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It wasn’t fair to plan a future with Morgan if my heart was with someone else. Even if I couldn’t be with Wren, my inability to stop thinking about her was telling. In addition, this situation gave me déjà vu. I really wanted things to work with Morgan—just like I’d wanted them to work with Maren. Both women had my respect and admiration. But neither had made me feel the things Wren had.
On the outside, Morgan was a good match for me. She was equally as successful, and I didn’t have to worry about her wanting me for the wrong reasons. She did make me happy when we were together, and I was able to see a future with her. But after Wren came back, I’d started questioning everything. And Rafe’s comments about Morgan the other night had left me unsettled. It had bothered me when she’d suggested I take Maren’s photo down, but I’d put it out of my mind until he brought it up. At the time, I’d chalked her request up to insecurity. The more I thought about it, though, the more I felt it was inappropriate. It would have been one thing if Maren and I were divorced. But that photo was one of the only physical reminders Rafe had of her.
I needed to get my ruminations in check. The night was too young to start down that path. Morgan and I were seated at our table, and a live jazz band played in the corner. Deciding to release some of my nervous energy, I stood up. Squeezing Morgan’s shoulder, I asked, “What can I get you to drink?”
“I’m in the mood for a vodka with seltzer and lime,” she said with a smile.
“Coming right up.”
I went to the bar and waited in the line, which was basically one long row of tuxedos and sparkly gowns. The cologne and perfume in the air was almost noxious. So was the smell of money.
At one point, I looked to my right, and there she was. Wren stood at the entrance to the ballroom. She was dressed in a red gown and wore her copper hair up. She looked even more stunning than I’d imagined she would. And Dylan stood beside her. A rush of adrenaline ran through me as I noticed his hand on the small of her back. Trying not to stare, I turned my attention back toward the bar and refused to look over at them until I was forced to deal with it.
I finally got our drinks and headed back toward Morgan at our table. But my pace slowed when I realized Dylan and Wren had joined her there.
“Hey, Dax,” Dylan said. “How’s it going?”
“Good.” I feigned a smile as I set the drinks down. “You both look amazing.”
“Thank you. So do you,” Wren said as our eyes met for a moment.
I sat down and took a long drink of the vodka I’d ordered.
Morgan placed her hand on my arm. “I’ll take any opportunity to see my handsome man in a tux.” She turned to Wren. “That dress is absolutely stunning.”
“So is yours.”
“This old thing?” Morgan laughed. “Thank you. But seriously, yours is breathtaking. Red is definitely your color.”
“Why, thank you,” Dylan answered. “I picked it out.”
I sucked in a breath. He’s choosing her clothes? That explained why her tits were hanging out.
“I could never have afforded this dress,” Wren said. “But I guess Dylan didn’t want me showing up in a romper or ripped jeans, so he took matters into his own hands.”
I’d like to take him into my hands right now and crush him.
Incidentally, she would’ve been just as beautiful in her ripped jeans and off-the-shoulder shirt. I loved Wren’s casual style.
Sensing myself getting lost in my head again, I forced a conversation with Dylan. “Morgan told me about that new client you helped the firm snag,” I said. “Abbott is a huge company. Congratulations.”
“Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”
“You didn’t mention that,” Wren said to him. “That’s amazing.”
“Thank you, beautiful. I was gonna tell you tonight.”
Swallowing the bitter taste in my mouth, I moved my eyes away from them and turned my gaze to the jazz band.
The rest of the night was more of the same. I’d look over at them, notice Dylan touching Wren’s leg or rubbing her back, and then force my eyes away. At one point during dinner, I struggled to keep my food down when Dylan ate something off of Wren’s plate.
After the meal, Morgan and I got up to dance. Dylan and Wren followed a minute later. A time or two, Wren’s eyes found mine as the four of us moved around the dance floor. I’d force myself to look away, only to get caught soon thereafter looking at her again. But she was also looking at me. When Dylan began rubbing his fingers over the deer tattoo on the back of her neck, I started to sweat. If he only knew.
