The Trouble With Love: New York Times Bestselling Author

by Contreras, Claire

  I cover my face with the menu as Morgan answers, “It’s going.”

  “So you still haven’t met him in person?” he asks.

  “Maybe, maybe not.”

  “You’ve met him?” I lower my menu. “Isn’t that against the rules?”

  “What do you know about the rules?” Devon lifts an eyebrow. “Did you join?”

  “Maybe, maybe not.”

  Morgan’s eyes narrow. “Did you?”

  I shrug and go back to my menu.

  “Would it matter if he did?” Devon asks.

  “Obviously not,” Morgan mutters. “He can do whatever he wants.”

  “You seem bothered.”

  What the hell is happening and why does it sound like he’s amused by this entire thing and not pissed off at the possibility that something is going on between me and his sister? I set down my menu and look at him. He’s the kind of person who likes to measure things by everyone’s reaction to what comes out of his mouth.

  “How are you liking the app, Ben?” Devon asks. He’s such a shit, but I take the bait and run with it.

  “Honestly? I think the interface needs a little updating. Other than that, it’s pretty good.”

  “Have you been sexting with the person it paired you with?”

  I laugh because I can’t help it. Morgan scoots her chair back and stands.

  “I need to use the restroom.” She throws her napkin on the table. I stop laughing. She has this murderous glare in her eyes just before she turns around that makes me want to run after her.

  “How long has this been going on?” Devon points between me and Morgan’s empty chair.

  I close my eyes momentarily. “I swear I’m not going to hurt her.”

  “I never said you were.” He frowns. “But if you do, I’ll have to kill you.”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  “How long have you been . . . God, what are you even doing? Fucking my sister?”

  I flinch. “Dating.”

  “Dating my sister.” He says it as if he’s testing out the idea. “How long?”

  “A couple of weeks.”

  “She just started working at SEVEN.”

  “It’s a long story, but we kind of ran into each other while I was still with Paola,” I explain. “Well, once everything went to shit.”

  “I’m assuming she knows you were married.”

  “Yes. She knows everything.”

  “And you know she was supposed to get married the month she broke off her engagement?”

  “I want to find her ex and beat his ass up for what he did to her.”

  Devon’s eyes narrow. “What exactly did he do?”

  “He hurt her.” I stick to that. Morgan said her brother didn’t know what went down between them. I can only imagine that if he did, he wouldn’t allow their mother to attend the wedding.

  “Hm.” He takes a sip of his sweet tea, still watching me. “I don’t know the specifics, but I always hated that guy.”

  “What does he do now?”

  “Hell if I know.” He shrugs. “He was always a problematic little shit. They got engaged while we were in college. The moment I found out, I flew home and tried to convince her to reconsider, but they stayed together.”

  “I bet she wished she’d listened to you.”

  “Who knows. She never said. Besides, teams had already started showing interest in me by then, so I promised her I’d pay for her college if she left him.”

  “Damn. That’s harsh.”

  “She didn’t listen to me, obviously, but when they broke up she cried for months. Not days, not weeks . . . months.”

  His words feel like an unsettling dose of reality. He must have really been the love of her life. The reason she decided to play Cupid but not actively search for love herself. For some reason, I don’t like any of those thoughts or the way they cloud around all of the good moments we’ve shared together. I catch a glimpse of Morgan making her way back toward us. She really is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.

  “You really like her, don’t you?” Devon asks.

  “Like I never imagined liking another person.” I look at him. “I swear I would never do anything to hurt her.”

  “I know.” He smiles, small and sad. “It’s not her I’m worried about.”

  I stare at him a moment longer. I know him well enough to know he’s dead serious. When Morgan returns to the table, her mood is brighter, but I can tell something is off. Devon must sense it too because he stops joking around about dating and keeps the conversation about football, his future in the sport and the team, and the wedding.

  “Is Mom going to walk you to the altar?” Morgan asks.

  “Who else would do it?”

  I glance away. I’d rather talk about the dating app than have to listen to him harp on about how great their mother is after knowing what I know.

  “I don’t know, someone who’s not constantly in rehab?” Morgan asks. “Someone who won’t have to cover her arms with makeup?”

  “Morgan.” Devon’s voice is a warning.

  “I don’t care. We shouldn’t have to hide this from the world just because she’s a screwup. We shouldn’t have to be the ones constantly embarrassed. She’s the one who should carry that burden, yet somehow, here we are, walking on eggshells again.”

  “It’s obvious you’re in a bad mood, and I’m sorry if I put you there, but this isn’t the time to talk about Mom.”

  “You know when a good time to talk about Mom is?” she asks. “Never.” She stands up again. “I’m sorry. This was a mistake.”

  My heart pounds as she walks toward the front of the restaurant. I look at Devon, back at the door, back at Devon.

  “I—” I grab my napkin and toss it on the table.

  “Just go. I’ll see you both at her place later.” He waves me away. “Fair warning, when she gets like this, the best thing to do is give her space, but I know your overprotective ass won’t allow that.”

  I shake my head as I make my way to the front of the restaurant. He’s right. I would never allow her to just walk away like this without going after her to make sure she’s okay.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Morgan

  I’m halfway to the subway station when I hear Bennett shout my name behind me. It’s so unexpected that I actually stop and turn to face him.

  “What?”

  “You’re taking the train?”

  “Obviously.” I turn and continue my walk. He’ll go back to my brother. I mean, he’ll have to, right? It would be weird for him to follow me and take the train with me. If he does, we wouldn’t have any excuses about this to give Devon. When I realize he’s still at my heels, I sigh heavily and stop again in the middle of the stairwell. “Please note that the only reason I’m letting you chase after me like this right now is because I hate causing scenes.”

  “Noted.”

  “I hate being the center of attention.”

  “Noted.”

  “I hate it when people talk about my personal life in front of me like it’s just a series of events to gossip about and not my actual life.”

  He blinks. “You lost me.”

  “The app. The dating thing.” I point in the direction we came from. “That whole scene back there was awful.”

  “I’m sorry.” He looks like he might seriously be sorry. I don’t let my guard down.

  “Did you or did you not sign up for the app?”

  “I did.”

  Shock ripples through me. I count ten heartbeats before I pivot and continue my way down the stairs. Fuck him. He made fun of me about the app, made fun of me about joining, made fun of me about potentially matching with Wesley, and didn’t once think of mentioning he was on it? And if he’s on it, who has he been talking to? And is he sexting with her? Anger builds until I feel sullied with it. My head remains high as I wait for the train and God, I hope it’s the right one because I haven’t even stopped to check my route app. At this po
int, I don’t care where it takes me as long as it’s away from here.

  “Morgan. I should’ve told you.” His voice breaks through my thoughts. I close my eyes at the nearness of it, the rawness. “I’m not involved with whoever I’ve been paired with. We decided to remain friends.”

  “You decided to remain friends?” My gaze flashes to his because how many people could’ve possibly agreed to remain friends?

  “Yeah. I had a feeling you might be Robin.” He shoots me a sheepish smile, but if anything, it further fuels my anger.

  “You knew it was me all along.”

  “Not all along.”

  “You’re such . . . “ I growl. “You are the worst kind of asshole.”

  “First you call me a classic douchebag, and now you’re calling me an asshole,” he says with a chuckle. “No, not just an asshole, but the worst kind.”

  I lift a hand. “I seriously do not have time for this right now.”

  “For what?”

  “You’re causing a scene and I don’t have time to be embarrassed about it.”

  “I’m causing a scene?” He grabs my elbow and stops me from reaching the yellow line on the tarmac. I turn to face him.

  “What else would you call this?”

  “Trying to have a conversation. I’m trying to talk to you.”

  “Well, I don’t speak to liars, so take your conversation elsewhere. Go back to the restaurant and talk to your friend. He’s who you’re supposed to be consoling.”

  “I’m talking to you and I’m not a liar.” He lets go of my elbow but keeps his gaze on mine. “I’m not a liar.”

  “You lied about the app.”

  “I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell you.”

  I roll my eyes. “Same difference.”

  “If I was on the app and it had become something more, I would’ve told you about it,” he says. “But you started dropping hints from the beginning and I kind of pieced together that it was you I was talking to, so I suggested we remain friends.”

  “That is not what you suggested.” I raise my eyebrows. “And you called it stupid. A stupid app. God, I’m such an idiot. I should’ve known it was you.”

  He reaches for my hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t come clean sooner.”

  “It just makes me think, if you lied about this, or kept it from me, what else are you lying about or keeping from me?”

  “Nothing.” He squeezes my hand. “Your brother knows about us.”

  My mouth drops. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

  Bennett sighs, throwing his head back and looking up at the ceiling as if he’s saying a prayer. Maybe he is. Maybe he should pray for his damn life right now. The train gets here. He straightens. I let go of his hand and get inside the car as soon as the first batch of people step out. Bennett follows, holding on to the pole beside me.

  “I wish you wouldn’t follow me.”

  “I need to make sure we’re okay.”

  “We’re not.” I look up at him. “I need time to digest all of this.”

  “I want us to be okay.”

  “It’s not up to you.”

  “Which is why it’s important for me to stay with you right now while you process all of this.”

  “I already texted my best friends. I’m meeting them at a brewery, so unless you’re okay with them drilling you with questions, I suggest you step off now.”

  “Too late,” he says as the train doors close. I exhale. Bennet grins. “I could go for a beer right now anyway.”

  I turn around and face the other side of the car. If he’s going to follow me around the city, fine by me, but it doesn’t mean I have to look at him.

  * * *

  I take out my phone and call Presley to make sure she’s here as we reach the front of the brewery.

  “I’m unlocking the door right now.” She opens the front door, eyes wide when she spots Bennett beside me.

  “I hope you don’t mind that some asshole tagged along,” I say, hanging up the phone and dropping it into my purse.

  “It’s cool,” she says. “Jamie can’t make it. She got caught up with Travis’s mom.” She turns to Bennett. “You must be Bennett. I’m Presley, the girl who will kick your ass if you mess with my little sister.”

  He shoots me a look.

  “Sorority sisters,” I explain. “And best friends.”

  “Oh.” He smiles, leaning in to give Presley a kiss on the cheek. “Nice to meet you. Save your ass-kicking skills for a real asshole.” He looks at her a little closely. “You’re Nathaniel’s fiancée.”

  “I am.” She smiles, holding the door open wider. “Please, come in.”

  We do. I shrug off my jacket and set it on one of the picnic tables along with my cross-body bag. I inhale the smell of cedarwood and smile.

  “It looks just about ready to open,” I say.

  “It is. Ezra is actually letting us try some of the new brews today, so I’m kind of glad you brought an outsider.” She places three coasters on the table and starts walking toward the back. “Be right back.”

  I sit down. Bennett sits beside me. His leg brushes mine and I instantly stiffen. I busy myself with looking at everything in the brewery—the bar taps, the thirty long picnic tables, the art on the wall—barley, hops, amber liquid, all beer related. Presley comes back with two beers in her hand and Ezra in tow holding another. I smile at him. I never met either of my grandfathers, but from the moment I met Ezra years back, I wished he’d been one of them. He’s the hippest old man I’ve ever known.

  “Beer for ma girl,” he says, placing a beer in front of me and a kiss on my head. “Haven’t seen you around in a few months. How’s the job?”

  “It’s good.” I smile and point my thumb toward Bennett. “This is one of the owners of SEVEN.”

  “Ah, you’re the boss?”

  “I’m a boss, but not hers,” Bennett says, shaking Ezra’s hand. “You’re the beer maker?”

  “Depends on whether or not you like this hop.” He nods toward our glasses. “If you like it, I brewed it. If you don’t, Presley did it.”

  Presley laughs loudly. Bennett and I follow suit.

  “Thanks for the help, Ez.” She winks at him as he walks off.

  “If you need me, I’ll be back here.”

  I lift my beer toward my lips and take a sip. “Hm. Good.”

  Presley does the same, nodding. “A little too hoppy, but good. It needs a few more days.”

  “I think it’s pretty good.” Bennett sets his down. “Do you actually help with the brewing process?”

  “Sometimes,” Pres says. “I’ve come up with some cool concepts for some of the beers, but some haven’t worked out. Nathaniel and I are trying to fuse bourbon into one right now. I’m really hoping it works.”

  “That sounds dangerous,” I say. “Beer and bourbon.”

  “Because you’re a lightweight.” Pres winks, smiling. “So I guess we’re not going to talk about guy trouble today.”

  I cough into my beer. Damn her.

  “Am I the source of the guy trouble?” Bennett asks, tapping my knee with his. I keep my eyes on Presley. I will not look at him.

  “I don’t know,” Presley says, “Are you? I heard you joined her dating app and lied about it.”

  “News travels fast,” he mutters.

  “My fist travels faster.” She raises an eyebrow. “So, did you lie or not?”

  “I didn’t lie. I just didn’t flat-out tell her about it. I wasn’t even joining because I thought I would match with anyone. I just wanted to see how it worked.”

  “Did you purposely match your accounts together?” Presley asks.

  This time, I do look over at him. I didn’t even think that was a possibility, but I don’t know what his sneaky self can do. For all I know he’s a bona fide hacker. He meets my gaze.

  “I didn’t purposely match our accounts. Your platform did that. You can blame me for a lot of things, call me a liar, whatever, but don’t pin t
hat on me.”

  “Okay.” I look back at my friend because I believe him, but I don’t want to look at him. Every time I do, I swear my chest feels like it caves a little deeper. I realize that I can’t handle this. I thought I could. I thought I was ready to date, to find love, but I’m not ready. How can anyone ever be ready to let their heart live outside of their chest? It’s a difficult idea to fathom. In the grand scheme of things, this is a small, tiny situation and somehow, it’s made me feel like a complete idiot for trusting him as much as I have. The thought of giving him the power to let him crush me with a single action makes me want to take it all back and crawl back inside of my shell.

  “Morg says you don’t believe in love,” Presley says.

  I hear her words, she’s sitting right across from me, but my thoughts are clouding my hearing and I don’t catch the full statement or question.

  I hear Bennett respond beside me, and she responds back. They’re having a full conversation now about God knows what because I’m too lost in thought, trying to find a way to get back to not caring about him, or us, or whatever was happening, to pay attention. The more I think about it, the more I realize it’s a losing battle because I’m in love with him. It’s that simple. I can fight it, I can argue, I can kick and scream, but it won’t change how I feel.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Bennett

  “Your friend is nice.”

  We’re just steps away from her apartment building and she hasn’t said a word to me. I’ve let her brood long enough—let her pretend I wasn’t sitting beside her at the brewery or standing beside her on the subway. I gave her as much space as I could allow, but I can’t just end the day with this weird discomfort that feels big enough to swallow me whole.

  “Thanks,” she says. “She liked you. Maybe if you’d joined the last dating app I made and kicked off at her first brewery you would’ve hit it off and you’d be engaged to her right now and not Nathaniel.”

  I sigh. It must be a woman thing to take one small circumstance and blow it up in a major way. This is not the kind of situation I’ve been equipped to deal with. Whenever Paola would say shit like this, I would just ignore her and let her think what she wanted, but look where that led us—to her believing rumors and acting on them rather than staying and trying to work things out with me. Looking back on all of it, I know I didn’t try hard enough to keep her. In fact, I didn’t try at all. In my mind, our relationship had run its course and it was time to move on. I’d always treated my relationships that way, but after a pricey divorce, I realized it was a mistake on my part. With Morgan things feel different—easy, like water—and I sure as hell don’t want to lose her. I take a chance, reach for her hand, and breathe a little easier when she doesn’t fight me on it.