Bedwrecker(54)
Disappointed he didn’t whisper a naughty invite in my ear, I lamely agree with him. “Yes, it will be much easier that way.”
Okay, that was dumb and this is awkward.
Keen grabs one of the coffees and hands it to me. Right away I can see the box next to the word vanilla is checked.
My heart skips a beat. Yesterday in the kitchen he had paid attention to what I was drinking.
“You brought me coffee? Do I have to call you ‘dear’ now?” I say with a smirk.
“No.” He laughs. “But you can call me ‘sir.’”
“Um . . . no.”
We laugh together and it feels good. Like everything is going to go right back on track. Whatever track this is. Undefined. Unknown. And okay.
Instead of reaching for me, though, he takes a seat on the railing beside his coffee and leans slightly forward, his head dipping down and his eyes lifting.
After taking a sip of my coffee, I warm my hands on the cup and meet his gaze.
That’s when I know nothing is back on the unknown track. I know I have to come clean. Open the door.
“About last night,” we both say at the same time.
Uneasiness creeps over me, and not because in the distance I can see the sky growing darker. Call it intuition, call it whatever you want, I just know I am not going to like whatever he says next.
It can’t be good.
Suddenly I realize he’s out of character—he’s being way too nice. The coffees aren’t about him wooing me.
The question is what are they about.
A peace offering? No.
An apology? For what? New Year’s again? The hate fuck last night? Crossing the line? We talked about all that last night.
“You first,” he offers.
I sip more coffee and try to release the tension in my muscles. “No, you first.”
He runs a hand through his more-than-perfect hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t come over last night.”
“Umm . . . what?” I hold up my free hand.
He leans farther forward, leaning his arms on his thighs, those blue eyes still piercing me though. “I should have called.”
Not expecting that in the least, I have to admit that it hurts like hell to know he didn’t even try to come to me.
Here’s the thing: the shock on my face isn’t something I can control, nor is the ire I’m feeling. “You really are an asshole!” I shout.
He straightens. “Let me explain.”
I throw him a disgusted look, feeling triumphant when he flinches. “Don’t bother. I locked the door anyway.”
The muscle in his jaw flexes. “You weren’t going to let me in?”
Anger sparks in my eyes. “No, I wasn’t. I changed my mind before I even made it in the house. Decided I couldn’t trust you. And obviously for good reason.”
His nostrils flare. “Bullshit.”
I blink rapidly at the nerve of him. “Why weren’t you coming over?”
He shrugs. “I thought it was for the best.”
“Bullshit,” I curse, using his word. “You were afraid.”
Standing up, he takes a step toward me. “You got me all wrong, sweetheart. I’m not afraid of anything, but obviously you are.”
“Don’t call me ‘sweetheart’!” I scream.
Just then the door swings wide open and Brooklyn stands there in a pair of board shorts, running his hand through his hair.
We both look at him like deer caught in headlights.
“What the hell is going on?” he says with a yawn.
“Nothing,” we both say at the same time.
“Then what’s with the yelling?”
We look at each other and Keen gives me a slight nod to take the lead. What? No, he only relents control because he’s scared of his little brother. I should clue Brooklyn in, but I won’t. What happened between us happened between us and for some reason I’m not ready to let anyone in, so I straighten my shoulders and smile at him. “We are just discussing something that we can’t seem to agree on.”
Brooklyn raises a brow. “Anything I can help with?”
I ignore Keen’s questioning look. “No, you know how your brother is.”
Brooklyn grins at me. “Yeah, you mean he can be an ass.”
With a wink, I point my finger at him. “You know him well. Don’t forget I won’t be back until Sunday.”
“Right; I’ll water the plants.” He laughs.
It’s a joke between us. We have no plants or nothing live to take care of. It makes going out of town easy. Something Brooklyn does way more of than me.
Without even looking, I can feel the burn of Keen’s stare on me as I grab my suitcase and head toward his car parked at the end of my walk. “Be a dear and unlock your car, will you?” I toss over my shoulder. “And the trunk as well,” I add, keeping my voice sweet for Brooklyn’s sake.