Chapter 7 #2
I drop my hands and glare. “Do you seriously not have work to do?”
“I do,” he says, shrugging easily. “But this is way more entertaining.”
“Go away, Axel.”
“Can’t. Now I’m invested.” He kicks my door shut and then pulls up a chair across from my desk and drops into it, arms crossed over his chest. “So, are we gonna talk about the fact that you were seconds away from sucking face with Scotty Bescher in broad daylight, or should I guess how far it’s already gone? ”
I point at the door. “Get. Out.”
“No.”
“Nothing happened,” I say defensively.
He just grins wider. “We’re triplets, Adrienne. You can’t lie to me. I know that look.”
I sigh, defeated. “Fine. We kissed, okay? Happy now? Is that what you really want to hear about your sister?”
Axel doesn’t even blink. He just laughs, loudly, like I just confessed to peeing my pants in public.
“Oh, come on,” I say, frowning. “That’s your reaction? Not outrage? Not, ‘stay away from my sister or else’?”
He shakes his head, still grinning. “Adrienne, it’s Scotty. You and every other woman in this town have kissed Scotty at some point. I’m pretty sure it’s a local rite of passage.”
My jaw drops. “Excuse me?”
“Relax,” he says, chuckling. “He’s always been like that. A flirt. A player. I thought you knew.”
I narrow my eyes. “I thought brothers were supposed to be pissed about this kind of thing.”
“If I tried to police Scotty’s love life, I’d be at it full-time.” He leans back, hands behind his head. “And if I ever tried to tell you what to do?” He laughs and shakes his head, “We both know how well that would go over.”
“Well, either way, it’s none of your business where it’s been or how far it’s gone or might go.” I sound like I’m ten years old again, arguing with him over something trivial.
“Trust me, don’t take him too seriously.”
His words hit like a slap. I try to laugh it off, but something inside me pinches tight. “Right. Because it’s just a stupid crush, right?”
Axel’s grin softens a little, but he doesn’t back down. “Come on, sis. It’s not an insult. You’ve had a thing for him since forever. You get this look every time he’s around, like you’re about to fall straight into something you can’t handle.”
“That’s dramatic.”
“It’s accurate,” he says, leaning forward on his knees. “Look, Scotty’s a good guy, but he’s complicated. He doesn’t do the whole hearts-and-flowers thing. You already know this. You deserve more than being another chapter in his never-ending story of women.”
I stare at him, forcing a laugh. “Thanks for the pep talk, bro.”
He shrugs. “Just saying. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“Well, it was just a kiss, and like you said, apparently every other woman in town has kissed him too. You’re overreacting,” I say, trying to sound bored, but my voice cracks halfway through.
Axel tilts his head, watching me too closely. “Yeah?” He says it like a question, but I don’t offer an answer. I just let the unknown hang between us.
For a second, neither of us speaks. Then he pushes up from the chair and gives me a crooked grin. “Anyway, lunch later? I’ll bring something from the diner. You can tell me more about how this isn’t a big deal.”
“Get out,” I mutter again, but my lips twitch.
He laughs on his way to the door, tossing a wink over his shoulder. “You’re blushing again.”
Maybe he’s right, maybe everyone’s right. Maybe it’s just a crush. An itch I need to scratch. Something I’ll get out of my system and move on from… but the way Scotty looked at me in that hallway sure as hell didn’t feel like one.
The door clicks behind Axel, and I sag into my chair like someone’s pulled the air right out of the room.
The laughter fades down the hallway, but his words stay like sharp little splinters I can’t shake.“He’s always been like that. A flirt. A player. Don’t take him too seriously.”
Easier said than done.
I stare at the screen, the cursor blinking over some clause about liability, but the only image in my head is Scotty’s hand on my waist. The warmth. The way his thumb brushed my skin, slow and certain, like he’d done it a hundred times in his head before daring to do it in real life.
My heart flutters.
God, I hate how just thinking about him does this to me.
How my whole body remembers the feel of his breath against my mouth, the smell of oil and soap and heat. The low growl of his voice.
I squeeze my eyes shut, but that just makes it worse. I see him instead—the garage light painting his shoulders, the tension in his jaw right before he kissed me. That careful, devastating first brush of lips. The sound he made when I opened for him.
I grip the edge of the desk, breath unsteady.
It’s stupid, this obsession. I tell myself it’s just physical, years of built-up tension, proximity, nostalgia, but the second I picture his face, the thought burns through every excuse I’ve made. Because it isn’t just physical anymore.
It’s the way he laughs with my brothers. The way he still opens doors even when I tell him I don’t need him to. The way he looks at me like I’m more than just another notch in his belt.
Axel’s wrong about that. I am different than the others.
And worse, so much worse, I can see it. The future my brain shouldn’t even be imagining: mornings at our kitchen table, grease on his forearm and coffee in his hand; his truck parked in my drive; a kid with his eyes and my temper running barefoot through the yard.
My stomach flips, panic tightening in my throat.
What are you doing, Adrienne? You don’t even know if last night meant anything to him.
Axel’s voice creeps back in, smug and knowing. “You and every other woman in this town.”
I shove the contract aside and press the heels of my palms to my eyes. “It’s just a crush,” I whisper to the empty office. “It’s fine. You’re fine.”
But it doesn’t feel fine. It feels like falling face-first into something I swore I was too smart for.
By the time the building empties out, the sun’s slipped behind the ridge, leaving the office washed in orange light. I should go home. I should eat something that isn’t sugar or caffeine.
Instead, I pull up the same document I’ve read three times and pretend to work while my mind runs loops around the same question: what if Axel’s wrong? What if Scotty isn’t the guy everyone assumes he is?
But then, I can’t help but wonder… what if he is, and I’m just willfully ignorant, setting myself up for failure?
The thought twists in my chest like a dull ache. I hate the way it makes me feel small, like I’m already the next name on some invisible list of women he’s charmed and left behind.
When I finally shut down my computer, the clock says almost nine. The parking lot’s empty, the world quiet.
I should turn right. Head toward town. But my hands move before my brain decides, guiding the wheel toward the long back road that snakes past Scotty’s place again.
It’s a bad idea. I know it’s a bad idea.
But I tell myself it’s just curiosity. Maybe he’s sitting on his back porch right now, wondering the same questions I am. Maybe I just need to see him and get this stupid tension out of my system.
His house comes into view, but it seems like no one's home. The porch lights off, windows dark. No movement. No shadowy figure under the light, bent over an engine, or silhouette behind the curtain.
My chest sinks.
He’s probably still at the garage, working late. That’s what he does when he’s thinking, he stays busy just like me. Keeping his hands full so his heart doesn’t have to be.
But another thought slips in, uninvited: Or maybe he’s out with someone.
I hate how quickly that thought comes to mind, even after he told me he wasn’t on a date the other night.
Without thinking, I swing my car around and head toward town. The road hums under the tires, the air thick and heavy through the cracked window. By the time I reach Main Street, my pulse is racing again.
The garage sits dark at the edge of the lot, bays shut, lights off. Empty.
My stomach sours.
He’s not home. He’s not here. So where is he?
A bitter little voice whispers back Axel’s laugh from earlier.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, jaw clenching. “Get a grip,” I mutter. “You’re not some teenager stalking the boy who kissed you behind the bleachers. This is weird, time to go home.”
But it doesn’t stop the ache building behind my ribs.
I tell myself I just wanted clarity. To talk. To say, hey, last night got a little out of hand, and we can laugh and shake it off, go back to being normal… unless of course, he wants more.
That’s all it is. Setting the record straight.
Except I don’t believe myself.
Because if I really wanted closure, I wouldn’t still be sitting in a dark parking lot, staring at the place where he isn’t with my heart pounding, stomach twisting, wishing he’d come out of the shadows and look at me the way he did last night.
I force a breath, shift the car into gear, and turn back toward the road.
The town falls away behind me, the night pressing close and quiet. I should feel lighter for deciding to let it go. But all I feel is the hollow ache of wanting something I’m not sure I should.
And by the time my porch light comes into view, I already know I’m not done.
I’m going to see him. One way or another, this thing between us, whatever it is, needs to be said out loud. Even if it breaks the damn friendship rules.