Love Me Like I Love You

by Willow Winters

  I nearly smiled. Was he . . . trying to be polite? Worried about dripping semen on my unfinished floor?

  “That was insane,” he said abruptly.

  My amusement died as a chill descended on me. Or perhaps it was reality. What we’d just done was insane, and guilt filled every cell in my body. He was Jenna’s son, for Chrissake. I shifted my gaze away. “Yeah.”

  “I meant, insanely hot.”

  Relief sparked, and my attention flew back to him. “Oh.”

  His voice was rich, and his expression was stripped bare of bravado. It was honest and hopeful. “Wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” I breathed.

  He nodded as if he’d said the word “good” out loud, and then swung his gaze from me toward the open door to the bathroom.

  I didn’t watch as he marched toward it and disappeared inside. Instead, I retrieved my swimsuit bottoms and yanked them on. The sound of water ran from the faucet in the bathroom while I grabbed my dress, and I tried not to think about why he was in there washing his hands.

  With him out of sight, the sex dissipated from the room and cleared most of the fog from my mind.

  Oh, God.

  What had I done?

  I tugged my dress on so quickly, threads ripped. It was just barely in place when the water stopped, and Troy emerged from the bathroom. Still naked and devastating, and it was even worse when he put his hands on his waist and shot me a mock disapproving look.

  “You got dressed fast.”

  It was odd how he was so confident without a stitch of clothing on, but then again, he had nothing to be embarrassed about. If anything, he was probably proud. Besides his sculpted body, his impressive erection had flagged some, but remained. Even though he’d reached satisfaction, his dick was broadcasting it was up for an encore.

  Holy shit, I had to get out of this room.

  The window of me maintaining my self-control was rapidly closing, and I could not sleep with him. He was a guy, and in my experience, it wasn’t hard to convince them to hop into bed. Every signal Troy had given me made me confident he’d say yes if I asked.

  And while a huge part of me wanted a quick hookup, it wouldn’t be “no strings” with him. There were very big, very personal strings attached to Troy. Jenna would never forgive me, and my friendship with her was worth more than a night of meaningless sex. It was incredibly likely I’d already damaged it beyond repair.

  Only if you tell her what you did.

  My heart sank into my stomach. I was a terrible friend.

  He’d commented that I’d gotten dressed quickly, and my tone was urgent. “I did. You should probably too, because . . .”

  I tried to assemble the right phrasing in my head, but nothing sounded right, and as time dragged on, Troy’s posture began to stiffen.

  “Because,” he said flatly, “this was a mistake.”

  Hurt lurked in his eyes, but I only caught it for a moment because he bent, scooped up his shorts, and jammed a leg into them. I couldn’t hold his gaze as he finished pulling them on and did up his fly. My shame was too powerful.

  “It wasn’t a mistake,” I said quietly, “but I shouldn’t have asked you to . . .” I took the cowardly way out and let him fill in the rest of the words I wasn’t saying. “I wasn’t thinking, and I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head. “Nothing to be sorry about.”

  That couldn’t be true because I felt guilty as hell.

  Silence hung awkwardly between us, growing more uncomfortable than the heat. He had his shorts on, but his t-shirt was still a heap on the floor, and sweat darted down his chest in erratic zigzags, each droplet enticing me to follow its descent.

  But an electronic trill cut through the air. I was so disoriented, it took a second to realize it was my ringtone. I reached out to pick up my phone, but as the name flashed across the screen, I hesitated.

  It rang again, but I didn’t move.

  “You need to answer that?” Troy sounded guarded, but curious.

  I swallowed a breath. “It’s my husband.”

  It was a habit that hadn’t died yet, and my thoughtless comment set him on alert. His expression darkened. “I thought you were divorced.”

  It’d taken so long to sort out since Clark had been a jerk and he’d legally been my husband until he’d signed the papers. I’d opened the envelope this afternoon, seen the signature, but the totality of it sank in just now.

  I was finally divorced.

  “Ex-husband,” I corrected. “Sorry, I’m fighting twenty years of habit.” I grabbed my phone and tapped the screen, sending the call to voicemail. “And no, I don’t need to answer it.”

  “Y’all were married for twenty years?” Was Troy thinking now about the enormous age difference between us? When I’d walked down the aisle, he’d been a toddler.

  “Yeah,” I said. “It’s funny how, in the final few years, Clark never wanted to talk to me, not until I asked for the divorce. Now he calls me all the freaking time.”

  Why was I telling him this? I shook my head, trying to rattle the awkwardness away, and pulled my shoulders back to straighten my posture. I didn’t feel confident, but I could pretend I did.

  “Troy,” I started, unsure of what to say next.

  He thought he knew what was coming. “This is where you tell me I’m fired, right?”

  “No,” I said quickly. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just . . . I took advantage of you. I’m sorry. That won’t happen again.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “You sure? Because I’m okay with it happening again.”

  Eagerness fluttered in my stomach, but I squashed it down. “Well, it can’t.” I frowned. “Besides everything else, I’m too old for you.”

  Goddamn that sexy smile that lurked on his lips and how his tone patronized. “If you say so, Ms. Graham.”

  I sighed my frustration. “It’s Erika.”

  He was about to deliver a retort, but my phone rang again and interrupted him. When I glanced at the screen and didn’t answer, he tilted his head. “Your ex again?”

  “No.” I swallowed painfully. “It’s, uh . . . your mother.”

  Erika

  Jenna Hanson never went without a manicure. Her nails were perfectly shaped and painted every other week, and she usually opted for neutrals, so it would go with anything. But tonight, her fingernails were a Tiffany blue, and they were hard to miss as she tapped them absentmindedly against her glass.

  She’d fixed herself a Moscow mule with dinner and offered to make me one, but I’d poured myself a glass of sweet tea from her fridge instead. It was Thursday evening, and Lauren’s set wasn’t until ten, so after dinner I’d need to drive downtown. I’d ordered takeout for Jenna and I and brought it over to her place, hoping to use our ‘girls’ night’ as an opportunity to come clean about what had happened with her son.

  Troy and I hadn’t talked about it. I’d ducked out of the sweltering pool house to take Jenna’s call, which was awkward and ran longer than I wanted it to, and by the time I was finished—he’d vanished. The pool supplies had been put away, and the back gate closed.

  It’d been two days since that afternoon, and it was clear he hadn’t told her. If he had, I would have received an angry phone call or visit from my friend by now. Jenna’s blood ran hot, and she had a quick temper, but it also meant she was quick to forgive, and I hoped it’d be true this evening.

  It wasn’t surprising he hadn’t told her. After Troy finished college, he’d been unable to find a steady job and temporarily moved back in with his parents. Tensions had reached a breaking point in February.

  They’d had a huge fight, their first ever, she’d told me. He was a good kid—smart, caring, and respectful. But he was still a kid to her, and he’d struggled with his independence while living under his mother and stepfather’s roof.

  Mostly, Jenna had confessed, it was because she was micromanaging him. Her husband, Bill, owned a construction company, and she’d been pressuring Tro
y to take a position there, which he did not want.

  “Nobody likes their first job,” she’d said to me, when she’d relayed the story.

  He’d rebelled against the offer for months, worried that once he got into a job, he wouldn’t be able to escape it.

  But Jenna was nothing if not persuasive. The woman could sell you a recipe for ice, and you’d walk away feeling like you got a bargain. We’d met when Clark and I bought our house and hired Bill’s company to remodel the kitchen. Jenna was an interior designer and had helped me come up with a better footprint for the space; plus, she talked me into all the upgrades and high-end finishes that had made the kitchen my favorite room of the house.

  We’d become fast, loyal friends.

  Maybe loyal wasn’t the right word to use anymore.

  I stared at my glass of sweet tea as she talked about a mix-up with an upholstery order that resulted in a client’s chair being recovered in a flamingo pattern.

  “It was wild, I tell you,” she said. “I was speechless, and then the woman turns to me and says she likes how quirky it is.” Jenna tossed her sandy blonde hair over a shoulder. “It’s a statement piece,” she muttered, “just not sure I liked what it was saying.”

  “But the customer was happy?”

  “Oh, yeah. She fucking loved it.” She rested her elbows on the table as she prepared to switch topics, peering at me with a hard look, and my stomach filled with dread. I’d seen this expression from her before. It meant all-business. “So, you’re officially back on the market.”

  I picked up my drink and took a sip, using it as an excuse not to answer.

  My friend wasn’t deterred. “Before you leave tonight, we’re putting you on Match.com.”

  Tea slid down my windpipe as I swallowed wrong, and I sputtered, “We are not.”

  I loved my friend. She’d been my rock throughout the divorce, but she had a bad habit of thinking she knew what was best for everyone, sometimes without even asking if it was what they wanted. Uh, oh. What if she’d started building my profile already?

  Movement behind her stole my focus. Then, all the air went out of the room.

  Every time I’d come over since Troy had moved back in with his parents, I’d never seen him at home. Their guest house was a full apartment and that was where he stayed.

  Until now.

  He stood in the doorway to the kitchen, as if an invisible force field prevented him from moving farther, a bowl full of cereal, complete with a spoon, in his hand. Our gazes locked, and he blinked rapidly, as if he couldn’t process what he was seeing. Had I done the same thing? Because it was exactly how I felt.

  Jenna, however, was unaware since he was behind her. “Maybe not Match,” she laughed. “How about Tinder? You said you’re horny all the time now.”

  Oh, no.

  My mouth dropped open, and the horrified sound that came from my throat was inhuman. Troy’s expression flooded with shock as his eyes widened, and his gaze shifted to stare at the back of his mother’s head.

  “Jenna,” I choked out, but she was oblivious to my distress.

  “Actually,” she nodded to herself, “I think that’s exactly what you need. Find some hot guy who’ll bang your brains out. Doesn’t matter if he’s stupid or broke or crazy, as long as he’s down to fuck. You can ghost him later.”

  A void opened inside my head, preventing me from functioning, and a similar void was likely consuming Troy as he heard his mother utter the phrase “down to fuck.”

  “After Clark?” Jenna scowled. “You need to be with a man who’s dying to get on you. Tell me I’m wrong.”

  My heart was galloping a million miles an hour, and I couldn’t stop myself from looking at him. His simple gray t-shirt was stretched tight across his chest, flaunting his powerful frame. Jeans clung to his hips, and his brown hair was mussed, but not messy. He was casually styled and effortlessly sexy.

  His expression caused me to unravel. Jenna had said I needed someone dying to have me, and for one long moment, he gazed back like he could be that man.

  And I wanted that too.

  Warnings triggered in my mind, but the loudest was that she’d asked me a question, and if I didn’t answer soon, she might wonder what I was looking at. I ripped my gaze away from him and focused on her.

  My voice was weighted with reluctant truth. “No, you’re not wrong.”

  She beamed a smile. “Yes! And once you have your fling, you’re going to tell me every dirty detail, so I can live vicariously through you.” She leaned closer like she was going to whisper a secret, but the volume of her voice did not change. “Ever since Bill hurt his back, we can only do it if I’m on top. I’m desperate for some spice.”

  That was the limit Troy could take, because he suddenly propelled himself into the kitchen.

  “Hey, Mom. I’m out of milk. Can I steal some of yours?” He forced casualness into his tone, like he hadn’t heard any of the previous conversation, and then paused, for a fraction of a second, unsure. “Hey, Ms. Graham.”

  My throat was sticky. “Hey, Troy.”

  Thankfully, his mother didn’t notice. She turned in her seat to glance at him, and her attention went to the bowl he was carrying. “You’re eating cereal? For dinner?”

  He shrugged and opened the fridge.

  Jenna sighed as she turned back to face me. “I swear I taught him how to cook, but I think that’s all he eats.”

  “It’s easy,” he said from behind the door. “And fast. I’m heading out in a few minutes.”

  “To go hang out with your boys?”

  “Yup.” He shut the door, dug into the colorful cereal with his spoon, and crunched a bite. “It’s Preston’s birthday.”

  “Ah, to be twenty-four again,” she said with fake wistfulness before turning her amused attention back to me. “Remember when we were young, and our nights started at ten p.m.?”

  Technically, my evening was starting at ten. At least my working one, since that was when Lauren’s set began.

  “Don’t stay out all night,” she said to him. “Bill’s going to need your help tomorrow. They’re demoing the bathroom in the Glasgow home.”

  “Great.” His dry expression said it was anything but.

  His eyes flicked toward me, and he held my gaze for a single beat, filling it with all the things unspoken between us, before turning and shuffling off.

  “But have fun!” his mom added, realizing she’d overstepped yet again.

  I swallowed thickly, finding air now that he was gone. It was unreal the effect he had on me, and it was extra tense because his mother was right there. I understood his frustration with her. When I was his age, I’d felt smothered by my family, and even marriage hadn’t helped me escape.

  “He’s going to be exhausted,” she grumbled under her breath. “He stays out all night, and then Bill says he’s the walking dead the next day.”

  I pressed my lips together and mentally told myself not to get involved. “He’s a good kid.” It’d been an offhanded comment, but boy, the word sliced through my ears like a snapped guitar string. Kid. I forced it away. “Maybe he’s got a girlfriend.”

  She shot me a dubious look. “He hasn’t said anything to me about a girl.”

  It came out before I could stop myself. “Would he?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing,” I said quickly. “I don’t know why I asked it.”

  Beneath her bangs, Jenna’s eyes narrowed with doubt. “Troy and I don’t keep secrets from each other.”

  Well, that I knew for a fact, wasn’t true.

  And now I was keeping them from her too.

  The stage at Blanche’s wasn’t big, and only as high as a barstool, but it was just tall enough that I could see Lauren’s head and shoulders over the people standing on the floor in front of her. Her blonde hair was a sleek curtain draped on either side of her face, and the ends of it brushed against her sleeveless plaid crop top. It was tied in a knot above
her flat stomach, of course, and she’d completed the outfit with cutoffs and cowboy boots.

  Her country sound influenced her look, and she’d leaned into it hard for the tourists. It was paying off too. The white tip bucket with her name on it at the edge of the stage was nearly full. Although I had concerns those tips had less to do with her talent and more to do with her looks. The buttons down the front of her shirt were undone enough that the center of her pink bra was visible whenever she moved.

  I didn’t fault her for dressing like that. It fit her brand and a girl had to eat, after all. But I wished with all my heart the men in the crowd were seduced by her voice, rather than just her cleavage. She had stunning control and flawless pitch, and she was one of those singers who earned your trust in a single, pure note. As soon as she began, you felt confident you’d enjoy the song from start to finish.

  The bar was crowded tonight, and I’d watched her set from several different areas around the room, evaluating her performance. I hadn’t told her I was coming, and she hadn’t spotted me either. It wasn’t until she was finished and swiped her post-set bottle of Bud Light off the end of the bar that I made my approach.

  Lauren had been both excited and nervous to see me, but her anxiety faded as we walked up the stairs to the second floor, where it was quieter, and I explained why I’d come. Eagerness warmed her face. She understood how huge this could be for her career.

  “We have to find the right song for your audition,” I told her. “I’m going to send you some ideas, and let’s get together before your set next week.”

  Her thin eyebrows pulled together. “You didn’t like any of the ones I did tonight?”

  “For Stella’s audience? No.” This was business, and she had a head for it, not to mention a thick skin. She wouldn’t be offended by my honesty. “We need something crossover. Halsey has some stuff that might work for . . .”

  I trailed off, cocking my head to the side as I listened to the sound filling the room. Blanche’s was two stories, plus a rooftop bar, and although there was also a stage on this floor, it was empty tonight. The music from the band that had just started playing downstairs was piped through the sound system, and I stared at an advertisement for Jack Daniels as I evaluated the music.