Page 67 of Filthy Twisted Devil

Eden

Don’t worry. I remember.

It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to send a filthy text in response to that. Eden and I have been dancing around our mutual attraction ever since we made each other come on her couch. Every time we touch each other these days, on purpose or by accident, we linger for far too long. Every goodbye feels charged, like we’re both waiting for an invitation.

I swore to myself that by tying Eden up, I’d keep us both from crossing a line. I failed. Spectacularly. We’re so far past that invisible line, I can’t even see it anymore. Of course, I don’t dare mention it. I’m not saying anything that might make Eden cut things any shorter.

Sighing, I put down the phone and look at my reflection in the gym mirror. I don’t look amazing. I’m sweaty from the workout, and unusually pale from being inside during the winter. My complexion isn’t helped by the heavy bags under my eyes. I haven’t been sleeping well recently. I toss and turn, wondering if Eden’s awake, too. Deciding whether to text her and find out. Wishing she could magically find her way into my bed.

It’s beyond pathetic.

My phone rings, and anxiety makes my heart pound when I see Eden’s name. The last time she called me, it was with the opposite of good news. She basically put dumping me on a timeline. What if she's calling now to move the date up? What if I'm going to be fired from being her boyfriend, effective immediately?

Of course, the desperate desire to hear her voice crowds out any fear of what she might actually say.

“Hey, Eden.” My voice sounds too goddamn chirpy. I lower it purposefully. “How are you doing?”

“I'm okay. Making spreadsheets, as usual. You?”

“Just finishing at the gym. You want a sweaty selfie?” I'm joking, but I'll do it, if she expresses a second of interest.

“I’m good, thanks. Actually, I have to ask you something. It's a little awkward.”

“What?” I ask instantly. I know already that the answer is yes. Any excuse I get to spend time with her, I’ll take. If she wants to try a new restaurant that exclusively serves smelly moldy cheese? I’m there. Does she need someone to recaulk her bathtub? I’ll help. Has she taken a sudden interest in square-dancing? I'll take lessons.

It's pathetic, but the fact is, I miss her. Since we don't have to pretend for our friends anymore, we have fewer reasons to spend time together. The most I get to see her most weeks is when we meet up for selfies. It’s hard to stretch that out longer than a few minutes.

“You don’t need to say yes, by the way,” Eden says. “But Wade wants me to come back to Sundre the first week of March to talk wedding logistics. He wants you to come with me.”

Thank you, Wade. I’ll send you crates and crates of my cherrywood whiskey. I’ll sign over half my business. Whatever you want as a thank you gift, it’s yours.

“He does?” I ask, trying not to sound too gleeful.

“He says it’s a good opportunity for you to discuss your whole grain deal. Really, though, I think he wants to suss you out. Figure out what your intentions are and all that.”

“What, Project Selfie wasn’t enough to convince him?”

“I don’t know. He hasn’t said anything suspicious. I just don’t believe for a second that he only wants you there to talk business. It’s also a lot of time away from work for you. I can tell him no.”

“Don’t. I want to go. Wade’s right, it’s good business for us to meet in person and for me to inspect the product. Unless you don’t want me to go.”

Eden sighs. “I mean, I’m not exactly excited to be constantly surveilled by my brothers for a few days. But if you could go, it would make my life easier.”

“So you do want me to go? Because you don’t exactly sound excited about it. I don’t want to buy a ticket just to watch you be miserable.”

“I wouldn’t be miserable with you,” she says, laughing. “I want you to come to Sundre, Luke. I think you’d like it. We might even have fun.”

“Then I’ll go.”

“Okay.” I can tell from her tone that she’s smiling. “I’ll confirm the dates and get the tickets.”

“No, I’ll get the tickets. Twisted Devil has corporate accounts that’ll cover the flights and get us into the fancy executive lounges.”

“Fine.” She laughs again. “I can’t believe you’re going to Sundre.”

“Should I buy a pair of cowboy boots? Will they let me on the ranch without them?”

“Just wear your sneakers. We don’t want you looking like a city boy poser.”