30. Sloan
SLOAN
“So . . . your roommate,” Delilah said, rinsing out brushes in the sink adjacent to the one where Sloan was washing palettes. “He’s pretty hot. Is he single?” She gave Sloan a knowing look, like she knew exactly just what that answer would reveal.
“As a matter of fact, he is single,” Sloan said with a smile.
“Oh, but you’re blushing anyway. Why? Because I said he’s hot? He is and you know it. He can’t paint, but he’s very easy on the eyes.” Delilah shook a handful of brushes out and laid them flat to dry on a dish rack beside her.
Stupid red cheeks. “I am not blushing. It’s just warm in here.”
“Here’s a silly question. You two aren’t dating now, but were you dating a few months ago when your name was splashed all over the news?”
“Kyle and I haven’t dated since I was a freshman in college, or been together romantically in any way since then.”
Delilah’s dark brows came together, drawing Sloan’s attention to the piercing on her right brow. “Why do you sound strangely evasive?”
Sloan set a palette on her dish rack and started rinsing another one, her eyes focusing on the swirl of colors going down the drain—pink and blue, white and yellow, all mixing to make the water greenish.
“I signed an NDA with my ex,” she said softly.
“I can’t really talk about what happened in the news. ”
“Oh, the plot thickens.” Delilah cocked her head to the side. “You know my curiosity is burning now, right?”
Sloan gave her an apologetic grin. “Well, unless you can pay me the money I’d lose if I break the NDA, I can’t say anything else.
” Margaret Klinefelter had drilled that in Sloan’s brain when they’d been dealing with that whole NDA thing.
As much as Sloan didn’t want to remember that, a part of her also couldn’t remember some of it.
In the days and weeks that had followed the fallout of her breakup, she’d been numb at times, apparently blocking out some of those long days with her lawyer.
“So, you’re not dating . . . yet. But, obviously, he still has some feelings for you, or he wouldn’t have shown up here tonight.” Delilah straightened, then grabbed a rag to dry her hands.
Feelings for her?
Truth was . . . she couldn’t quite get a read on what Kyle felt for her.
Even when she tried to flirt with him—like that entire drunken embarrassing episode in the hallway the night before—he didn’t respond.
“We’re just friends,” she said simply.
“Said with about zero conviction.” Delilah hung the rag back up.
“I hurt him pretty badly in college.” Sloan finished the last palette and set it on the rack. “I dumped him my freshman year. So, I can’t say I blame him if he doesn’t want to rekindle things.”
“Yes, but do you want to rekindle things?”
“I—” Sloan turned to look at Delilah, faltering. She swallowed hard. “I don’t really deserve him.”
“Oof.” Delilah grimaced, setting a hand over her heart.
“Sweetie, I know we’re just starting to get to know each other again, but I’m going to tell you right now—I don’t allow that sort of talk in my shop.
I’m a bit of a girl’s girl. So, unless you killed Kyle’s family or something, I’m going to say you’re absolutely, completely wrong. ”
“But I—”
“No, I’m serious. What? Did you cheat on him? Not that I give cheating a pass, because I really don’t, but even if you did, you do really stupid things when they’re eighteen.”
“I didn’t cheat on him.” Sloan turned her back to the sink, amazed that Delilah was so good at getting her to talk about this. Maybe because they’d been friends once but, Sloan felt a kinship with her. “My mom died . . . and I spiraled.”
Delilah raised her brows. “And you’re holding yourself at the level of don’t deserve him because of that?” She frowned, deeply. “It sounds like you haven’t forgiven yourself, not like you don’t deserve him.”
“Yeah, well”—Sloan shifted, feeling defensive, but she tamped it back down—“he helped me over the winter. Ended up in news. It ruined his career.”
Heading toward the front of the shop, Delilah shrugged. “So, help him fix it. I’m not trying to make light of it, but if he knew the potential consequences and helped you anyway—and he clearly is over it, or he wouldn’t have been here tonight—then just do what you can to help him fix what he lost.”
If only it were that easy. Sloan went to the cubby where she’d stored her things, her heart heavy.
This time she didn’t answer Delilah right away, because the nerve she’d hit was far more raw.
Kyle hadn’t known about the potential consequences.
Neither had Sloan, really. She’d never imagined Evan would be such a heinous jerk.
And the truth was, she and Kyle hadn’t talked about the consequences for him .
If Kyle hadn’t left—if he hadn’t been in the hospital getting his body sewn back together—maybe they would have been able to confront it together.
He’d been arrested . . . but his accident recovery had obviously taken priority .
. . and Evan just got away with inflicting maximum damage without consequences.
But she hated that she’d caused him hurt.
Sloan slung her purse over her shoulder.
“Hey, did Kyle’s niece leave this here?” Delilah held up a small purple backpack from the floor. “I bet she did. It was under a smock and close to where she was sitting.” She unzipped it and pulled out a well-loved stuffed unicorn.
She should call Kyle and ask about the backpack, but after the conversation she’d been having with Delilah, she needed a moment before she talked to him.
And he was probably still dropping off Tara anyway.
Crossing the room, Sloan took the backpack from Delilah.
“I can take it and ask him. And if not, I’ll just bring it back tomorrow. ”
“Sounds good. Great job tonight,” Delilah said, then held out an envelope. “Here are your tips for the evening.”
Tips? Sloan grinned and took the envelope. A simple thing, but it made her giddy.
See? I can do this. I can earn money on my own.
She left and hurried out to the car, which unlocked as she neared it.
As she started the car, a mixture of emotions washed over her.
Tonight had been oddly . . . freeing. Affirming in a way that she hadn’t expected.
And Delilah was awesome. How many other people were out there, like her, could Sloan have been friends with?
Even if she’d never given them a second thought.
And Kyle . . .
Kyle had shown up.
She hadn’t asked him to, and he’d come anyway. To be honest, she’d been a little embarrassed when she first saw him in the paint shop, but he was so easy to be around that her hesitation had faded quickly.
Because that was Kyle. Warm, steady—a real friend.
Someone she could be herself around.
Who accepted her as she was, flaws and all.
And even though she didn’t want to keep comparing the two, she couldn’t imagine what Evan would have said if she’d come home and told him she was getting a job at a local paint and sip in Bozeman.
He would have said absolutely not.
And if you’d gone through with it—which you wouldn’t have—he definitely wouldn’t have come to the first class armed with chocolate milkshakes.
Evan had been so arrogant. So elitest. Everything for him was about image and he’d wanted Sloan to fit into that picture-perfect, journalist-ready facade.
And when he was busy pulling her into his world, she’d felt like a princess. Grateful to be chosen.
So fucking pathetic.
She pushed Evan out of her mind, thinking about the blue-eyed boy who’d never demanded anything of her instead. Who’d never minded, even in high school, if she absorbed his time or hung out with him and his friends. Who had made her feel like a real part of his family.
But now . . . what did he want from her?
Friendship?
If she’d realized one thing, it was that Kyle had friends in spades. He didn’t need her friendship.
But he also didn’t seem to want something more, either.
He’d slept in her bed all night and not once had he sexualized it. He’d held her, yes, but kept his hands in all the “proper” places. Hadn’t been suggestive.
And, dammit . . . I slept so much better with him in the bed.
Having him there was better than any home remedy for insomnia. And I’ve tried many.
But she’d be a liar if she pretended it had been just about sleep. His proximity had made her horny, especially last night, when she’d been drinking.
And she’d woken up wet this morning, her mind wandering to memories that only made it harder to consider not crossing that line.
Maybe after what she’d done so many years earlier, she’d need to make the first move.
By the time she got back to the house, she was half-ready to jump him and see where it led.
But Kyle still hadn’t returned, so Sloan let the dogs out and then turned on the shower. She probably needed a cold one, really.
When she finished, she dressed in the T-shirt he’d loaned her the night before, but put on a cute pair of panties—just in case.
He had always said he liked seeing her wear his shirts, after all. More than the lingerie she’d bought to surprise him when she was younger. Not that she had any lingerie now. She’d thrown every last bit of it out after she’d left Evan, because the thought of wearing it for someone else felt gross.
Her heart beat harder at the thought of Kyle seeing her in lingerie.
Maybe I’m not ready for this.
She’d only been in town for a week. What if he turned her down?
Could she really handle something like that?
And . . . where is Kyle? She’d taken a long time in the shower and he still wasn’t back.
Going over to her purse, which she’d dumped on the bed when she got home, she pulled out her phone.
Oh shit.
Her gut dropped. Hard.
Five missed calls from Kyle.
Several texts, too.
She didn’t read the texts, dialing him immediately.
Kyle picked up on the first ring. “Hello?”
“Are you okay? What happened?” Sloan asked, sitting on the edge of her mattress. Charlie and Sadie both seemed to sense her distress and came padding over, chins on her bare thighs.