Chapter 15 Wrenley
Wrenley
Remi flops onto the perfectly made hotel bed with a dramatic sigh.
Bed. Land. No movement, she mumbles into the pillow.
I set my suitcase down in the corner by the far bed. Not a fan of road trips?
I prefer when I drive, Remi says.
I shake my head.
Ruger isn’t a bad driver by any means, but I learned that Remi is definitely a back-seat one. The entire drive was a running commentary that went something like:
Remi: Curve.
Ruger: I can see it.
Remi: There’s a truck!
Ruger: In the other lane.
Remi: You’re going to kill us.
Ruger: I’m one with the road.
Remi: What does that even mean?
And so on and so on.
I nod. I think for the sake of all our sanity, you should drive back to Alpine Harbor.
Remi snorts. If you think Ruger is letting me touch his truck, you’re mistaken. She lets out another long groan.
I walk to the window. We’d left Alpine Harbor around four, and now it’s almost nine at night.
The sun set hours ago, which I found a little disappointing.
I love the way Anchorage is cradled by mountains.
It reminds me of Vancouver in some ways.
Neon signs glow against low-rise buildings, and streetlights cast pools of yellow light over the grid of downtown roads, and even though it’s nothing like Vancouver in scale, there’s a familiar energy to it.
I sigh, hoist my suitcase onto the luggage rack, and unzip it. Pulling out my toiletry bag and pyjamas, I look over my shoulder at Remi. Do you want the bathroom first?
She lifts her arm slowly and gives me a thumbs-down without lifting her face from the pillow.
I chuckle. Okay. I’ll be right back.
The moment I step into the bathroom, I nearly drop everything. Ruger obviously didn’t skimp. The space is stunning—sleek tile, a rainfall shower, and a free-standing tub that looks like it belongs in a spa.
I eye the tub longingly, but I’m too afraid I’d fall asleep and drown.
Instead, I brush my teeth, splash some water on my face, and change into my PJs—a white tank top and an old pair of Under Armour shorts that I’ve had since high school and had to be retired from public view years ago. I smile as I run my fingers over the old stitching I’d done.
When I walk back into the room, Remi’s standing at her suitcase, digging through it.
You good? I ask as I drop my clothes and toiletry bag.
Yeah, just looking for my shampoo, she says. I smell like my brother’s truck.
I wasn’t going to say anything, but…
Remi shoots me a playful glare. I chuckle.
Is the bathroom nice? she asks, returning to her search. Aha! She pulls out a Ziploc bag filled with travel-size bottles.
It’s more than nice. You should see the bathtub.
She raises a brow and crosses the room. A second later, she gasps loudly.
Oh my God, I’m definitely having a bath tonight. She rushes back and starts gathering everything she needs.
I think I’m going to go talk to your brother, I say.
Remi pauses. Why?
Yeah. Why?
Well, you have some writing to do, so I figure we could chat about what we’re going to get up to while you do that.
She seems to consider this for a moment, then nods slowly. Okay. Just don’t let him take you hiking. He’ll swear it’s a beginner’s trail, and before you know it, you’re walking along a narrow path with crevasses on either side, praying you don’t die.
Did that happen to you?
More than once, she says. I’ll knock on his door if you’re not back by the time I’m done making love to that tub.
Butterflies erupt in my stomach as I think about seeing Ruger. I’m not sure if it’s nerves or something else entirely.
And I’ll finally use the skills I learned in D.A.R.E if hiking is mentioned, I say, hoping the joke distracts Remi from any thoughts that I’m as excited to see Ruger as I am. Even though I just saw him like ten minutes ago.
What’s that?
Canada’s failed just-say-no-to-drugs program.
Ah, yeah, we had that too, Remi says. Except ours came with Nancy Reagan.
Fun, I say.
Remi smiles brightly, then heads for the bathroom while I slip out into the hall.
Ruger’s room is directly across from ours. I knock, heart fluttering with the hope he hasn’t gone to bed. The sound of the chain lock sliding free sends both relief and a fresh wave of butterflies through me. When the door opens, I choke on a breath.
I—um—
It’s hard not to stare at the V-cut of his abs since they point straight to something a fake fiancée should definitely not be thinking about. Warmth blooms low in my belly. I always knew Ruger had a good body—he doesn’t exactly wear baggy clothes—but seeing it in the flesh is a whole other thing.
And damn.
I want to reach out and trace the slab of muscle that is his chest. I want to see if his shoulders are as solid as they look. I want—
Are you okay? he asks. You’ve been standing there staring awhile.
I laugh a little too shrilly. Staring? No! Just… admiring a body that’s clearly lifted heavy things… and then put them back down… and followed the label instructions… you know… rinse, lather, and repeat.
He gives me a look like I’ve lost it.
You have a nice body. It’s just an observation. Totally objective. Anyone can see it. I know it takes a lot to look like— I gesture up and down his body.
Ruger raises a brow.
It’s not like I’ve never seen a muscular man before, I babble. If anything, it’s kind of boring, I’ve seen it so much. It’s just that usually there’s glass between me and the body. Like, you know, the TV screen.
Captain Skinny-Dick didn’t necessarily have a dad bod, but he definitely wasn’t Michaelangelo-level sculpted like Ruger.
Can we go back to what you think I look like? Ruger asks, eyes teasing.
I groan. Can you please put a shirt on?
Is my chest bothering you?
Right now? You in general are bothering me.
Should I apologize?
I sigh. Your sister is taking a bath. Can I just hang here for a bit? Clothes not optional.
He chuckles and steps aside, letting me in. His room is laid out like ours, just mirrored.
Bold choice picking the bed closest to the door, I say, climbing onto the already rumpled sheets.
Why’s that?
First one to get killed, I say, deadpan.
Ruger pulls on a T-shirt. It’s tight, grey, and not helping. He leans against the TV stand. I’m the only one in the room, so I’d be the only one getting killed regardless.
I open my mouth to reply, but all thought vanishes when I look at him again. The shirt clings in all the right places.
Ruger crosses his arms. I thought we were hanging out fully clothed.
Aren’t we?
Ruger points at me. Full transparency—your nipples are visible. Pun intended.
I gasp and wrap my arms around myself. Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Why didn’t Remi tell me?
He chuckles and tosses me a sweater from his suitcase.
I tug it on quickly. Bad move. Being surrounded by Ruger’s scent seems to be making my nipples more prominent, and I can see their peaks through his thick sweater.
If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.
Silence falls. He drums his fingers on the TV stand. I bite my bottom lip.
So, what brings you across the hall? Ruger asks.
My brain is blank.
I know I had a reason, but now that I’m here with him, I realize that the reason is just that I want to be around him.
Um… Think, Wrenley, think. No! Not about his abs! Plans! I say so loudly Ruger startles a little.
Plans?
Yeah, like what are we going to do while Remi works? I say. I bite my lower lip, regretting how enthusiastic that came out.
Ruger smiles. I have some ideas.
Care to share them? I’ve heard to avoid hiking with you.
Ruger shakes his head. Remi overreacts.
It sounds like you were leading her to her death, I say.
She’s an experienced hiker, he defends himself. We used to go up in the mountains for sheep and goat all the time. She just doesn’t do it anymore.
I think I’d still like to skip any hiking, I say in a teasing tone.
He sighs. Fine, I’ll strike it off the itinerary.
Thank you.
We look at each other for a beat too long. Every nerve inside me sparks.
I’m gonna use your bathroom, I blurt.
Sure.
I don’t need to pee. I just need to escape his eyes and what they’re doing to my panties.
As I stand, I trip over my feet and fall—at least, I start to. A warm wall of fabric-covered muscle meets me.
Whoa there, young gazelle, Ruger says, grinning.
Our faces are close. The desire to close the short distance between our lips is tempting.
My eyes are transfixed on him as his are on me.
I trace the seam of his mouth with my eyes, and a shiver racks my body as he reaches out and, to my surprise, runs his thumb along my lower lip.
His other arm is still wrapped around me.
We’re pressed together, every inch of me tuned in to every inch of him.
Wrenley. My name sounds like a wish on a tongue.
He exhales like he’s letting go of something he doesn’t want to.
I open my mouth to speak—to ask him to kiss me, please—but—
—a knock on the door ruins everything.
Ruger reluctantly lets me go and strides over.
I try not to collapse from sensory overload.
I can still feel his hands on me, and my skin prickles where his fingers pressed.
Moments like this make it hard to differentiate between performing for everyone else and whatever just happened between us.
When there’s no audience and he looks at me like that, it makes me wonder if he wanted it just as badly.
That was a fast bath, he says when he opens the door.
I couldn’t figure out the nozzles, and I’m too tired from being on edge while driving with you, Remi says as she steps into the room.
Ruger rolls his eyes.
Why do you look so frazzled? she asks, looking directly at me.
I’m not! I protest a little too quickly.
She raises a brow. What are you doing in my brother’s sweater?
I look down at myself. Oh, uh—
I could see her nipples, Ruger says like it’s a completely normal thing to see.
Remi blinks. I don’t know if I should be disgusted because that came out of your mouth or tell you you’re damn lucky to have seen my best friend’s glorious tits.
Let’s go with neither, I mutter. And maybe ask why you didn’t tell me?
Remi shrugs. I didn’t notice. I was too busy trying not to orgasm looking at a tub.
Ew, Ruger says. Well, I need to wash my brain out, so maybe let’s call it a night?
He looks at me, and for a split second, I wonder if he’s hoping that I say no. If he’s just trying to get rid of Remi so we can finish what we started.
But Remi is fast to take him up on ending the evening. Great! Let’s go to bed.
With my back to Ruger, I pull his sweater over my head, breathe in one last hit of pine, and drop it on the bed.
Thank you for your— I look at his sweater. —hospitality. Good night.
Good night.
Weirdos, Remi mutters as we cross the hall.
As soon as we enter the room, I quickly crawl into my bed and pull the blankets up, trying to force my brain to stop replaying what happened between Ruger and me.
Remi turns off the light, and then there’s the rustle of blankets as she gets into bed without saying anything while I keep my eyes fixed on the ceiling.
Wren?
I turn toward Remi. Yeah?
She looks a little nervous.
What is it? I sit up a little more.
Remi doesn’t say anything right away, and the lack of her saying anything makes my heart kick. Have you and Ruger… done anything? Like things you and I wouldn’t do. You get me?
Relief rushes through me. She’s not asking the real questions I’m terrified of like, Do you like Ruger as more than a fake fiancé? Or Are you harbouring a secret desire to stick your tongue down my brother’s throat?
No, I say honestly. Just friend stuff.
Okay, Remi says, though her voice sounds anything but convinced.
There’s a beat of silence.
You’ll tell me if you do, right?
Sure. But it won’t. I’m not here for romantic love or sex.
I’m here for my career. Though this non-sexual-fake-relationship thing is starting to feel impossible.
I can’t help wondering what would’ve happened if Remi hadn’t interrupted us, because I know I wouldn’t have stopped anything.
He could’ve kissed me, pulled me closer, taken me to his bed—I would’ve let the moment take us anywhere.
Okay. And Wren?
Yeah?
Please never use the word sex when talking about Ruger again.
I chuckle. Fine. Good night.
I roll so my back is to her bed and pull the covers up to my chin.
Ruger and I almost kissed. Guilt twists through me. Remi is my best friend, and keeping something from her feels wrong, especially when that something involves her twin brother.
But what am I supposed to tell her? Hey, remember when you walked in? Your brother and I were maybe a half second away from making out. At least I think we were. He might’ve been examining my pores. Who knows?
All I know for certain is that Ruger was close enough to kiss.
The thought lands in my stomach, causing an eruption of butterflies that almost hurt.
He was so close I could count the freckles across his nose and breathe in his woodsy scent.
The memory makes my pulse go completely off the rails, and I bury my face deeper into my pillow, willing my brain to think about anything else.
This has to be the proximity. A perfectly normal response to spending a month with an attractive man.
Because the alternative feels far too complicated, and my life is already complicated enough.
At some point, this arrangement ends. Marriage papers will be replaced by a divorce petition.
One of us will have to walk away, and the last thing I need is to start wishing that day never comes.