of beer.
“Wait, are you?”
Emmett appears around Cooper, brows furrowed. He’s always quiet, but I can see the question in his eyes. He wants to know too.
“She’s pretty,” I shrug.
“She’s Crosby’s sister, man. Him falling for yours was one thing. If you’re going to mess with that, make sure it’s real.”
I nod.
But then I have an idea.
“Never mind. I’m done pretending,” I sigh dramatically, turning toward the table so we can talk quieter. “I need your help.”
“Oh? I love some chaos,” Cooper rubs his hands together manically, a conspiratorial smile plastered to his face.
“We had a breakthrough tonight. I like her. And I want her. I need to come up with some ideas to win her over.”
“Can the Ice Queen even be won over?”
I scowl. “Coop, I’m gonna start by telling you to knock it off with that nickname.”
“But you were the one who started it!”
I was. The first time she completely ignored me. And the second time. And the third.
But things are different now, and hearing him say it doesn’t sound right. It doesn’t sound fair.
If there’s one person tormenting her it’s going to be me.
“A list, guys. What’s like catnip to women?”
Emmett thinks for a moment. “Baths.”
I rear back, sending him a questioning look. “Baths?”
“Girls love baths.”
“I don’t know when the last time I took a bath was,” I mutter.
Cooper smacks the back of my head. “It’s not about you, dumbass. It’s about her. Bitches love baths. ”
I smack the back of his head in return. “Don’t call her a bitch,” I hiss with enough venom for him to know I’m serious.
“It’s a saying?—”
“I don’t care.”
“Oranges,” Emmett says quietly.
“Oranges?”
He nods. “Saw it on the internet today.”
Maybe he’s the wrong person to ask.
“I know when I’ve had girlfriends, they’ve really liked doing activities together,” Cooper smirks.
“What kind of activities?”
“All kinds.”
“That doesn’t really help.”
He shrugs.
“You guys are killing me, you know that?”