Trying not to make eye contact with anyone, I head back into the party. I don’t dare look at Brody or Skye. I know Skye will know immediately, and I’m not sure how to face Brody, given I just screwed his little sister in public.
So I do my best to mingle, as I catch the smell of her mixed with the smell of sex on me. I hold my breath as visions of her coming flash in my mind. She’s more than I ever imagined, so beautiful and totally uninhibited. I hadn’t expected that.
Lost in my memories and future fantasies, I see Ainsley emerge from the ladies’ room. But her “sex smirk” is nowhere to be found; instead, she looks white as a ghost. She’s having regrets?
I know I need to reassure her so I start her way, but Brody and Skye approach her first. My heart jumps in my chest. What if she can’t lie well enough? Brody turns and meets my eye. Holy shit! She wouldn’t just tell them, would she? At their engagement party?
My legs start to move, and I realize I’m walking toward them, unable to stop. I will accept what’s coming. I reach them and stick my hand in my pocket, feeling her panties.
“Ainsley’s not feeling well,” Brody says to me. “Could you get her home?”
“I’m fine,” Ainsley says, not making eye contact with me. “It’s your engagement party. Please don’t worry . . .”
“Your skin is all flushed,” Brody says, holding his hand up. “Are you sweating? Do you have fever?”
It’s all I can do not to bust out laughing. Of course, he thinks she’s sick, not that she just had sex in public. Thank God, Brody still thinks of Ainsley as a child.
“Brody’s right,” I say. “I’ll take you home.”
Skye kisses her cheek, glancing at me. “We’ll check on you tomorrow.”
We walk to the parking lot, managing not to touch or say a word to each other. I get her car door, feeling her tremble next to me. As soon as I’m safely inside, I reach for her hand, stroking her skin with my thumb. “Hey.”
I can see her trying not to lose it. I’m sure she’s never done anything like this before. Reaching up, I run my hand across her cheek. “I don’t want to be something you regret.”
“I don’t. I couldn’t,” she whispers. “But that was reckless.”
“I was there, too. You don’t get all the credit for the incredibly hot sex.”
“I guess I don’t, but what about the incredibly stupid, unprotected sex?”
Fuck! When she initiated things, I just assumed she had it taken care of. Normally, I use condoms, but this is Ainsley. I trust her.
“You’re not on the pill?” I ask. She shakes her head.
What the hell! I’m always careful. My palms start to sweat, but no matter how freaked out I am, Ainsley’s more upset. I have to fix this for her. “When’s your period due?” I ask.
“A few days. A week maybe. I’d have to look at my calendar.”
“It will be fine. If I’ve learned anything from Skye’s crazy stories, it’s that standing up is not a prime position for conceiving,” I say, making her giggle. “You should be past your ovulation, too.”
“How do you know about ovulation?” she asks.
“I went to med school.”
“Animal med school,” she says.
I grin. “Primates have a similar cycle to . . .”
She slaps me playfully. “You did not just compare me to a female baboon.”
My fingers graze her cheek. “We’ll be more careful from now on.” Her cheeks heat, apparently looking forward to the from now on part, I hope.
We drive back to our building, her fingers intertwined with mine the whole time. Are you supposed to hold hands with your fuck buddy? Is that what she is? I’ve had fuck buddies before. A girl in vet school was my exam fuck buddy. We’d only hook up during exams. She was a good stress reliever. There’ve been others, too, but it’s never felt like this.
We get back to our complex. I open her car door, but don’t hold her hand or wrap my arm around her. She gives me a little smile, letting me know she understands. We can’t exactly be seen in any romantic way together. It might get back to Brody.
I push the elevator button for my floor, and she moves to push hers, but I catch her hand. “I thought you could stay with me tonight,” I say.
I see the words twisting in her brain, searching for what to say. I take her hand. “I’m not proposing marriage, just a sleepover.”
She releases my hand. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Just fun, remember?”
“Why wouldn’t she stay the night with me?” I ask Sadie, my current drinking partner. Only hers is out of a water bowl, and mine’s a whiskey bottle.
I wish I could blame the fact that I’m drunk off my ass for the reason I’m consulting my canine about the fairer sex, but it’s not. Before you judge me, there are all kinds of studies that say only highly intelligent people carry on conversations with their pets. Having said conversation over a bottle of whiskey? Well, that must mean I’m a fucking genius.
It’s past midnight. I’m sure the engagement party is long over. Hopefully, it went well. I know it did for me. Ainsley? Every time I close my eyes, she flashes in my mind—the way she bit her lip, the feel of her smooth skin, her smile. I’ll never forget the moment I slipped inside her. I knew in that moment nothing would ever be the same. I want more.
I take another long drink. The thing about alcohol is it makes you break your silence, things you wouldn’t normally do or say suddenly seem like a good idea—like calling the girl you just hooked up with. Or the time Brody and I thought that ramen noodles on top of meat lover’s pizza would be the best concoction ever.
Ainsley answers the phone in barely a whisper.
“How could you possibly be sleeping?” I ask, talking louder than normal, but unable to stop myself.
“Rhett,” she says. “Are you okay?”
“I’m having a drink,” I say. “Want to come have a drink with me?”
“Are you drunk dialing me?”
“More like booty calling,” I say, making her laugh. “I wanted to go slow and savor every bit of you. The patio was too fast. I’m better than that, I swear.”
“I thought it was pretty good.”
“You were so fucking hot. I had no idea my A. Rose was so naughty. I still have your panties.”
“You’re drunk.”
“You’re beautiful and sweet and sexy and funny, and I didn’t get to see you naked. I can still smell you on my skin. I’m never going to shower again. I want to smell like sex and you forever.”
“You’re really drunk,” she says.
“I miss you.”
Silence. I say her name, but it’s quiet on the other end. Did she hang up? Did my phone die?
“Bring Sadie and come sleep with me. I’ll unlock the door.”
Thank fuck! Usually, drunk dials don’t end up with a positive outcome. Hanging up, I head toward the door. “Come on, Sadie.” She looks up at me, her tongue hanging out like she’s laughing. I don’t bother with clothes, wandering down the single flight of stairs in just my underwear.
Opening the door to her place, it’s totally dark. Good thing our places have the same layout. Even with several drinks in me, I make it to her bedroom without bumping into anything. Sadie curls up in the corner of the room like she belongs there.
Slipping in beside Ainsley, I wrap my arms around her and whisper, “Good night, my rose.”
“Be right back,” I whisper, disappearing into the bathroom to rid myself of the condom we were careful to use this time. This time?
This time put the patio to shame, which is saying a hell of a lot. Maybe it’s because I slept all night with her in my arms. Maybe it’s because there’s something special about morning sex. Or perhaps it’s because this is the first time I’ve ever seen her naked. I’ve fantasized about her enough times, but she’s sexier than I even imagined. I look over at her from the bathroom door. She’s on her stomach, her face turned away from me, the sheets bundled around her waist. She ha
s the most flawless, peachy-pink skin.
She has me tied up in knots already. This is just supposed to be fun. That doesn’t include lounging around together all day, but that’s what I want. I don’t care that I’m breaking my own rules. This is what I asked for—no commitments, but this is Ainsley. I’m used to hanging out with her, talking, laughing. It feels wrong to not do those things just because I’ve seen her naked.
Her head turns to me, and she holds out her hand. There’s no place I’d rather be than in bed with her, but I know Ainsley. I know she’s never done anything like this before. She’s a relationship woman, which should scare me off, but my dick is driving this train.
Slipping in beside her, she rests her head on the pillow, facing me. Honestly, I can’t believe this is my life right now.
Her mouth opens slightly but no words come out, so I plant a sweet kiss on her lips to coax them out. “Why does it feel like I can’t talk to you now?” she asks.
I tuck a loose piece of hair behind her ear. “I don’t want you to feel that way.”
“I don’t know how to do this. I only ever had sex while in a relationship.” She blushes with her confession, but I suspected as much. She motions between us. “I didn’t think this meant sleepovers and snuggling. You said just fun.”
“I regret saying those words to you. You seem to be obsessing on them, and it’s getting in the way. What did you think? That I would fuck you and go?”
“Isn’t that how these things usually work?” she asks.
“Is that what you want?” I ask. “Because honestly, I would hate that.”
“Me, too,” she says with a smile. “But I don’t know how to act. I’m trying to be all casual, and I’m coming off like a crazy person.”
She cracks me up. Cupping her face, I say, “It’s not hard. We just have to be honest with each other about what we want.”
I know she’s got more to say. Some girls are made to have this kind of relationship, and some girls aren’t. Ainsley’s not. She’s trying to be, but she’s not.
“I wish you weren’t my brother’s best friend.”
“Me, too,” I say, pulling her into my chest.
And that’s where she stays the entire day, except for when I’m forced to get up, like to take Sadie out. Other than that, we spend the day in bed. We shatter my personal record for how many times I’ve had sex in a day. And when night falls, there’s no discussion about me sleeping over.
It just happens, even though I have work in the morning. Sometimes work is the perfect excuse to get the hell out after a fuck session. “I’ve got an early morning” or some shit like that always works. But this morning, I’m searching for any excuse to stay in bed with her curled in my arms. I feel like this is payback for all the lame excuses I’ve given in the past.
I find none, and I can’t have Brody asking questions. I hate the idea of her waking up and finding me gone, but I don’t want to wake her, either. She looks so peaceful.
I reach for her sketchpad, which she keeps by the bed. I’m no artist, but since I don’t have the real thing, this little drawing will have to do.
CHAPTER EIGHT
PRESENT DAY
AINSLEY
“Can you put on your sister hat? Forget you’re married to my brother,” I ask Skye.
Whenever I need to talk to her about something private, I invoke this privilege, knowing it won’t reach my brother. We’ve talked under our sister hats many times before: about sex, birth control, etc. But never about something that directly effects Brody. I won’t ask Skye to keep a big secret from Brody. That wouldn’t be fair, but I do need some solid advice.
She fakes changing her hat before plopping down on my bed. “I have a date,” I say, my face crinkling up at the word. She starts screaming like a wild banshee. You’d think I just told her I won the lottery, not a date with a doctor. “Can you not tell Brody? I just don’t want to make it a thing. I’m only telling you because it’s that doctor from your office and . . .”
“Brody will be happy for you!” she says.
Exhaling, I say, “I just don’t want a thousand questions.”
“Okay,” she says, sticking her bottom lip out before she visibly sobers. “Rhett’s gone. He’s not coming back.”
“I know.”
“I love Rhett, too,” she says. “He was the closest thing Brody had to a brother. We all miss him.” She gets up, taking my hand. “No one misses him more than you. I know that. But this is long overdue. I won’t say a word to Brody until you’re ready.”
“Thanks.”
Shaking my hand to loosen me up, Skye says, “Now, where are you going, and what are you going to wear?”
Pausing on the sidewalk to scan my dress one last time before I go inside the restaurant, I take a deep breath. I didn’t want him to pick me up at the condo. It seems more casual, and less awkward, to meet him at the restaurant than have him come to my door.
I suddenly have second thoughts. Why did I let Skye talk me into wearing a dress? Skinny jeans and a cute shirt would’ve been more appropriate, more me. I tell myself things will be okay, that at least my boobs look good—thanks to my new padded pushup bra, which was also Skye’s suggestion.
False advertising!
Rhett Bennett, get out of my head.
When you are with someone, you have inside jokes. Things that mean something to only the two of you. One of those things for Rhett and me was padded bras. He used to tease me that my padded bras were false advertising. He thought he was getting a woman with a full C, and it turned out I’m barely a B.
My response was always the same, “No going back now.”
Then he’d pick me up, kiss me, and say, “How about going down instead?”
He loved his stupid sex jokes. And I love a man who can make me laugh. Because of him, I’ll never look at bras the same. It’s hard to move on when even your boobs remind you of your ex.
Still, this is what I’m supposed to be doing. I’m a single, twenty-something. I should be dating, trying to find “the one.” The only problem is—I found him already.
I hate that I think about him so much, but I’d hate it more if I didn’t.
But now’s not the time to be thinking about my ex. Standing on the sidewalk, I look up at the sign, moody lighting cascading on it. I’ve never been here. It’s pricey and considered one of the most romantic restaurants in Charleston. Seems like a lot of pressure for a first date. Shouldn’t we have gone for coffee or something first? This guy obviously wants to impress me, and I can’t fault him for that.
Okay, this is it. Take a deep breath, open the door, walk inside. Nothing to it. One, two, three, here goes nothing. Before I can actually step inside, I hear my name.
I turn to find my date. He’s tall with a good build. I remember him looking older, though, a touch of gray at his temples, but tonight the age difference doesn’t seem as big. Maybe out of the doctor’s garb and dressed in a nice suit has made him look younger. He flashes me a smile. It’s that awkward moment when you aren’t sure if you should do a side hug, quick hug, handshake, or kiss on the cheek hello. Instead, I do nothing but say, “Hi.”
He grins at me again. This man must be easy to please. “I’m so happy you could . . .” I don’t hear the rest of what he says because he holds up a long stem red rose.
My chest tightens, my skin rushes with heat, and a stream of tears immediately rush down my cheeks. I cover my mouth in an attempt to contain my cries then rush down the sidewalk away from him.
All I can see is the poorly doodled picture of a rose Rhett left me on my nightstand after our first weekend together, remembering his sweet good morning message.
A rose for my rose. One morning soon, I’ll have to have the real thing. Hoping to see you again tonight. Sorry I won’t be there to kiss you good morning.
“Ainsley,” he calls after me, catching me by my elbow. “Are you alright?”
“The flower,” I choke out.
He glances
at it then tosses it to the ground. “Sorry, your last name is Rose. I thought it would be cute to . . .”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Obviously, I’m not ready for this.”
“Skye warned me that you just got out of something pretty serious,” he says.
“She warned you?” I ask.
“She didn’t give me details,” he smirks. “More like she told me she’d have my balls in a vice if I hurt you.”
That makes me relax slightly. “Aren’t you her boss?”
“On paper,” he jokes.
Wiping my tears, I say, “I’m sorry.”
“You said that already,” he says. “It wasn’t necessary either time.”
I feel my lips start to curve into a smile, but stop myself. I don’t want to smile at another man. All my smiles belong to Rhett. Even after all this time, all the pain, all of me still belongs to Rhett. I think I always will. Most woman have one—the man you wonder about. The man you can’t get over. Either because you aren’t sure why it ended, or because you wonder what could’ve been.
“I should go.”
“I’ll see you to your car,” he says.
Giving him a little nod, I turn around, realizing in my fit, I’d gone the wrong way. Before turning back towards my car, I stare down at the cracks in the sidewalk, the old kids’ rhyme echoing in my head.
Step on a crack, break your mother’s back.
“What’s this other guy’s name?” my date asks.
I know he’s trying to be nice, but it’s none of his business. “I try not to talk about him, or really think about him,” I lie.
“Maybe that’s the problem,” he says.
I stop at my car door. “What do you mean?”
“Maybe you can’t move on until you talk about him. Holding everything in is holding you to him,” he says. “Let yourself talk about it.”
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