Chapter 17
seventeen
. . .
Descending the hill took far longer than climbing it had, both because the slippery little stones were insidious and his motivation to put distance between himself and Evan was now lacking.
The look on Evan’s face when Nate had asked him to bring the boat toward shore had reminded Heath of the kids he knew who had less than ideal lives outside of school.
The grey pallor and vacant eyes. His shaking hands as he’d grasped the wheel.
What had caused the impossibly confident Evan Westin to shrink from something as mundane as pointing the front of a sailboat into a wide-open channel?
Not that he believed he could do better. His affection for sailors didn’t mean he made a good one. It just felt like something Evan would be all laissez-faire about. And just like that, the barbed wire atop the fence keeping his empathy at bay had rusted to powder, swinging his gates wide open.
“This changes nothing,” he muttered, cursing as his foot slipped for the umpteenth time. “The man has no interest in what you’re offering, and you will not be making an ass of yourself in front of all these people.”
“Who are you talking to?”
Heath leaped straight out of his skin as Evan caught up to him and easily kept pace.
“Myself, and I’ll thank you not to eavesdrop.”
“Don’t talk so loud then.”
Jesus, what had he heard? Wasn’t it bad enough he’d forgotten himself two seconds into applying sunblock and turned it into an erotic massage?
It was a miracle Evan hadn’t thrown him off the cliff for taking liberties.
Though he’d heard plainly his sound of discomfort when he’d all but grabbed the man’s ass.
Evan, the straight man he couldn’t stop thinking about, who would soon go back to his normal and entirely heterosexual life. He needed to get a grip, or their remaining time together would be agony.
“What will you do if Hannah’s on the return flight?” he asked.
Evan stumbled in the loose gravel and grabbed a low-hanging branch to remain upright. The glare he shot over made Heath wonder if he wouldn’t just drag him back up the hill for that well-earned tossing.
You should be so lucky.
“Uh, offer to trade my seat for standby on another flight?”
Why did that make him feel worse? Outing him as a bad person was supposed to make him feel better, dammit. Everything about their situation would be infinitely easier if Evan were the story’s villain.
“So you really are a cad?”
“Do you always talk like a character out of a classic novel?”
Heath knew he didn’t mean it as a compliment, but he preened anyway. “Depends on which one you have in mind. Say Bronte. I’ve always thought I could pull off Charlotte’s melodrama.”
“I’m pretty sure you surpass it.”
“That’s backhanded praise, but I’ll take it. And the answer is yes. I was reading by age two and never learned to stay in my lane. I love language. The more esoteric, the better. It’s a miracle I didn’t perish in a locker before high school.”
“So why am I a cad? Because I want to spare both Hannah and I an awkward time?”
“Because you could make it up to her on the return flight, but instead you’ll leave her wondering what she did wrong.”
Was it the suggestion he try again that tasted like castor oil, with a similar effect on his stomach? Or was it the sad acknowledgment he still felt responsible for all his own relationship failures? He suspected the answer was simply yes.
Before he could think any further on the matter, Evan grabbed his arm and spun him, pressing him against the trunk of a nearby palm. The entirety of his blood supply rushed from his brain to points south, and the way Evan leaned closer and stared him down only made it worse.
“Since you’re so intent on harping on this, allow me to clarify a few points.”
Heath’s knees buckled. The stern formality of lawyer Evan was already dangerously enticing, but coupled with the proximity—he felt lightheaded.
“Hannah was the initiator of both the bathroom and the future contact situations. Both times, she made it clear I was under no obligation to follow through. In fact, when we spoke at the airport, she straight-up admitted it would be a terrible idea for us to hook up. I agreed, and she gave me her number in case I ever wanted to grab drinks in town. I don’t, so I tossed it. ”
“Why would it be a terrible idea?” And why can’t you accept that you’ve hit rock bottom? Why must you commence digging?
“We didn’t have any chemistry.”
Heath barked a laugh. “Bullshit.”
“She’s gorgeous and sucks a mean dick, but there was no click.”
He fought against the image of Evan getting his cock sucked. Head thrown back, eyes closed, teeth chewing his luscious bottom lip. It was a dangerous fantasy, and one he should not entertain while the man himself was standing so close he could feel the heat pouring off his skin.
His voice was thick as he clarified, “No click?”
Evan shrugged and leaned closer, looking him over with heavy-lidded eyes. “Can’t you feel it when you have chemistry with someone?”
Heath nodded, certain he could feel every molecule in the universe shift with those eyes on him. If this was what it was like to have Evan Westin’s full attention, it was no wonder Hannah had been throwing her underwear at him. Chemistry be damned.
“Well, so can I, and it wasn’t there. Not with her.”
He’d forgotten about the fiancée. Forgotten that Evan hadn’t been a full twenty-four hours from the collapse of a relationship he’d expected to last forever. Of course he hadn’t felt a click. He’d been heartbroken. Probably still was.
In his own defense, remembering his own name was near impossible with Evan so close. One hand on the tree trunk at his hip and the other just above his head, Evan had him pinned. Their foreheads were a breath away from touching. So close that Evan’s breath tickled the fine hairs on his neck.
“I’m sorry about your wedding.”
Whatever he’d been expecting, the burst of laughter caught him unawares.
“Yeah, don’t be. I’m not.”
“You aren’t?” Dig, dig, dig.
Evan took several steps back and plunged his fingers into his hair with a growl.
“Not even a little. Not anymore. Lucy and I were together for a long goddamn time, and it clearly meant shit to her.”
“Maybe she just got cold feet? What if you reconcile?” Oh, for God’s sake. Give him some dynamite to blow a hole to the Earth’s core.
“Yeah, no. I can forgive a lot of things, but running off with another guy is a hard line.”
“Oh. Oh! Oh, shit.” She’d left him for someone else. She’d left him at the altar for someone else. That heartless bitch.
“If I’m glad for anything, it’s that she didn’t go through with it out of some sense of obligation. Breakups suck, but divorces are fucking expensive.”
“You mean emotionally expensive, surely.”
“That’s part of it, but you can lose your shirt if their lawyer is good enough.”
“It’s not a business deal, Evan.”
“Isn’t it? Let’s break it down.”
“That is—you can’t be serious. We’re talking about dedicating your life to someone you love. One rich asshole giving another rich asshole money so they can be extra rich assholes together isn’t even in the same league.”
Heath could read the pity in Evan’s smirk, but refused to bend. Life has a way of ruining everything eventually, but he wasn’t letting it take away his love of love. He would cling to that with his last breath.
“Of course it is. Think about it. The proposal is basically an exchange of currency to reserve an asset until the contract signing.”
“You did not just use asset in that context.”
He held up a finger. “Hypothetical, not literal.”
“Still…”
“Contract signed, you are now legally bound. No sending a breakup text at two in the morning from the stoop of a one-night-stand’s brownstone.”
“You didn’t…”
“Soooo, if either party decides the deal is no longer working to their benefit, you get to have quality time with everyone and their lawyer for negotiations. By which I mean arguing for weeks until one side gets sick of it and caves to whatever demand the other won’t budge on, which is typically more currency.
Deal reached, you divest and go your separate ways, and everyone avoids you at holiday parties, because once you get drunk, all you talk about is the greedy harpy who took your dog and penthouse. ”
Heath stared, unable to stop his rapid, incredulous blinking. “That’s not a country song I’m familiar with.”
Evan laughed. “I mean, obviously not every relationship is like that, just like not every business deal is. I’ve handled plenty of contracts that weren’t even a little sketchy. They’re just also less lucrative.”
“There are more things in life than money, Evan. I’ve met too many people who had it all and were still miserable to believe otherwise.”
“Lucrative doesn’t always mean money.”
“What’s worth selling your soul for if not money?”
He’d meant it as a joke, but Evan’s smile dropped. “They’d run out of booze at the resort before I could finish explaining.”
A shrill whistle echoed through the trees, and Heath sighed as the moment fell away. A few minutes in Evan’s company and he’d forgotten there were other people with them. If that wasn’t a bucket of red flags, he didn’t know what was.
Emerging from the foliage, they found the camp clearing emptied and spotted Olivia and Isabella swimming the picnic items back to the boat. Nate stood on the rear platform, alternating between hauling in the things and frowning at the horizon.
“Sorry to break up your fun. Heard from Marta, and we’re under a watch for some weather moving through. Need to head back a little earlier than planned.”
A knot settled into Heath’s stomach. “What sort of weather?”