Wherever It Leads (23 page)

“I’
m going to be real honest with you, Brynnie. I didn’t expect you to look like this when you got home.”

“Shocker.”

“I expected a post-coital glow, maybe a permanent smirk from all the sexy times. Not . . .
this
.”

I huff, stirring the sugar into my coffee. “Yeah, well, this wasn’t on my list of to-do’s either.”

Presley clasps her hands together and sits them on the table in front of her, which is across the kitchen table from me. Her bracelets rattle off the wooden planks, jingling through the room.

“I’m sorry, Brynne. I know what happened with Brady.”

“Yeah,” I exhale, lifting the warm mug to my lips.

“Your dad told me last night when they called here looking for you. I called them this morning to check on them. Your poor mother. I almost drove to their house just to try to offer some support or something.”

“I called her before the plane left Vegas and she just sounds numb this morning. I guess we all are in our own way.”

“Do you want to go see them?”

I’ve considered it. It’s just a couple of hours drive from here and if I left now, I could be there before dinner. But when I proposed it to my mother, she demanded I stay home and go through the motions of my day.

“Nah,” I say, sipping the coffee. “I have to work. And really, if I were there, I think they’d feel torn about spending time with me and focusing on him. At least if I’m here, they can do what needs to be done, if that makes sense.”

“It does.” Presley watches me with narrowed eyes before speaking. “You’re pretty calm about it. Calmer than I thought you’d be.”

“I think I cried myself out last night. Today, I just feel . . . dull. I don’t know how to explain it. There’s nothing I can do, Pres.” My jaw tenses as I think about the assholes who won’t go get him and how they’re having breakfast with their families today, sleeping in their beds tonight.

“Did he even know who he was going to work for?” I ask, tossing my thoughts into the universe. “Did he know how dangerous it would really be—not just the generic ‘I’m going out of the country so there’s a level of danger involved’? Maybe they let him be taken—”

“Whoa,” Presley interrupts. “You’re pissing yourself off. That’s not going to do anyone any good.”

I roll my eyes. She’s right, of course, but screw that. At least when I get pissed off, I care, and that’s more than anyone besides my parents have done since day one.

“Let’s change the subject,” Presley proposes. “What happened with Cashmere?”

“Well, he whisked me away on his private jet. He fucked the sense out of me. He was kind and sweet and playful and it was just amazing.”

She beams.

“He took me away to Lake Las Vegas and chartered a private yacht,” I feed her. “We screwed on the balcony as the sun set, drank a lot of frozen drinks, ate the best hamburger I’ve ever tasted, and he told me he wanted to see me when we got back to California.”

“For real? How awesome! I’m not jumping ahead, and I know I said he was just a rebound, but—”

“And then,” I cut her off, “he got a call from work and, whatever it was, really perplexed him. And then Mom called and I think he realized how much he needed to focus and what a hot mess my life is.”

We exchange a sad smile. Presley’s lips twitch before she finally bites the bottom one to keep from talking.

“So, here I am a couple of days early. But,” I sigh, looking at the ceiling, “it’s not even that, Pres. It’s like he let me down easy. He tried to make it seem like we might see each other again, but I really don’t think he means that. And while I appreciate the gentle brush-off, the ‘hold’ part of ‘on hold’ feels pretty damn permanent.”

“Oh, Brynne . . .”

My spirits sink. Again.

“Yeah. So that’s that. It was a great few days and I have enough material to masturbate to for a few months. It’ll all work out.”

She shakes her head, still in disbelief. Watching her work through the emotions is somehow cathartic. I follow her as the disbelief switches to sadness and then, ultimately, to anger. Her eyes blaze.

“Fuck him,” she says. “Fuck him and his cashmere voice and his big cock. I mean, I’m guessing he was packing.”

“Of course he was.”

“Shit.”

I giggle at her, the way she takes my side and keeps it real is so entertaining. “So that was my vacation. What did you do?”

“Went on a couple of dates. Ate some sushi. Did some hot yoga which, for the record, you should not try. It’s like asking for someone to contort you and asphyxiate you in the process. Horrible.”

“Noted.”

“And then I got to see Grant. So that was a good time.”

I groan and get up and refill my coffee. “What did he say?” I sigh, leaning against the counter.

“He said he wanted to see you. He was just sitting on the steps, Brynne. So weird. But when he saw me coming, he jumped up and wanted to know where you were. I just . . .” She blows out a breath and stops herself from finishing the sentence.

“But he’s okay. Like, nothing bad happened to him? He didn’t look strung out or desperate?”

“Not really. Not anymore odd than he has been the last couple of times I saw him. I wouldn’t give him your number since you changed it and I wouldn’t tell him when you were coming home. His number is under the Cosmo magazine on the coffee table if you want it and don’t have it.”

I’m too exhausted to exert any energy on Grant and tie myself up in whatever he has to say. It’ll just be some bullshit and what he won’t say—the truth about what happened in Zimbabwe—is the real kicker. It’s the reason when it’s all boiled down as to why I won’t see him.

“I’m going to grab a shower,” I say, pushing away from the table.

“Go wash that hot man off of you,” she winks. “And I’ll make us some brunch.”

“You’re making us brunch?”

“Well, I’ll order us brunch. You haven’t been gone that long,” she laughs.

I give her a thumbs up and leave. I walk through the kitchen, assiduously ignoring the Cosmo magazine, and into my room.

Reset button has been pushed. Let the chips fall.

“W
here is my name tag? Have you seen it?” I rummage around on the top of my dresser and search for it. My hand knocks over a bottle of perfume but I don’t have the energy to pick it up. “Ugh. I always put it right here.”

Presley shuffles the array of items from my suitcase that are now dumped on my bed. “I haven’t. But the mess we made getting you ready for Cashmere probably knocked it around.”

“Probably.”

I crouch down and look on the floor and spy it lying behind a lamp. Retrieving it, I pin it to the front of my blue button-down Cooper and Sheldon shirt. My fingers fumble with the clasp, my coordination suffering the effects of not getting any sleep last night.

Every time I closed my eyes, a movie-like reel of images would start. Sometimes it felt like they started before I even fell asleep and that made me fearful to even try to let my lids close.

I feel like I’m walking around in a bubble. The world is speeding by, doing its thing, and I can’t keep up. I’m slogging behind, trying to keep pace, while being dragged down by the stresses of my life. Things were barely manageable before; I’d learned to put everything into a box and open each parcel as I was able. But now? There’s no hope. Fenton won’t fit into any box.

I keep telling myself he did exactly what a rebound should do: he was fun. He built me up, gave me some of my confidence back. And that has my chin lifted a little bit. Or a lot. So my plan worked. I rebounded. I think. The only problem is—now I don’t want to boomerang to the next guy. I want
him
and I don’t think that’s going to happen.

“I so don’t feel like going in tonight,” I groan, feeling a headache start to pulse in my temple.

“Why didn’t you just say no?”

“Because,” I sigh. “They let me switch with another girl so I could take the last couple of days off. So how can I say no now and not look like a complete jerk?”

“What’s the worst they can do?”

“Fire me!”

“Over that?”

“Yes, over that!” I laugh. “Sometimes I forget that you don’t understand basic life.”

She shrugs, examining a freshly manicured fingernail. “I understand basic life. I just happen to be born into a family with a trust fund. It’s not bad to be me.”

If anyone else would’ve said that, I would’ve rolled my eyes and called them a twat. But Presley doesn’t mean it badly. She’d do anything for me or for anyone she loves, which in honesty, is few and far between, but that’s not the point. She has a huge heart and is right—she’s lucky.

I twist my name tag until it sits only partially lopsided.

“I’d miss him, too,” Presley says.

Turning to face her, I glare.

“Don’t try to play pretend with me. I’m your best friend and I’m a female that saw him in those workout pants and you confirmed my cock theory. There’s no way in Hades you aren’t missing him.”

I slouch over to the bed and sit on the edge. I do miss him. But that’s not the problem because I’ve missed people before. I missed Grant. I still kind of miss Grant in a weird way. But this feels different. I miss Fenton, yes. I miss the sound of his voice, the way he makes my skin come alive under his touch. I miss the little idiosyncrasies that make him
him
. But I also miss the way he makes me feel–giggly, interesting, safe, desired. It makes how I missed Grant feel incredibly superficial. What I feel for Fenton is wrapped around some deep part of my consciousness and it doesn’t just hurt–it aches.

“He was that good, huh?”

“Yeah,” I chuckle. “He was that good.”

“I figured. Rich, sexy asshole. Of course he’d be great in bed.”

“Right? But you know, Pres, it was more than that . . .” I sigh, searching for the words to sum up all that Fenton was in such a short period of time. “He’s smart. He’s kind and funny and silly. He listened when I talked. He didn’t get mad when I challenged him.”

A picture of Grant and I sits on a shelf across the room. His arm is around me and we look exactly like what our relationship was—young and immature.

I spin around to Presley again.

“When I would go somewhere with Grant, I had to fight for his attention with every pretty girl in the room. But no matter where I went with Fenton, we may as well have been alone. He never looked at anyone but me. I never felt like I bored him or that he wished he was home watching football. It was just . . .”

“Magical?”

“Kind of,” I whisper. My eyes close and I swear I can feel his breath on my neck, his voice murmuring in my ear. “He could’ve made me want to try a relationship again. I guess he was just too good to be true.”

She narrows her eyes. “You don’t think you . . .”

“What?”

“You don’t think you fell in love with him, do you?”

“No,” I shoot back too quickly.

She slaps her palm against her forehead. “Didn’t we go over the rules of the rebound? No falling in love, Brynnie. Oh my God.”

“I’m not in love with him,” I huff. Even I am not convinced by my tone. It’s a thought that’s crossed my mind a time or two over the last few days, but I’ve scooted it right back out.

Presley doesn’t respond. Just watches me.

“I’m not, Pres,” I assure her . . . and me. “I don’t know him enough to be in love with him. Lust? Yes. Absolutely. Love? No. No way. How can I be in love with someone I met a few days ago? That’s impossible! That’s stupid. No one does that. No one falls in love right away.”

“Tell me the story again of how your parents met and, you know, fell in love.”

I glare at her, shooting the sharpest daggers I can manage right into her skull.

“I’m not saying you are in love with him, Brynne. I’m just saying that maybe this was a guy you feel like you could’ve fallen in love with. And now you’re a little heartbroken, which is totally understandable under the circumstances.”

“What circumstances?”

“That he’s a fucking ten in every category.”

I roll my eyes. “You aren’t helping here.”

“I knew he’d have a magic stick. I have to say I’m impressed he was a wizard all around.”

“Oh, Pres,” I giggle, Fenton’s invisible touch gone with her silly words. “You’re nuts.”