Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Wade
“What the …?”
I squint into the bright light streaming through my window. I cover my face with the back of my hand and wonder why in the hell the sun is out so early in the morning.
Reaching out to my bedside table, I rough my hand around until I find my phone.
9:30 AM
“What?”
I sit upright, jolted awake by the time. And sun. And … Dara.
The side of the bed that I don’t sleep on is made—but not the way I do it. Even if I could justify that somehow in my mind, my body doesn’t lie.
Coconuts still scent the air. A strand of her hair shines against my white pillowcase. There’s a distinct red mark running down my forearm from her fingernail.
I rub my hand over my face and exhale sharply. It takes me a little longer than necessary to piece together the events of last night and to figure out what day it is.
Sunday.
I stumble out of bed, thrown by the late time, and step into the hallway. The house is eerily quiet. I’m not sure whether to call her name or just creep around like a nutjob looking for her.
I choose the latter.
The doors lining the hallway are all shut, so I go downstairs. There are still no sounds, no scents of breakfast, or any other indication as to where she might be.
I head to the kitchen, my hand clamped around the back of my neck, and stop short of the refrigerator.
A note is propped up against a box of donuts next to my coffee pot.
“What the hell?” I walk over and pick up a piece of Mason Architecture stationery from my office.
Good morning!
I had a ton of work to do today, and you were sleeping so peacefully that I didn’t want to wake you.
(Don’t be mad. You can’t be “late” on a Sunday.
Besides, you’re the boss.) I had my friend pick me up—but not before she grabbed some donuts for you.
(And me. And she ate two on the way over so there’s that.
Sorry. I’m friends with scoundrels. A scoundrel. One. I have one friend.)
Anyway, I had a very nice time with you yesterday. Thank you for stepping out of your comfort zone and showing me a (really) good time. Feel free to invite me to all of your family events from this point forward. Ha!
I folded your suit and my shirt from last night and set them on the sofa.
Also—you snore.
Xx,
Dara
I lift the lid of the donut box. Three donuts—one with a bite taken out of it—await me.
“Dara, Dara, Dara.”
The words echo through the kitchen. Somehow, it feels emptier than usual.
My feet smack against the hardwood as I wander into the living room. Just like she said, our clothes are neatly folded and placed on the end of the sofa.
I stand in the middle of the room. The space feels different. Maybe it’s that I’m seeing it midmorning—something I never do. I’ve never realized that until now.
I’m either in the office at this time of day or in my office here. Rarely, I’m with one of my brothers or having brunch with my mom, but I’m never here.
Is that weird?
Or maybe it’s because she was here.
My breath stalls in my chest as last night replays vividly through my mind.
Her mouth on mine.
The way she took what she wanted.
The way she let me take everything that I asked for.
“Damn you,” I say, collapsing onto a leather chair.
My head starts to throb as reality rears its ugly fucking head and settles in for the kill.
“What have I done?”
A zip of fear hits me so hard that I shift in my seat. The power of the memory leaves me reeling.
I don’t think about it often. I can’t.
The peace I woke up to is suddenly thrashed to the side with as much impact as the events of that night so long ago.
I squeeze my eyes shut and pull my mind back to the center. I focus on my breaths—in and out. In. Out.
“This isn’t that,” I whisper before inhaling again and then deflating my lungs slowly. “This is different.”
But it’s not.
I can look at other people and lie. I doubt that I’d be good at lying about things that matter, but I’m an expert in the field of lying to save someone trouble. And I can lie about my feelings—and make people believe it—with the best of them.
The problem is that I can’t lie to myself.
I’d forgotten what it was like to be with a woman. Not one as a means to an end, but someone you laugh with. Tease. Look forward to seeing again.
Someone you could imagine yourself potentially seeing every day for a long time.
And now? Now I remember. And I’m not sure I’m going to be able to forget.
My eyes open, and I glance around my living room. It’s everything it was meant to be. It’s stately and grand and, to the world, it was a sign that I’d made it. How could you possibly live here and not have your shit together?
It’s simple. You move in … and on.
But as I take in the pile of clothes, the spot on the couch where I kissed her last and then the chaise, I’m reminded of something else that I wanted at one point in my life. And I remember why.
For the first time in over a decade, I give myself a second—the briefest second in the history of mankind—to contemplate that kind of life again.
It makes me smile.
But I’m still too scared to hope.
Dara
“So did you sit on his face?” Rusti asks before stuffing the end of a donut in her mouth.
I gasp. “Russell!”
She rolls her eyes and carries her napkin to the trash can. Cleo trots behind her like the princess she thinks she is.
“What? I’d give you the sordid details of my sex life if you asked,” she says, leaning against the counter in my kitchen.
I turn my attention back to my computer and work on an image of a family of four.
“I don’t want that imagery of you or Zack,” I say.
“So did you?”
I look up long enough to give her a look.
“You’re an awful best friend,” she says.
“Why would you even want to know that?” I ask. “Like, fine—yes. At one point in the night, his face was between my legs.”
She squeals. Cleo yelps in response.
“And it was an absolute masterpiece.” My heart flutters as I giggle, ignoring the now-howling dog. “But I’m not sure why we need to discuss that.”
“Because I need to know how serious this is getting. Also, because I’m nosy.”
My gaze snaps right back to my computer.
What bothers me most about her innocuous question is that it bothers me. Plain and simple.
I’ve never been a person who gets weird about the status of relationships. Actually, I prefer there not to be a status more times than not as of late. Sticking labels on things you know from hello isn’t going to last seems … unproductive. Trippy. Dumb.
But this thing, whatever it is, with Wade, is anything but normal.
Rusti props her feet up on a chair and sighs. “So it’s that serious, huh?”
“No. It’s not serious at all.”
“Liar.”
I slam my computer lid with more disrespect than its price demands.
“Look,” I say, using my best stern voice, “I don’t know what it is. Okay? That’s why I called you this morning and left before he woke up.”
She narrows her eyes as if she’s deciding whether to believe me.
“What do you want it to be?” she asks.
“I don’t know.” Exasperation oozes from my words. “He’s not … He’s complicated.”
“They always are.”
I sigh. “I mean it, Rusti.” I try to come up with a way to explain it.
“Wade is … Wade. He’s calm and controlled, right?
But there’s a really sweet side of him too.
Like, for example, he has this little niece who’s just a doll, and she’s obsessed with him.
So I go looking for him last night, and where was he? Holding her while she slept.”
Rusti clutches her chest. “Aw.”
“I know,” I say. “And then last night, he took me down to his office and showed me some drawings he’d been working on. For me, by the way. But then we started talking about my grandfather and that whole mess, and he … he was sweet.”
“So do you think he likes you like that? Like could this be something between you?”
I laugh quietly—more to myself and out of disbelief than anything—and avoid Rusti’s gaze.
Do I think it could be something between us? I don’t know.
“You had all of these reasons why you weren’t doing this,” she says. “I’m just reminding you of that.”
“And you had all of these reasons you weren’t going back to Zack again too.” I lift a brow. “When is he coming over again?”
“He’s asleep at my house right now, but that’s not the point.”
I laugh.
“So this guy is worth you forgoing your whole spiel about how you needed to stay focused on yourself and tend to your healing heart?” She shrugs. “If you say yes, I’m in. But if you stutter around, I’m keeping him on as the DH.”
I furrow a brow. “A DH? What’s that?”
“Designated hitter. Zack loves baseball and has been teaching me stuff.”
“Okay.”
I get up from the table with nowhere to go. I meander around the table, around the kitchen island, and back to my chair again. It gives my brain a chance to think without Rusti staring at me.
Is Wade worth it?
He’s my catnip, for crying out loud. He’s all of the things I like in a man. But that also means it won’t end well because those men don’t settle down—at least not with me.
But there’s a little blossom of something, hope maybe, in my belly that makes me want to say yes—that he is worth it.
I think he could be someone who treats me with respect and kindness and fun.
And I think I could be a partner for him who thinks what he does for a living is cool, could support him, and remind him to ease up on himself a little bit.
And I wouldn’t mind riding his face regularly, either.
“What are you thinking about over there?” Rusti asks. “You’re blushing.”
I wave her off, and I certainly don’t tell her. Not that she doesn’t put two and two together, but I’m not saying it out loud. Because as soon as I do that, this thing with Wade will be over. I’m almost sure of it.
“Your phone is ringing,” she says, pointing at my vibrating device on the table. I pace over and pick it up. “Hello?”
“Hello, Dara.”
Wade’s voice is warm and smooth … and also sleepy. It fills me with the warmth of being in his bed with his arm around me.
“Good morning,” I say, feeling him out. “Did you sleep well?”
“Until nine thirty.”
I gasp like I’m shocked.
“Very funny,” he says. I know he’s smirking. “Thanks for the donuts and the note.”
I turn away from Rusti and grin. “Are you being facetious?”
“Me? Never.”
I laugh. “I’m sorry I snuck out. I didn’t want to wake you, and I had a ton of edits to do this morning and then a photo shoot tonight. It’s a retirement party or something, which is really odd to include a photographer, but whatever. They paid a deposit.”
The line goes silent.
“Wade?”
“Do you go to those things alone?” he asks, his voice hollow.
“Yeah. Usually.” I pause. “Why?”
He clears his throat. “I’m just curious. Is that safe?”
“I’ve done this for a decade, and it’s been fine. I don’t book things that feel off.”
I think he says okay, but I’m not certain.
“What are you doing today?” I ask, redirecting the conversation.
“Working.”
“You’re kidding! I’m so surprised.”
He chuckles. “Smart-ass.”
“Better than having a smart ass.” I run a hand along the curve of my butt. “Speaking of—my behind is a little sore from you smacking it.”
He doesn’t say anything. And as the moments pass, I start to flush.
Did I say the wrong thing?
Oh, hell. I just said that in front of Rusti, and she’s not going to let that go.
“Rusti is here,” I say. “I probably need to go and make sure your pal Cleo isn’t in my trash or something.”
“Sure. Yes. Of course. I just wanted to make sure that you made it home all right.”
My cheeks break out into a full-blown smile. “I did. Thanks for checking.”
“Have a good day, Dara.”
“You too, Wade.”
“Goodbye.”
“Bye.”
I end the call and turn around. Rusti is staring at me.
“Stop,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s just a … thing.”
She hums. “I’m sure.”
Me too.
I think.