“Whatever. Keep going with your story.”
“Fenton is just . . . How do I explain it, Pres? It’s not about the actual act. It’s more like he builds you up, makes you think about it, and when he finally touches you, it’s like bombs dropping everywhere.”
“I want bombed.”
“You don’t even know,” I taunt.
A long silence extends between us. It’s an awkward kind of lull in the conversation and I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Something tells me this discussion is going to make a turn and I’m not going to like it.
“Hey, Brynne. I have something to tell you . . .”
And I was right.
I brace myself. “What?”
“So, today I went to Pilates and grabbed a bagel, which I know offset—”
“Pres,” I warn.
“When I got home, Grant was here.”
“Why?”
“He was just sitting on the steps.”
She has to be kidding me right now.
“I would’ve hit him in the chest with my stiletto, but I had on sandals.”
“What did he want?”
“He didn’t really say,” she sighs. “I didn’t know whether to tell you this now or later, but I felt guilty as hell not telling you. I’m such a bad secret keeper.”
“No,” I croak. “Thank you for telling me.” I slip back against the cushion again and try to find my zen. “He didn’t say what he wanted?”
“Uh-uh. He just said he wanted to see you. And that he wanted to see you face-to-face.”
I stare at a passing cloud that looks like a mushroom. It floats through the sky and I try to use it to find some calm.
I have nothing to say to him and we have nothing in common anymore, unless he wants to tell me what he knows about Brady.
“I told him you were out of town with a friend,” Presley explains. “I said you were getting a break and that he needed to give you some space.”
I take a deep breath and watch a man and woman holding hands. They shove each other playfully before he pulls her in for a quick kiss. It looks so easy. Happy.
Did I ever have that with Grant? Do I even know what that feels like?
Something stirs inside me.
“Okay,” I say, “I’m going to lay out in this hot as hell sun and forget all about this little deviation in our conversation.”
“And wait to get ravaged by the man of both of our dreams.”
“Exactly.”
“I want details, Calloway!”
“Maybe,” I laugh. “Call you later.”
“And if Mr. Avocado is Fenton’s twin, I’ll call you! Bye!”
“Bye,” I laugh, shaking my head.
I plop my earbuds in and find a music app and select a playlist that I use when I’m studying—something calm and relaxing. Closing my eyes, the heat beats down on my tired muscles and fretful mind. I let the music wash over me and picture Fenton’s sexy grin and the feeling of my hands tugging on his thick mane.
I must have fallen asleep because I’m shocked awake by my phone buzzing in my ears. Scrambling to sit up, I realize I’m still at the pool. I quickly gather my bearings and look at my screen. Fenton.
Jerking out my earbuds, I swing my feet to the side and press the green button.
“Hello?” I squint against the sun, trying to figure out how long I’ve been here.
“Where are you?”
“The pool,” I say as casually as possible.
The phone chirps and I look at the screen. FaceTime.
I glance down at my bikini-clad body.
Oh. Shit.
I tap the button.
He’s looking right at me on the screen. His jaw is pulsing, a vein I hadn’t noticed before throbbing at his temple. He’s not happy.
“Hey,” I say sweetly, hoping to distract him.
“Take the phone,” he commands, “And show me your body.”
“Fenton, wait—”
“Now.” The grin he gives me is misleading. I grin back. His smile vanishes. “Now, Brynne.”
I drop the screen to show my body and then pull it up to my face again. ”Relax. No one was getting to see me when you weren’t.”
When the phone faces me again, he’s not relaxed. He may even be a little worked up. “I’m going to be in the room in twelve minutes. I’m going to suggest you be there in eleven.”
“Are you serious?”
“Do I look serious?”
Seriously hot. But I don’t tempt the beast. Not now. Not when he’s looking at me like that.
“Okay. I’ll see you there,” I say, starting to end the call.
“Are you hanging up on me?”
“How do you want me to get appropriately clothed and make it to the room in ten and a half minutes and carry on a discussion with you in the process?”
“It’s a little late to be concerned with being appropriately clothed, don’t you think?”
“Will you seriously stop it?” I roll my eyes and it catches him off guard. His eyebrows shoot to the sky and he almost laughs. Almost. “I’m sitting back here by myself and relaxing. It’s not like I’m walking around, trying to pick up dick.”
“It’s a good fucking thing.”