Chapter 9 #2
“But you felt it was necessary to mention it,” he said, pushing.
Wren looked at the whiskey shots, picked one up, and waited for him to do the same.
They clinked glasses, and she threw hers back like a pro.
He followed, enjoying the warmth of the whiskey and, despite their current conversation, being here with her.
Nothing about his vacation to H-Town was turning out the way he expected, and he’d surprised himself by going with the flow.
He wasn’t a go-with-the-flow type of guy and probably wouldn’t be after the summer was over.
But for the next few weeks, during this time where he owed nothing to nobody, he’d let things evolve…
Wren’s eyes skittered off his, and she rolled her beer bottle between her hands.
“I admit that the chemistry between us is hectic,” she said, and he knew there was a big but coming.
“But fairly recently, I thought I was getting into one thing with a guy and ended up instead in a situation that exploded in my face. And it happened because I didn’t set any boundaries. ”
“And you’re worried you might do the same thing to me?” he asked. He turned, put his leg on the other side of the bench to look at her profile square on. Wren echoed his actions, and they locked eyes.
“Yes.”
He appreciated her simple answer, her lack of hedging.
Dane thought for a minute, wondering how to respond.
He’d avoided relationships for years now, and he had no intention of changing that habit now.
He knew himself well; in high-pressure situations, he could compartmentalize, perform, and stay hyper-focused, but love and a relationship meant dropping his shields, and he didn’t think he could do that.
Intellectually, he understood the rules.
His interactions with women needed to be shallow, short-term, and functional.
Because, at his core, he knew he couldn’t be left if he never stayed.
It had always made complete sense. But somewhere, perhaps between ordering a Witch’s Cold Shoulder and embarrassing himself trying to pop and lock, the rules had started to blur.
She pulled him in and made him want to stay.
For the first time in a very long time, logic wasn’t doing its job.
Feelings, he reminded himself, made him weak, and love was a distraction from duty. And he did see his job, even if his father didn’t, as a way to serve, as a duty. If not to his country directly, then to greater humanity.
But… But, as Wren stated earlier, she didn’t want more, or deeper. She was simply worried that he did. That he’d expect more, that he’d get hurt.
But if they were on the same page, both considering a fling, both uninterested in anything deeper, they could sleep together.
And when either of their times in H-Town was up, they could wish each other well and wave each other goodbye.
If they kept it light, kept it from getting messy, they could have a lot of fun.
And God, judging by her sad face and knowing how burned out he was, they could both do with some fun.
“Wren, what if we—” he started to speak, but his attention was caught by a compact, swarthy man at the entrance to the tent, his eyes impatiently scanning the tables.
The guy’s eyes bounced off them, jumped to another couple, and then returned to them …
no, they returned to Wren. Then he started to weave his way through the tables, another Wren-seeking missile.
“Are you expecting someone?” Dane asked, annoyed to be interrupted by this good-looking guy in a sleeveless tank and three-quarter denims. He moved like a dancer, and Dane somehow knew that someone from Wren’s professional life had caught up with her.
She frowned and turned. The instant she clocked the guy, all the color in her face drained away.
“Alex…”
Alex? Was that the guy whose heart she’d broken, the one she’d spoken about earlier? Or was this someone else? Whoever it was, he wasn’t someone Wren expected to see. Her hand went to her throat, and Dane rocketed up and instinctively put himself between her and the man approaching them.
To get to her, this guy would have to go through him. And that wasn’t going to happen.
* * *
Wren stared at Alex, her breath catching in her throat.
What the fuck?
Beyond shocked—what the hell was he doing here?—she couldn’t pull her eyes off his face. He looked exactly as he did a year ago, down to his designer dusting of stubble, his shoulder-length hair, the tank he always wore to show off his cut shoulders and arms.
“Wren, you’re here! I knew you would be,” Alex said, enthusiastically.
He lunged for her, about to scoop her up, as he always did, but Dane’s palm hit his chest, and he was stopped mid-flight.
She’d never seen that expression on Dane’s face before, and she hadn’t thought he could look so scary.
Alex lifted his hands and stepped back, his expression now wary.
“Hey, I’m an old friend of Wren’s,” he explained. “I just wanted to hug her, say hello.”
Dane widened his stance, and his expression didn’t lighten. “You happy to be hugged, Wren?” he asked, his voice silky but slightly menacing.
Wren released a long breath, conscious that they were attracting attention from the crowd in the tent. If she didn’t want a scene or to get the town talking, she’d have to accept his exuberant greeting.
“It’s fine, Dane.” She forced herself to meet Alex’s eyes, waiting for the hit of longing, the bolt of hurt to spear through her. Nothing happened. And when he hauled her up into his arms, she felt … well, shit … not much. Not as much as she expected to.
She awkwardly patted his shoulder with one hand, thinking that he felt less substantial than Dane, and that he didn’t smell half as good.
Pulling back as soon as she could, she pushed her hand through her hair and looked at him.
“You should’ve told me you were coming, Alex,” she stated, pleased her voice didn’t sound shaky.
“I considered that, but I didn’t put it past you to leave when you heard I was on my way,” Alex said. Wren saw the hurt in his eyes. “I told you I needed to talk to you, so how could you fucking ghost me? You’ve been doing it for weeks now!”
“Dude, watch your mouth,” Dane warned. She thought about explaining to Dane that Alex used “fuck” the way writers used “said” but decided to let it slide.
Wren looked at him, noticing that he hadn’t moved, and that his eyes were moving from Alex’s face to his hands still gripping her biceps.
Then Dane nodded to Alex’s hands. “Off.”
Alex immediately dropped his hands. “Seriously, we’re old friends—”
Dane finally looked at her, his winter-cold eyes connecting with hers. “Do you want to talk to this guy or not?” he quietly asked. “If not, we can leave.”
She was so tempted to let Dane walk her out of the tent. But because she could see the confusion in Alex’s eyes, and because she owed it to him to hear him out, she hesitated. They’d known each other for years; they’d been dance partners and collaborators. Best friends. She’d let him say his piece.
She folded her arms and rocked on her heels. “I think I need to talk to him,” she told Dane.
Dane nodded. His chilly eyes returned to Alex’s face, and he pointed to the seat on the opposite side of the table. “Sit over there,” he told Alex. “If you do anything to upset her, you will regret it.”
Dane squeezed her shoulder, gave her the smallest of smiles, and when Alex took his seat, he walked away. Wren fought the urge to call him back. Or to order another whiskey. She needed courage and didn’t know where to find it.
She rubbed her forehead with her fingertips, conscious of the headache pounding behind her eyes.
All she wanted to do was to go home, climb into bed, and sleep.
Or go to Dane’s home, climb into bed with him, and not sleep.
But, instead, she was being forced to face her past, her feelings, and her humiliation in the face.
“Why are you here, Alex?” And where was his fiancée?
Alex folded his arms on the table and rested his chin on his fist. It was, as she knew, his thinking pose, his I’ve got something on my mind pose.
“You look good, Wrennie.”
She couldn’t help the rush of warmth, the boost to her ego. This man had been the center of her world for a long time, and his opinion had been, rightly or wrongly, the one she listened to most. She’d once lived for compliments like that…
“Alex, you’re getting married in a few weeks, and you’re starting a new life, a new chapter. You’re in love.” Occasionally, she tortured herself by scrolling through his and Jess’s social media posts, where they looked like the poster couple for engaged happiness.
“I don’t think I am, Wren.”
She blinked. Had she heard him correctly? “What are you saying, Alex?”
“I asked Jess for some space, and we’ve postponed the wedding. I think I made a mistake, Wren. With you.” He pushed his hand into his hair and raked it back, a gesture she was so familiar with. He did it when he was feeling unsure, caught off-balance.
Not understanding, Wren forced herself to speak. “Again, what are you trying to say?”
His deep brown eyes, Latin-sexy, reflected his confusion and a healthy measure of regret. She wasn’t familiar with this version of Alex, humble and off-balance—she’d never thought he could be off-balance.
“Back then,” he said, “a year ago, you told me you loved me and asked me to choose you.”
She winced at the memory. Why was he here, in her town, bringing all of that back up?
“I think I chose wrong. I was wrong. I want you.”
Her heart bounced off her ribcage and plopped back down. Every atom in her body clenched, then froze. Her fingers on the beer bottle iced up, and her breath found itself stuck in her throat. She narrowed her eyes, hoping the action would make her see him more clearly, would make her see more.