Sigh.
I really wish I knew how I ended up at Pano. The answer matters. I don’t want him wrangling to see me, to control what I do, because he’s jealous. I don’t really see him that way. Yes, he can be a touch aggressive, but it’s usually in a joking or protective manner, not in a caveman, seeing-red kind of way. But if it were, I don’t need that. I don’t want that. I want something real, and I don’t know if what it is with him is real or not.
Naturally, my phone takes the opportunity to ring with me in the same room and breaks me out of the spell. I can’t find it, mostly because I still haven’t picked up my room from the Vegas packing debacle. It rings twice, three times, as I scramble across my bed, knocking my pillow to the floor.
I reach it right as it rings for the fourth time. “Hey, Fenton,” I say, trying to keep my breathing from sounding like I’ve just run a mile.
“You busy?”
“No, why?” I sit up and try to push the towel back up on my head. It falls over, my wet hair smashing the side of my face.
“You’re out of breath.”
“I just got out of the shower.”
He chuckles. “I thought my cock was getting hard for a reason.”
“You’re so stupid,” I laugh.
“That’s not what you said the last time my cock was hard.”
“No, I believe I told you to slide it inside my wet—”
“Brynne . . .”
“What?” I grin.
“Don’t talk like that if I’m not there.”
“Why? I’m simply reliving a memory.”
He snorts, knowing I’m doing way more than reliving a memory. I’m winding him up, listening to him respond to me. It’s something I’ll never tire of, a methamphetamine that I’m addicted to.
“Did you have a good day?” he asks, changing the subject.
“No. My day has been absolutely horrible.”
“Why’s that?”
Taking a deep breath, I consider not telling him. But if I’m going to find out if he wants to even try things with me with my life how it is, then I may as well be honest. “We received a video today of my brother.” The words sound like they’re coming from someone else. “It was awful. They hit him with a gun . . . My mom had to go to the doctor for sedatives to keep her from losing her mind. My father is trying to get a ticket to Africa.”
“He shouldn’t do that.”
“That’s your response?” I pull my brows together. “I tell you all that and you say my dad shouldn’t go?”
He, too, blows out a breath. “I’m just saying he shouldn’t make the situation worse. What will he do there? He needs to stay put and be with you and your mother and let the experts find your brother.”
“I agree. But we’ll see what happens. It’s been hard to have a lot of faith in the so-called experts.”
A long stretch of silence descends on us and I can only hear his breathing. I wonder where he is and what he’s doing and what he’s thinking—but I don’t ask. I wait for him to make the next move.
“Can I see you tonight?” he asks finally, his voice low. “I know you’ve had a shitty day and I’m sorry for that. But let me try to help you. Let me hold you.”
I settle back on my bed and look at the ceiling. Being in his arms is the best medicine I can think of, but I can’t just let this situation be skirted over. I have to remember why I didn’t see him last night and stay true to myself. Stay strong. “Honestly, Fenton. I have a lot of questions.”
“I’m sure you do.”
I can hear the indignation in his exhale. He doesn’t want to answer my questions or give me an explanation, and that takes my frustration up a couple four notches.
“I know you want to know the odds of you and Grant showing up at Pano.”
“Yes. That would be a good start. And also why you bothered to arrange that . . . however you arranged that.”
“I get it. There’s a list.”
“Of course there’s a list. And I need some transparency here. This thing between us started off as a weekend getaway and the weekend is over—not even mentioning because you cut it short—and you’re still calling me and interfering in my life.”
“Interfering? Is that what you think I was doing?”
“Yes,” I sigh. “Kind of. It all depends on why you did it.”
Giving him a chance to interject, to come forward and volunteer the information, I pause. But it doesn’t happen. I suck in a hasty breath and get ready to play hardball because as sinful as he is and as much as I really, really want to be with him again, I’m not going to be bowled over by anyone.
“Why does it matter?” he asks.
I pop myself up on my elbows. “It doesn’t unless you want to see me again. If you’re just a rebound—”
“A what?”
“A rebound. If you and I are just fuck buddies, then I guess it doesn’t matter.”