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I’m not confused. “Grabbing my wrists was a pretty clear indication you wanted me to stop.”
“That’s not what I mean.” He backs away and places his hands on his hips, shaking his head as he sighs loudly. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”
Those are words of regret. My heart plummets. “You wish you hadn’t kissed me.”
“I do but not for the reason you think.”
I wasn’t prepared to hear him admit it. That hurts. A lot. “We’ll pretend it didn’t happen.”
“There’s not even a remote possibility of forgetting that kiss when I look at you.”
If looking at me is a problem, it’s one I can easily fix. “Then I’ll leave tomorrow so you don’t have to look at me again.”
“You’re misunderstanding me. Exactly what I didn’t want.”
He talks in riddles. “Then set me straight. Because I am so confused about what the problem is.”
“I regret kissing you because it only makes me want you more. Which isn’t an option; you’re off limits to me.”
Off limits? “Says who?”
“Stout.”
I hold my hands out, palm side up. “News flash. Ollie isn’t here.”
“We had a conversation about you a while ago. He told me if you ever came to visit, I wasn’t to touch you. He was very clear regarding his feelings about it.”
That pisses me off so badly. I’m apparently the only one of us who believes in the adult sibling respect rule. “My brother doesn’t get a say in who does and doesn’t touch me.”
“He does when it comes to me; we’re business partners. If I start something with you and he doesn’t approve, it can throw a serious wrench in my working relationship with him.”
“You want to pretend we didn’t connect? That the kiss didn’t happen?”
He grasps the top of his hair and pulls. “Ugh. As much as I hate it, I think we have to.”
I’m a terrible actress. Always have been. “Then I should probably go home in the morning.”
“Don’t go, Wren.” I gloat inside . . . until I remember there’s no point in sticking around if I have to spend the day acting like I’m not attracted to him.
“I can do a much better job of pretending this didn’t happen if I’m four hundred miles away.”
He takes one step away and his hands go to his hips. He rocks back and forth on his toes and heels as a deep exhale leaves his chest. “I don’t want you to go but you’re right. Distance is probably best.”
I’m stiff as a board when I offer my hand. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Broussard.”
He takes my hand in his. “Nice? Sure. We can call it that.”
Lucas Broussard
The devil is perched on one shoulder whispering in my ear. What are you doing, stupid motherfucker? You had her shoved against the wall with your hands in her shorts. And she loved it. You could be between her legs right now if you’d played your cards right. But you didn’t. You took the pussy’s way out.
I’m pretty sure Wren was going to let me fuck her. And I walked away. She’ll never know how hard that was for me.
I did the right thing. I don’t question that for a moment. So why do I feel so miserable? Shouldn’t I be proud of myself?
The devil leans in closer to whisper in my ear again. You’re miserable because you’ll be jacking off tonight instead of fucking a gorgeous blonde. You should turn this car around and go back to her.
I would love nothing more than to say fuck it all and go back to Wren. When she’d open the door, I’d throw her over my shoulder and carry her to the bedroom. I’d toss her on the bed and worship her body from head to toe. I’d make her come over and over.
I really need to get home so I can take care of myself.
I look at my phone and wish like hell she’d text me.
Come back.
I don’t care what Ollie thinks or says.
I want you.
There’s not a bit of doubt in my mind. If she reached out to me, I couldn’t resist Lawrence Thorn again if my life depended on it.
A familiar ping alerts me to a new text.
Where are you? I need you.
Shit. There it is. A message from Wren. The very one I was hoping to get.
I’m ecstatic until my brain registers that she sent it to Stout’s phone. Not mine. Fuck.
I have to respond the way Stout would.
What up sis?
I’ve seen Stout call Wren sis and say this exact same thing in some of their older messages. Should be safe.
You told Lucas to stay away from me? Why?
Dammit. Why’d she have to ask that?
That damn little devil is still on my shoulder. She thinks the messages she’s receiving from this phone are from her brother. You can say anything and she’ll believe you. Take advantage. Let her believe she has her brother’s blessing.
I’ve been lying to Wren but it’s been nothing of any consequence. This is different. A serious kind of deceit.
He’s not for you.
It’s killing me to tell her that. But it’s what Stout would say.
How would you know?
Stout considers me a womanizer. He wouldn’t hesitate to tell his sister about that aspect of my life. But I can’t. I don’t want to paint myself in that light.
I know him and how he is. You don’t.
* * *
And I guess I never will. Thanks a lot Ollie.
No. I guess she never will know me or how I am. I’m a little surprised by how that makes me feel.
Trust me. It’s no great loss.
Sounds like a brotherly thing to say. I think.
I really like him.
She really likes me? Shit. Now I really want to turn this car around.
But seeing the proof of her liking me changes nothing. She’s Stout’s sister. He’s my partner. And she’s still off limits.
Don’t be mad.
* * *
I am mad. But I still love you. Good night. BTW I’m driving home in a.m.
I’ve shared more I love yous with Lawrence Thorn in the last couple of weeks than anyone else in my life. Ever. I thought the words would feel empty. They were intended for someone I didn’t know and from someone other than myself, although I was the one typing them. Oddly, I haven’t grown immune to them at all. I feel a little jab to the heart every time I tell her. And I think there may be a bit of a twist to the jab now that I’ve met her.
Good night. Love you too.
Oh, shit. W
ren doesn’t have her car. She’ll need a ride to pick it up in the morning. I’m the one who convinced her to leave it. Doesn’t that make me responsible for making sure she gets it back?
I have to text her. I don’t have a choice.
Call me when you’re ready to leave tomorrow. I’ll pick you up and take you to your car.
I get to see her one last time before she goes. That doesn’t suck.
Thanks but I know how busy you’ll be with the festival. I can call a cab. Probably easier that way anyway.
What’s easier? Alleviating the need for me to pick her up and take her to her car or her leaving without seeing me?
Please. I want to see you again.
I have never uttered, nor texted, those words to a woman. Ever.
A minute passes. And another. She must be thinking hard about her reply.
I’m planning to leave early. I don’t want to inconvenience you.
* * *
Early isn’t a problem.
* * *
Ok.
Those two letters make me extremely happy.
See you then.
The driver lets me out of the Suburban at the entrance to the festival. Plastic cups and napkins litter the grounds. Do people not know what a trashcan is for?
I find Porter and the Lovibond gang at our booth straightening the disarray. “Wow. This is a damn mess.”
“You missed the last-call rush. It was fucking crazy. Where’d you disappear to?”
“I had to take Lawrence to Stout’s apartment.”
Porter stops and stares at me. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. We’re all here working, and you’re off trying to get a piece of ass from our business partner’s sister?” I want to punch Porter in the face for talking that way about Wren.
