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Where was the snog his body had promised me?
I stumbled backward, bumping against my door. I put my hand on my cheek. It was hot enough to fry an egg on. “Is that code for ... masturbation?”
“Yes, Poppins. Yes, it is. See now?” Riggs tromped around the flat and grabbed his towel from the settee. “That wasn’t so har—fuckkkkk.” His toe smashed into the leg of the settee. I let out a surprised giggle. He was one of the most elegant creatures to grace the earth. Was he actually affected by this? By me?
The thought made me flush with pleasure. I couldn’t wipe the foot-long grin off my face.
“Everything all right?” I purred.
“Peachy.” He slapped the towel over his shoulder, marching to the bathroom. Nestled between his thighs was the barrel of a tank. “Never been better.”
I kept gawking at the spot where he’d been long after he’d closed the bathroom door.
One thing was for sure: I found my fiancé tragically attractive.
There was only one thing to do: avoid him as best I could and hope it’d all go away.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
DUFFY
Charlie was being weird during our weekly drink. Which wasn’t out of the ordinary. Charlie was always a bit of an oddball. It made us kindred spirits. But he never seemed so ...pokeybefore.
“So you and the photographer. Tell me all about it.” He brought his pint of Guinness to his lips. I pouted at my extra-dry martini accusingly. I didn’t evenlikemartinis. I wanted a bloody cider with a side of chips. I was just so used to being a cardboard copy of every attractive cultural cliché men were attracted to that I sometimes forgot to break character and be my true, authentic self.
“Nothing to tell,” I said firmly, shoving away all thoughts about last night’s almost-kiss and my almost-meltdown that followed it. Since therewasplenty to tell, I decided to go with a condensed version of the truth. I trusted Charlie. “We’re marrying so I can stay here.”
There. Out in the open. That wasn’t so bad, was it? Then why was pesky guilt nibbling at my gut, telling me I was a liar?
Charlie gave me the flat, unnerving stare of a headmaster who’s just been fed an emotional story about a dog who’s eaten one’s homework. “Yeah, I figured out that part pretty early on. But you guys are more than just friends, right?”
Were we even friends? It was hard to categorize my relationship with Riggs. Sometimes it felt like we were an actual couple. Other times, I swore the world wasn’t big enough for the two of us to coexist.
“I have a boyfriend,” I reminded him curtly.
“Ish,” he corrected, raising his Guinness in the air in a mock-salute. “And let’s admit it, he isn’t around to fight for your affections, is he?”
“No.” I swirled the untouched martini in my hand. “I don’t think he’s ever ...”Given a crap? Properly courted me? Not taken me for granted?“... done any of that.”
The more time passed, the less I remembered BJ as a well-rounded, three-dimensional person. I couldn’t explain it, really, but he was becoming more of a symbol. A prop in my seriously, and I meanseriously, messed-up book. It wasn’t a romance; I knew that for sure. Was it a thriller? A horror? One thing was certain—it wasn’t self-help.
“Now, I don’t know much about relationships, angel, but I do know this—love isn’t a privilege. It’s a necessity. You’re acting like you and Brendan can mend whatever’s been broken, but if I’m being honest ...” Charlie hitched a shoulder up, licking the Guinness’s foam off his upper lip. “I think you’re hedging your bet on the wrong horse.”
“There are no more horses in the race,” I reminded him. “The horse is more of a ... lone wolf?”
“There’s another horse,” Charlie countered.
Do you reckon?
“Riggs doesn’t even like me.” I studied Charlie acutely, desperately wanting him to dispute my theory.
“Oh, he likes you. He just doesn’t like coming to terms with liking you.”
“That is . . . very confusing.”
“All matters of the heart are.” He swept a finger along the edges of his pint, hunting for foam.
“Charlie, don’t be ridiculous. We don’t fit.”
