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“I was kidding! I would never! Hi, I missed you, you big ugly brute!” I spit this out rapid fire, rushing to calm the beast he becomes over Hailee.
“Missed you too, Pais,” he says with grin, kissing the top of my head as he sets me down and goes to his wife, “I missed you all day, wife,” he grunts the words and I turn away as he bends to scoop her up and gather her close.
I start to sneak out of the room the minute I hear them whispering to each other between kisses. Their love is beautiful, and I love them both, but sometimes, it can be too much. Too much to stand back and watch—especially when I watched them coming together as my first love was falling apart. I will never forget being at their wedding, standing across from the man I loved and believing we would never get a day like that together.
“Oh, no, ma’am,” Connor’s voice calls, stopping me in my tracks, “where do you think you are going? I have not seen you in almost a year. My Hails has not seen you. You are staying. Hell, I will go get your shit from your parents' place and move you in here, if I have to. You are staying for dinner, and for the weekend. We miss you, Pais.”
“I was never leaving today, was I?” I say with a grin at my best friend who bounces her shoulders and waggles her brows.
“Not if I could help it, no,” she says with a giggle.
“Fine! Show me to my quarters then, lady,” I say haughtily, taking her hand so she can show me where I will be staying while I am here.
After dinner where we laugh and talk for hours, I retreat to the amazing room they set me up in, in the east section of their home. To be honest, I was relieved when they offered to let me stay. Besides getting out of my parents’ way, I can be closer to them—and further away from town where I might run into Bran. I asked Connor if they talk often, and he looked me straight in the eye and said they talk almost every day.
“He does not ask about you because he knows I won’t tell him, Pais,” he assured me before we parted ways for the night.
I don’t know how to feel about that, really. But I do know I love being around them again. And maybe Hailee is right about something else—maybe I need to get laid. I can’t remember the last time I orgasmed with someone else there with me. Lying in bed, I search up the app she mentioned earlier. I set up a profile, without a picture, and start searching through matches.
I don’t even know what I am looking for—maybe just someone to talk to. Or maybe someone who can make me forget that while I may never get over Bran, may never find love like that, maybe I can be loved.
Hell, maybe someone who can for one night make me forget I was ever heartbroken at all.
CHAPTER 4
Bran
* * *
Dating to get over the woman you love sounds like a bad idea.
When you know the woman you should have married is back in town and doing whatever she can to avoid you, you start looking at yourself a little different. I know I hurt her, but fuck, it destroyed me too. Finding out she has been back home, staying with not her parents but Hailee and Connor, just a few minutes from me, has been fucking with my head.
Knowing that I hurt her so badly she cannot stand to be near me is killing me.
Because I still care about her, I am on high alert not to make her being back harder on her. I don’t know details about why she came home but I can only assume she had little choice about it. Knowing that, I want to go to her and see what I can do, find out how to help. But, knowing her as well as I do, the last thing she wants is me fumbling to fix what I fucked up years ago.
“I want to see her, but I know I can’t,” I grumble to Connor when we meet for lunch a few days after Hailee lets me know Paisley is back in town, “I fucked up so bad the last time I saw her that she stayed gone for years. Did not come home to see her parents or you guys because of me.”
“Paisley is stubborn, hell she put up with you for long enough,” Connor teases but he sobers when he continues, “you two may not ever get over the shit between you. I hope for both of your sake, you find a way to get past it. Both of you are important to us. We hate seeing you both so miserable.”
Over lunch we also talk about a venture we both went in on with a college friend, a dating app called Pic Me. He talked me into not just fronting some startup money alongside him but joining the damn thing. Until he mentioned it to me again, I had stayed away from it. I had doubts I could ever find what I was looking for in a woman on an app—not that I knew what I was looking for.
It is not as if the girl I let get away would be on there.
Here I sit though, reading through a bio that has caught my eye. No photos are allowed with this app, at least not photos of yourself. You may post scenery shots with quotes or musings, photos of your pet, or even photos of what you had for lunch today or what wine you like to drink. But no photos of your face or body. The whole idea is to get to know someone without caring about appearance—and to prevent filters and phonies.
Sitting in my office ignoring work because I cannot focus the past few days, I am smiling. For the first time since hearing about Pais being back, I am genuinely smiling. On my screen is a photo of the night skies full of stars. Paired with a quote about loving the stars too fondly to fear the night. It reminds me of Paisley, so I click on the profile and read through a few other things that keep me smiling.
Whoever this is likes musicals as much as she likes Monty Python movies, enjoys nights at home more than nights on the town, and loves her family and her home, but claims she is not sure of her place with either. I click the profile and go to the message option, sending a message. Getting back to work, I set my phone aside, doing my best to not check it every few moments. Doing my best means failing and checking no less than a dozen times.
Just as I start to give up on the whole thing, my phone pings with a response. I reach for it so quickly I ought to be embarrassed. I am not. No, I am smiling when I open Pic Me to see my mystery woman who likes musicals and British comedies replied. Turning away from my work because who can work now, I read her message before I tap out one to send back.
Me: Hey, liked your bio. Mostly the musicals and Monty Python. Tells me a lot about someone who can appreciate both.
Her: Does it? Should tell you I am both witty and whimsical but so far people just tell me it makes me look weird. Who cares what people think?
Me: I do not. You should not either. Tell me something that I cannot find in your bio.
