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I laugh as Dad jerks his head at Wyatt playfully, but before I can answer, my eyes catch sight of my worst possible nightmare.
“Annabelle! You didn’t!” I whirl to face her, my voice spitting out on a hiss. She looks shocked at my change in demeanor for a moment before she glances around and sees what drew my attention. Guilt washes over her features as she pales and stiffens in her seat.
Dad and the guys all glance between the two of us in confusion, at a loss as to what’s going on. I ignore them all. The racing of my heart makes it impossible to even consider anyone else’s needs at the moment.
“Kat, I swear I didn’t want to. Mom made me because she’s friends with his mom.”
“With no warning?!” I hiss and she winces as if slapped. A pang of my own guilt tries to rear its ugly head, but I beat it down like Whack-A-Mole.
“We didn’t think he would show–”
“I am literally going to k-”
“Kathy?” His voice sends a thick layer of ick rolling down my spine and I shoot ramrod straight in my seat. My glare is focused on Annabelle, and the apology in her eyes–while appreciated–does nothing to quell the sickening feeling in my gut.
“Kathryn, are you okay?” Wyatt’s large hand settles on my thigh, the heat of his touch seeping through my dress with ease, helping to center me and avoid the panic that’s hovering threateningly at the edges of my mind. I shoot him a tight smile, but the worry in his eyes only grows at the obvious fake-out that it is.
A clammy hand lands on the exposed skin of my shoulder and I shoot to my feet, dislodging the touch and jostling the entire table in the process. The noise attracts the attention of my many extended family members scattered throughout the dining area, but I pay them no mind. I’m quickly backing away from the ghost of my past that happened to choose the worst timing in the world to resurface in my life.
My fucking ex.
“Brody.” I steel my spine and lift my chin before finally turning to the devil himself.
Ugh, just looking at my hot mess of an ex is enough to make me want to gag. Sure, the man looks like a Greek God's wet dream. Over six feet of tanned, toned muscle topped with artfully tousled dark brown hair you might ache to run your hands through. His face is sharply sculpted, with chiseled cheekbones and a strong jawline covered in perpetual five o'clock shadow. His eyes are a piercing sky blue, framed by long, inky lashes that stared straight into your soul.
But as irresistible as Brody is physically, his personality leaves much to be desired. Behind those immaculately crafted features is a cocky, self-important asshole. The kind of guy who checks himself out in store windows and expects you to constantly compliment how amazing he looks.
Sure, he played the part to woo me in. Doting on me at first and saying all the right things. But it ended there. As soon as he had me, that all stopped.
He saw me as a trophy, not an actual girlfriend.
He took me on lavish dates but never bothered getting to know the real me. He didn't care about my hopes, fears or passions. And he certainly did not appreciate my quick wit or fiery spirit. No, Brody wanted silent, pretty eye candy on his arm, not a partner.
So even though being with him was once like a drug–an irresistible high–eventually his superficiality and arrogance became too much. No matter how breathtakingly hot he is, it wasn't enough. Because at the end of the day, his ugly personality ruined it all. While he was once able to make my knees weak with just a glance, now his cocky grin just makes me see red.
"Kathy, babe, long time no see," he drawls, raking his eyes over me in a way that makes me want to take a scalding hot shower. "Looking as hot as ever."
I fight the urge to sneer in disgust or–more temptingly–toss the contents of my coffee cup in his perfectly chiseled face. Brody always did bring out the more violent urges in me. Instead, I square my shoulders and meet his smarmy gaze head-on.
"It's Kathryn," I correct crisply. "And yes, it's been a while. A blissful while."
Brody has the gall to look wounded, clasping his hand over his heart. "Ouch, after everything we meant to each other, you're gonna be cold like that?"
Everything we meant to each other? Is he seriously trying to rewrite history now? I dated this emotionally-stunted man-child for two destructive years too long, before finally wising up. He never cared about anyone but himself. I clench my fists, anger and past hurt roiling inside me like a gathering storm.
But before I can spit out a scathing retort, Wyatt appears at my side, his sturdy presence instantly calming me. He slips his hand into mine and I revel in the strength I draw from his touch. "I don't believe we've met," Wyatt says smoothly, fixing Brody with a look that could freeze lava. "I'm Wyatt, Kathryn's boyfriend."
Something ugly flashes across Brody's preppy features before his smarmy mask slides back into place and he casts an amused perusal over Wyatt’s chicken costume. He knows what it’s for. I’ve told him the stories and it always bothered the hell out of him that I never invited him to family functions to be initiated. Not that he cared about being involved, he just cared about being excluded.
He never would have put the chicken suit on. His vanity would never have allowed him to. He would have thrown a fit and embarrassed me. The realization is another blow to my self-esteem. He was never good enough for me if I never wanted him to be a part of my family.
Brody plasters on an exaggerated smile and reaches out to shake Wyatt's hand. "Brody. Kat's ex," he emphasizes pointedly. "Good to meet you, man."
Wyatt's answering grip is vice-like. A primal part of me thrills at the show of masculine posturing over little ol' me. Brody tries and fails to hide his wince.
"Charmed," Wyatt replies dryly.
Just as Brody opens his mouth, likely to say something infuriating, Wilder sidles up on my other side. "Well hey there, fella," Wilder drawls, his southern accent exaggerated. Before I can react, he slings a casual, protective arm around my shoulders and tugs me in close to his side. "Name’s Wilder. Kat’s boyfriend."
