Sweet Cheeks(12)

Talk about mortifying. Having your brother call the one man who crushed you and asking him to be your date to your ex-fiancé’s wedding. It couldn’t get any more daytime talk show topic if I tried.

“I should have known better,” I mutter to myself, thinking how I thought I was in the clear on this. That Ryder hadn’t brought up the RSVP or Mitch’s wedding since the day he found the invitation and therefore the topic had been forgotten.

I’m going to kill him.

Repeating it in my head makes me feel better. Well, not really but it’s easier to focus on that than anything about the man standing before me.

My hands fist. My jaw clenches.

Hayes chuckles and yet all I hear is condescension. Mockery. “Do you mind explaining to me why you’re—?”

“Whatever Ryder told you I needed help with, I no longer need it . . . I’m a big girl. A grown woman who can handle her own life, so thanks, but no thanks. I’d like to say it’s great to see you, Hayes, but it’s not. While I appreciate the gesture, because I’m not that much of a bitch, it’s actually just uncomfortable knowing why you’re here. This has to be amusing to you to come back, after being asked by my brother no less, to play the part of escort to try and help the girl you dumped.” I stop for a second to catch my breath, the purge of words almost cathartic. His eyes narrow, forehead creases, and his head shakes as he looks at me like he doesn’t understand what I’m saying. So I continue while my courage is winning out over the hurt and embarrassment. Hostility owns my voice. “Look, it’s been a long time and yet nothing’s changed. You’re still Mr. Perfect and I’m far from it, and the last thing I need is you here thinking you’re making it better when in the end it will just be worse. So I appreciate it, Hayes . . . I really do. It’s a nice gesture but it’s been a long day, I’m tired, and so I’m going to close up shop a little early tonight and forgo any more embarrassment for the day. Okay?”

I blow a breath out and just stare at him, impatience emanating off me with my stance—hands across my chest and teeth clenched tight—while he digests what I’ve said. I’m sure the look of shock on his face stems from the fact that no one probably says no to him now that he’s one of People’s Most Beautiful. Yet right now I can’t find the wherewithal to even care.

Until he speaks.

“Guess I underestimated your ability to hold a grudge, Saylor. But I get why you’re angry. I had my reasons back then, but the boy I was then is not the man I am now. I know what I did was chickenshit.” I hate the glimpse of emotion I see in his eyes but can’t read. It’s been too long, and I don’t know anything about the man he’s become to even try to assume what it is. All I know is the regret in his voice hits me and weaves through my anger but doesn’t penetrate the mortification I feel, knowing my brother recruited Hayes. How can he not think I’m desperate?

“Hayes.” I say his name. A request for him to stop. A plea for him to turn around and walk out the door without another word. A warning to just leave it be and forget everything Ryder told him. Anything so the teenager in me still clinging to her first love remains buried beneath the strong woman I’ve become. An apology is just a word and when it’s coming from an actor, I can’t trust its sincerity any more than I can trust myself not to believe it.

“No need. I understand,” he says as he holds his hands up in surrender. “I’ll just pick up my order and leave.”

“Order?” My voice breaks. The singular word has me standing straighter as dread begins to bleed into the edges of my temper.

I wrack my mind for an order I may have missed under the name Whitley. No order for his mother. No order for anyone I know associated with his family.

“Yes. It’s under Rosemont.”

Oh. My. God.

“That’s my mom’s maiden name.”

The blood drains from my face.

“I’m in town for my great-uncle’s funeral.”

He’s not here because of Ryder. Or me. Or some convoluted plan to be my date so I could seek redemption.

Shit. Shit. Double shit.

“I offered to pick up the order so I could . . . I don’t know.” He shrugs, voice tight. “I’d heard this was your place and wanted to see how you were doing.”

Do something. Say something. And yet I do neither as I stare at Hayes like a deer in the headlights. My mortification reaching new heights but for a different reason.

“Your great-uncle?” My voice squeaks and he nods his head, eyes never leaving mine. “Oh my God, Hayes. I’m so sorry. For what I said. I had no idea these were for your great-uncle. Or that he died. I–uh–I’m such an idiot.” I can’t stop stuttering out apologies as I move to the refrigerated case and busy my hands as if getting him the cupcakes faster will right the wrong I just made in unleashing my temper. I move each of the five boxes to the counter as quickly as possible in the hopes that my preoccupation and lack of eye contact during the time will allow me to recover some of my dignity.