Wherever It Leads (17 page)

“It’s one I haven’t heard before. Did you, like, make it up one day and decide you want to use it?” I laugh.

“Something like that.”

I shake my head. “I’m going to need a little more than that, Fent.”

“It fits you, I think. It’s seems to wrap up everything I know about you.”

“You don’t know a lot about me.”

“I know more than you think. Your eyes tell me everything.”

“Is that so?”

“Mm-hmm. Even from your picture, I could see what a naughty little girl you were behind that innocent little smile.” He taps my lips with the pad of his finger. I snap at it, capturing it between my teeth, and pull it into my mouth. I suck it gently before releasing it.

His eyes darken. “If you want round three, keep it up.”

“Give me a few minutes and it’s a go.”

He chuckles, rolling onto his back too.

“So what do my eyes tell you?” I scoff, wondering how he has me pegged.

“Well, they tell me that you’re very intelligent. They’re assessing, calculating. And you’re kind, but have a mean streak a mile wide at times.”

“Wow. You’re better at this than I thought,” I laugh.

“See?” He slips his arm behind my neck and jostles me closer to him. “
Rudo
. It fits you to a tee.”

I love the comfortable feeling between us, no weird vibes or awkwardness at all. We’re lying side by side in towels after a thorough fucking, and it feels like I’ve known him my whole life.

He wants nothing from me but my time. He doesn’t push me and doesn’t corner me or give me lines that I know are complete bullshit. Everything with him is transparent and organic and that, in itself, is worth its weight in gold.

“You also have a great sense of humor. You like to think you’re the boss in your relationships.”

“Correction—I
am
the boss.”

“Not in this one.”

“Um, Fent. We aren’t in a relationship.”

He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. I’m not sure what he’s thinking or what that look is supposed to mean. I tighten my towel around my chest.

“True,” he admits.

“So tell me about you,” I say, shifting focus. I’m enjoying the lazy Sunday feel, even though it’s not Sunday, and I don’t want that to end. Seeing him so relaxed and carefree, especially after how he was a few hours ago, makes my heart sing. “What’s there to know?”

“Nothing, really. I’m pretty much a ‘what you see is what you get’ kind of guy.”

“Well, I like what I see,” I whisper.

A long pause stretches between us until, finally, he rolls back onto his side. He strums down the length of my arm with his fingers, watching the goose bumps pop up in response. “I like watching you react to me like that.”

“How can I not? You know all the buttons to push. You make it impossible.”

He shrugs, an unconvincing smile sliding across his cheeks. “I thought you weren’t going to fall in love with me?”

I grab a pillow and smash him in the face. He catches it and throws it behind him, laughing.

“I’m not in love with you,” I laugh.

“Sure you’re not.”

“I’m not! I’m just a woman that’s turned on by uber-sexy men. I mean, I’m sure women across the board react to you,” I giggle. “Look at you. You’re gorgeous. You’re smart. You’re charming.” I tap him on the end of his nose. “But even so, I’m not going to fall in love with you.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because someone told me love doesn’t exist.”

“And someone told me it does. So I’d say the potential is there. I mean, look at me.”

I giggle and snuggle into the blankets and watch his eyes twinkle. “What?”

“I was just thinking how fun these last few days have been.”

“They have been, huh?”

He reaches out and brushes his knuckles against my cheek. “More than I even imagined.”

There’s a question that’s been on my mind and the time has never been right to ask it. The opportunity is wide open now, but I’m afraid of the response. I know my heart has bridged the gap from straight-up rebound to someone I could imagine seeing again, and his answer could feel like salt in an open wound if I don’t watch it. Taking a deep breath, I go for it anyway.

“Do you do this a lot?” I ask, my words out in a rush before I change my mind.

“Do what a lot?”

“Do this? Take a girl on a weekend.”

Whether he means to or not, he leans away a number of inches. He seems to consider his reply before giving it to me. “Not a lot. I have before, though.”

“Girlfriends? Or girls you met when you found their phones?” I try to make light of the situation, even though there’s a lump I cannot deny sitting squarely in the middle of my throat.

He grins. “You’re the first girl I’ve met in the produce department. But I’ve brought . . . I wouldn’t call them girlfriends, exactly. More like dates, I guess, along on trips.”

“Why dates?”

He shrugs, settling into the pillows. A mood settles over his face, a more somber one than I’ve seen this evening. “I don’t really have girlfriends.”

My spirits sink and I mentally chastise myself for that.

He’s a rebound, Brynne. Re. Bound.

“Relationships mean a commitment and that means I can’t do whatever I want. Not other women, because I have no problem with monogamy. Just that I have to be responsible to that person. I can’t come and go as I please. It lends some idea to the belief that there might be more in the future, like marriage or something, and that’s all more than I’ve ever wanted to manage. I just want to work and have fun when time allows,” he shrugs, looking at me cautiously. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Not at all.”

Even though I say that, it is a bad thing. Because even though he’s a rebound, a part of me really enjoyed being with him and hoped, secretly, maybe, that I would see him again after this. Really, though—I’m not sure if I could handle just seeing him occasionally.

“Why do I feel like an asshole now?” he asks.

“I have no clue,” I laugh, more to keep the conversation light than anything.

He laughs and kisses me gently, a soft, leisurely motion that stirs the butterflies in my stomach. His hand cups the side of my face, his thumb stroking my jaw, as he tries to interrupt the conversation. I let him and enjoy the sensation of being enjoyed.

“So you don’t want a girlfriend, which I understand,” I lie. “So who do you spend time with? You said before you don’t have a lot of friends either.”

“No one, really.”

The way his eyes fall makes my heart go right along with it. The loneliness is palpable, and I wonder why he chooses that, because he clearly does. Anybody would love to be around him. There’s nothing not to love.

“No one?” I whisper, treading lightly at the look on his face. “Really, Fent?”

“I didn’t have friends growing up. I was the outcast for a lot of reasons. I didn’t fit in with the other kids and they never accepted me. So I spent time by myself or with my parents.” He pauses and gazes into the distance. “My dad would take me on these hunting trips a couple of times a year. It was just me and him in the wilderness. My mom insisted we take the meat and donate it to a homeless shelter or to a tribe or whatever where we were. So we did that. Other times of the year, Mom would take me, like I told you, to the ballet and musicals and to the things she loved. I was their friend and they were a helluva lot more interesting than the kids my age, jacking off to Playboy. Not that I didn’t do that too,” he winks.

I want to wrap him up in my arms and kiss away the pain that I know is buried just under the surface. Fenton is so dynamic and social; it must be so difficult to be alone all the time. It’s heartbreaking to consider.

“So you have no family or friends at all?” I ask, praying for him to admit to an aunt or cousin or something.

He shakes his head. “Technically, I guess, but I’m not close to them in an everyday kind of way. They don’t live near me and our lives don’t really cross more than once or twice a year—if that.”

My mind immediately goes to my parents and Brady and Presley and my chest tightens for him. I can’t imagine my life without my family.

“You must be really lonely,” I say wistfully.

“I miss my parents, of course. But really,” he takes a deep breath, “I like it better this way than having someone hold me back or tie me down. And,” he grins, “There’s no one in my life that can question me. I make the rules.”

Beaming, I roll back onto my side. He looks confused and it makes me giggle.

“What?” he asks.

“Well, I just questioned you
and
made the rules
and
you followed along. Just pointing that out.”

“So?”

“So. That makes me the boss. I’m everyone’s boss’s boss,” I sigh dramatically. “That is such a powerful position.”

His laughter barrels through the room. “You may have been in charge of . . . what was his name?”

“Grant.”

“Grant, yeah. But that doesn’t mean you’re in charge of me, rudo.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” I wink. My attempt at humor dissolves and I’m picturing Grant sitting on our doorstep this morning. I hate the idea of seeing him and know I’m going to have to figure out a way to keep him away from me when I get home. The idea is draining.

“Hey,” he says, tilting my chin so I’m looking at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, I was talking to Presley earlier and she said Grant came by today.”

He stills. “Is that so?”

“That’s what she said.”

“What did he want?”

I shrug and then bring the blankets up a little higher around me. Fenton is watching me, assessing every reaction, and I try to stay completely unaffected.

“Is this normal behavior?” Fenton finally asks.

“Not really. He pops in and out at times, but I haven’t seen him in a while and . . .”

“And you are uneasy about it. I can tell.”

“It’s nothing,” I say quickly. “He probably just got drunk or something and wanted to reminisce.” I don’t quite believe that, but it’s a realistic theory.

“Do you want to get a hold of him?” he asks cautiously.

“No.” I turn my head to face him. “I don’t. Grant McDaniels is nothing to me.”

“That’s his name? Grant McDaniels?”

“Yeah.”

He pulls me against him. The blankets form a barrier, one he doesn’t look thrilled with. “Are you sure this guy is safe?”

“Yes, I’m sure he’s safe,” I scoff. “I was with him for years.”

Fenton’s features tighten and he bites his tongue, both literally and figuratively.

“He might be safe, I think, but that doesn’t mean I want to see him. There’s a lot of strife between him and my family right now, and it’s just . . . it’s a difficult situation.”

“Want to tell me about it?”

“Honestly? No. Because it’ll make me sad and I don’t want to be sad. I just want to enjoy lying here with you, okay?”

He squeezes me tighter and plants a soft kiss to my forehead. “That’s entirely okay with me.”

T
he bed is empty beside me. I glance at the clock and it’s early afternoon.

I stretch, letting my sore muscles warm up before I hop out of bed. Every part of my body aches deliciously with memories of being wrapped around Fenton in various positions three times from yesterday morning to the middle of the night. It was well worth the discomfort I’m feeling today.

I twist to my left and then to my right and a dopey smile plays across my lips. I lift his pillow to my face and inhale his lingering scent. My body immediately hums, sparking awake with the promise of the man that’s made it feel alive more than it ever has.

Flopping back, I cringe. I could get into deep trouble here if I’m not careful. It’s too easy. Being with him is entirely too comfortable. He’s smart. He’s funny. He’s sexy-as-sin and adorable-as-hell. And he doesn’t do relationships.

Rebound, Brynne. This is a rebound. Enjoy it this weekend and move along with life.

Just the thought makes my spirits drop, and that, in turn, makes me feel stupid. He may be man candy in every way, but that doesn’t mean I need to turn into some cheesy addict.

Even though he gives the best oral.

Tossing the blankets back, I swing my legs off the bed.