We don’t even like each other half the time.
How far that is from the truth is almost laughable. I can admit that I have in no way been warm or fuzzy when it comes to Whitney, but that’s only because hating her is easier than wanting her.
And Iwanther.
Whitney is like a fever I can’t shake. A hunger I can never satisfy. I knew she would be, from the moment I sat beside her in Buddies’ bar. She had been wearing a pair of black ripped jeans that night. Her inky black curls were wild, spilling over her shoulders in a way that suggested she might’ve spent a few hours running her hands through it. Her full lips were painted red to match whatever top she had on. She smelled like cherry and something else I couldn’t forget.
I can’t remember her middle name or if she takes cream in her coffee, but I know exactly what it sounds like when she moans my name. How her eyes are hazel, but far more green than brown. How she likes tequila but can just as easily throw back a beer or whiskey. I learned a little from our late-night talk. About how she ended up in the bar and her childhood, mainly, but yet nothing of the small, forgettable details. Details I wanted to know so badly after just one night with her.
She was, and still is, intoxicating.
I’ve had plenty of one-night stands, yet this one was different. Whitney is different. But she cut it off, cutmeoff before I had time to fully process our night together. The sight of her in my clothes makes it all too easy to remember what that night was like. My walls crumbled the second she fell into my arms today, and I wanted nothing more than to take the burden off her shoulders. Even for just a second. Even if it means putting myself in a position where she's less than ten feet from me every second of the day.
Hell, I barely know her. I had zero clue she had a sister until Vivienne came barreling into town. As a new mom, she must have her hands full as it is. The least I can do is help. I would do it for anyone.
Besides, we're mature adults. So what if we had one night? We can be… friends.
No. We definitely can't be friends. More like... acquaintances?
If she can be indifferent, I sure as hell can, too.
“Yoo-hoo? Anyone home?” I blink, both memories and what’s to come fading as I swat Haden’s hand away from my face.
I scowl, which only makes the grin on his face widen. “What do you want?”
“Did you forget the part where I work for you?”
Sighing, I drop to a crouch, checking the fence for holes or weak spots while Haden hovers above me. “No, I did not forget. You’re late, by the way.”
He ignores me in typical Haden fashion, choosing to prop an elbow against one of the poles. “How’s Whitney?”
My fingers are still on the fence as the other hand, holding a fresh, white slab of wood falls to my side. I try to focus on the task at hand rather than turning around to pin Haden with a glare. I've been meaning to replace the rotting siding, I just didn't expect my stud to try and rush it before I got the chance. I suppose it was as good timing as any. This was a much better alternative to stress cleaning for my new house guest.
Obviously it didn't work as a distraction, though.
I wish I could say Haden's question caught me off guard, but it didn't. Mainly because I know exactly how he is. And if he thinks he's going anywhere near Whitney, he's out of his damn mind. “Why are you asking?”
She and Brinley just left to run some errands and pick up a few things they might need for the next few weeks. I told her to take at least a week or two to get settled before throwing herself into work. There’s no reason she needs to jump back into life after hers just came crashing down.
When I offered to go for her, she just stared at me until I was the first one to leavemyhouse. To say I’m in for a whirlwind of trouble would be an understatement.
It didn’t evade me that she left wearing my clothes.
He shrugs. “I’m friends with her sister.”
“Friends?” I scoff, dropping my hands and pushing up from my knees to reach my full height. Haden is older than me by a few years, and quite possibly my only friend. We met in our mid-twenties when I was out of town on business.
The man is all muscles, scars, and tattoos. I remember thinking the way he carries himself is so stark in contrast tohis personality. But each passing year I spend with Haden only confirms his happy-go-lucky exterior is more performative than anything else. His signature smirk is quickly replaced with a scowl, and from time to time, I catch his eyes staring off into space like he’s stuck reliving the same memory.
Vivienne seems to be the only one who brings out his fun side nowadays, but even she has her limits.
The idea of them being justfriendsis almost laughable. The way Haden says it makes me wonder if he even believes it. “Is that what you call it?”
The whole town knows about Vivienne and Haden. They’re not dating, but they sure as hell aren’t just friends. He doesn’t deign me with a response though, just gives me a half-assed smirk. But I know he means well. So, I just say, “She’ll be alright.”
I’m not going to say she’s okay, because it’s not my place. Anyone can take one look at the woman and see that she’s drowning. I don’t need to be the one airing her business. I move past him, and he’s quick to match my long strides. “Have you ever even been around kids?”
I’m not sure why, but the question grates against my nerves. So much so, that I don't care to dwell on how Haden figured out Whitney would be staying with me already. Word always travels fast in this town. I glance sideways at him, snapping back, “Haveyou?”
