11. Wren
11
WREN
“He did not!” He laughs, slapping the water.
“Oh, he did. I can still feel the burn in my mouth from his chili strawberries all these years later whenever I think about it.”
“So do you like real chilies and strawberries?”
“Strawberries, yes. Especially a strawberry margarita. But you can stick chilies up your ass.”
“That might burn,” he throws back at me with a chuckle.
“Not my ass, therefore, not my burning problem.”
“Harsh.”
“It’s not harsh, it’s the truth,” I tell him matter-of-factly.
“Touché. I do believe we have one more question each.”
“We do, so, hit me with your final question.”
“Hmmmm, let me see … favorite sexual position?”
“Of course you’d ask that,” I reply with an eye roll.
“You stated at the beginning that nothing was off-limits.”
“Well, that just bit me in the ass.”
He laughs and takes a sip of his water. He switched from beer to water about five questions ago. Me? I’m still on the White Claws but I think I should switch to water because I’m feeling lightheaded and a little tipsy.
“Position?”
“Cowgirl,” slips out before I have a chance to hold it back.
“So you can take the girl out of the country but you can’t take country out of the girl?”
“I’m not country,” I reply, splashing him.
“Lockhart Falls by all definitions is a country town.”
“Touché,” I throw back at him. “Now, it’s my turn.”
“Hit me.” He leans back in his seat, lifting his arms out and resting them along the edge.
My other questions were all safe ones. Like favorite color—black. Summer or winter—both. Sweet or savory—sweet, no surprises there. So, for the last one, I’m gonna go deep. “Why did you sabotage your relationship with Chelsea? You two were the sweetest couple and then?—”
Before I can finish my sentence, he’s standing up and glaring at me. “None of your fucking business,” he hisses and without another word, he’s out of the tub and storming away from me. The door inside slams shut, and I can hear him stomping down the stairs, and then another door slams.
Dropping my head back, I stare up at the dark sky. “Fuck,” I mumble. That one question ruined what was turning out to be a great afternoon.
Climbing out of the hot tub, I grab my towel and wrap it around my body. Picking up the empties, I drop them in the trash and then I head inside.
The door to Stefan’s room opens, and he’s dressed in jeans and a button-down. His hair is styled in that messy on purpose way. “You’re going out?” I ask.
“Yep,” he says, letting the ‘p’ pop. “Don’t wait up.”
Before I have a chance to reply, he’s off. “Fuck,” I hiss.
Racing down the stairs, I head into the garage just as his G-Wagon screeches out of the driveway, narrowly missing a car already on the street. Running out to the road, I stand there in my towel and watch him fly down the pavement until he turns onto a side street.
Heading back inside, I grab my phone and dial Tania to give her a heads-up that I fucked up and Stefan is probably gonna do something stupid. She tells me it’s not my fault but no matter what she says, it is my fault. I pushed him too far with that question and really, it’s none of my business. What happened between him and Chelsea is exactly that, between him and Chelsea. If Joe from down the road did that to Mary-Beth no one would give a shit, but because Stefan is an athlete and in the public eye, everyone feels like they’re entitled to know everything about his life.
And we aren’t.
Heading up to my room, I take a shower and slip into a pair of yoga pants, a white tank, and my fluffy slippers. I hate walking around barefooted, and these slippers are like a second skin. If I could wear them out of the house I would, but slippers are for inside use only.
The doorbell rings and I jump ten feet in the air before I call out, “Coming.” Not that they’ll hear me, this place is soundproofed like a recording studio.
Heading downstairs, I smile when through the glass entrance windows I see Tania standing there. When she sees me, she gives me her megawatt smile and holds up her hands. She has a bottle of wine in one hand and a bag of takeout in the other.
“What are you doing here?” I ask her as I open the door.
“Stopping you from blaming yourself.”
“I’m—”
“Don’t even try to deny it; it’s written all over your face.”
A laugh escapes me and I shake my head. Stepping aside, I usher her inside and she whistles as she takes in Stefan’s place. “Fancy,” she singsongs. “Clearly I’m paying my players well.”
“I’m not complaining. The view certainly makes up for my roommate.”
She laughs and goes about opening cupboards till she finds the wine glasses. Opening the bottle, she hands me a glass and pours another for herself. Raising her glass up, she makes a toast. “To kick-ass women and the men who need said kick-ass women to keep them in line.”
Tapping my glass against hers, I nod, mumble “Cheers,” and take a sip. Closing my eyes, I savor the flavor and let out a moan.
“Shall I leave you and your wine alone?” Tania teases.
“If you leave the bottle on your way out, sure, but I would much rather hang with you.”
“Good answer.”
Tania and I have an amazing night. Stefan never returns, and for the next week, I don’t see him at home … but I do see him in the tabloids.