“And you couldn’t keep walking, huh?”
“Nope.” His gaze briefly lowered. “You look nice. Going anywhere important?”
“Ah.” I smiled, but it wasn’t exactly the friendliest one I’d ever offered anyone. “You spoke to Cora.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You know Cora.”
“She called me.”
“Of course she did.”
“Who else do you think called me? Do you have a bombshell assistant stashed away somewhere who schedules your mindless fucks?”
Brett froze. Only for a second, but long enough that it was un-missable. A smile, almost cold, slid across his slips and into his eyes. “I see your run with Camille was successful.”
It was my turn to raise my eyebrows. I took one step toward him, doing the best to control the way my lips wanted to turn upward. “Oh, she didn’t even scratch the surface,” I said, staring into his blue-gray eyes. “But she doesn’t need to. Everybody else already did it for her.” I sipped my coffee and moved back. “See you at six, Brett. If that doesn’t interrupt any other...plans...you might have.”
His stubble-coated, square jaw clenched and then ticked. Annoyance flashed at me from his gaze, but that didn’t stop him shutting the slight distance between us and taking the ends of my hair between his finger and thumb. “Oh,” he said, glancing at my hair between his thick fingers. “I have plans, Lani. And every single one involves you.”
I swallowed back the lump in my throat and smacked his hand away from me. “Take a shower, Brett Walker. I can smell the manslut on you from here.”
“I’d rather smell like a manslut than a virgin.”
I inhaled sharply. The urge to step away from his incorrect...statement? Insult? Accusation?...was all too much, but I didn’t give into it.
No.
I did the dumb thing.
I moved into him further.
Until my breasts almost brushed his chest and I had to tilt my head back to look at him.
I laughed bitterly and smirked. “I don’t know if that was meant to be an insult, but just because you’re so far removed from normal human contact doesn’t mean I’m at the opposite side to you. I’m no whore, but I’m sure as hell no virgin. If this is the bullshit game you want to play, Brett, then fine. You should know one thing.”
“Mhmm?” he hummed, leaning in, gaze shooting over my face, across my mouth and down to my chest before that slow, greedy glance returned to my face.
“I can play too,” I said, my voice whispering out deep and low. I stepped closer, close enough that my breath moved the slight stubble on his cheek.And I could do things to you—dirty, whorish little things—that would make you forget I was paid to fuck you to death.”
He grabbed my arm before I could turn and pulled me back to him. I took a deep breath in and steeled myself as his hot gaze collided with mine.
“Careful, Lani.” His voice was deep, husky, filled with a scarily real, lusty promise. “Or I might mistake that bravado for a fucking offer and take you up on it.”
I snatched my arm out of his, shoving the hot cup of coffee between us as my only means of defense. “Try it,” I warned it. “And you’ll never piss through your dick again, never mind fuck anyone with it.”
When he didn’t move or speak, I walked backward slowly, even though my heart was thumping crazily and was beating to the thick tune of, “Run, run, run, run.”
Brett simply smirked, scratched his finger down his jaw, and said, “See you at six. For dinner.”
I could swear his smirk widened, but instead of thinking of it, I turned and walked away as fast as I could.
What the hell did I just say to him?
Dear Diary,
I hate the boys at school. They’re jackasses. Until Brett shows up. Then they just...stop. I don’t know why they do it. At least I didn’t until today. He told me he made them shut up because he’d punch them if he ever heard them say something bad at me. I don’t know why he protects me. We’re friends but only when it looks good for him. Sometimes. Maybe. I don’t know. Camille said it’s because he likes me, but of course he likes me. I’m his sister’s best friend. Sometimes I think that if Cami wasn’t almost as much of a geek as me he’d let them be horrible to me.
Lx
“Ugh.” I tossed the old diary to the side and sat on the bed. It fell to the worn-out carpet with a light thud. I glared at the tatted old notebook before dropping back onto my bed.
I don’t know why I picked it up. I must be a sucker for torture because I did and worst of all, I read it. It needed burning, that dumb thing. With fireworks. And dynamite. In a cartoon.
Or by Seamus Finnegan in Harry Potter.
I rubbed my hands over my face and looked into the mirror that stared back at me. I’d barely changed Grandma’s spare room. To do so right now felt like a little strange, but I’d personalized it for sure.
Holy shit, who was I kidding? I wasn’t thinking about the bedding. I was thinking about Brett.
Rather, I was thinking about not thinking about Brett. It wasn’t going well.
Fucking Brett Walker.
What possessed me to say yes to his father? Oh, I know. Not the money—I didn’t even look at the check properly until I got home—but my own defiance. The absolute need to prove to Brett that I was somebody.
That I wasn’t the person he thought he knew.
Although...I did that pretty well earlier, when I thought about it. I also blushed when I thought about it. Did I really say that to him?
Of course I did.
If there was one thing Brett Walker could do, it was push my buttons. All the wrong ones.
I shoved myself off the bed. I’d spent all afternoon in the hospital with my sister because her doctor was running late, only for Connie to proclaim me the world’s worst sister because I didn’t know I was looking at her baby’s face and not her butt.
In my defense, those ultrasound things were about as clear as a drunk person giving directions to a New Zealand tourist in the middle of Mardi Gras.
I didn’t know what to wear. What was someone supposed to wear for a dinner non-date with someone they used to know?
This was so, so dumb. And if our last two meetings were anything to go by, it wasn’t going to end very well.
Yep... It was going to end very badly.
As I pulled up in the large, circular driveway of Walker House, having successfully navigated the gated security system for the second time that week, my stomach flipped in a way so nauseating I actually felt bile creep up and burn the back of my throat.
Dear god, what was I doing?
No, seriously. What. Was. I. Doing?
I knew I was about to walk into a pretty painful night, yet here I was, still doing it. Why did I agree to this evening? Why didn’t I insist upon tomorrow?
I rubbed my hand down my nose, instinctively missing my mouth despite the long-stay lipstick I was wearing. Nothing could get that stuff off. It was the waterproof mascara of the lip world. Peering out of my window toward the house, I sighed heavily as the sight of the door cracking open caught my attention.