“Not a lot,” he said, which was technically true.
“Really?” she asked, the word dripping with disbelief, disapproval, derision, all kinds of terrible d-words. Haddock, clearly aware of the impending storm, picked up his rickety bones and clambered out of Abbie’s lap. Will watched him pad out of the room with more than a little envy.
Then he replied, with complete inadequacy, “Really, really, Abs.”
“Fascinating,” she drawled. “Because if I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were trying to flirt your way into my underwear like we haven’t been friends for twenty-one years. And I’m trying to figure out why you would do such a thing, and the only explanation I can come up with—” She faltered for a second, so slightly he might not have noticed it if he wasn’t (1) kind of obsessed with her, drinking her down like sixty-year-old Scotch, and (2) so on edge in this moment he noticed her every goddamn breath. “The only explanation I can come up with,” she went on, her expression unreadable and her eyes burning, “is that something’s happened since the last time I saw you. Something that’s turned you into kind of a dick. I don’t know what it is, but I’m not going to take it.”
Will’s mouth fell open. He was rapidly losing control of this situation, which he’d expected, but what he hadn’t expected was the direction it would spiral off into. “I—what? Calling you beautiful makes me a dick now?”
“Flirting with me makes you a dick,” she replied instantly, her voice low and steely, her expression hard and—beneath it all … hurt?
Yes. It was hidden, like all of Abbie’s feelings, but he’d made it his life’s mission to decipher her, and he knew what the flash in her dark eyes meant. What he didn’t know was how he’d managed to fuck up so spectacularly and with such jaw-dropping speed.
Or maybe he did know. Plans weren’t his thing, and now he remembered why. It wasn’t only his lack of organisation; it was the fact that this plan involved keeping secrets, holding back, and that felt a little like lying.
Jase had been right—and Will had been wrong.
Because he wasn’t afraid of rejection, not usually. But he realised in this tense, suspended moment of oh-fuck regret that he was terrified of being rejected by Abbie.
“You can deny it if you want,” she was saying, “but I’m not an idiot.” The word had bite. Her lips pressed tight together, she nodded as if reassuring herself. “I am an adult woman. I know what flirting is. I’m not imagining things.”
“I never said you were,” he replied softly. “I’d never say that, Abbie-girl.” I’d never fuck with your head. I’d never make you feel like a fool. Except maybe he already had.
At his words, something about her seemed to relax, just the tiniest bit. As if his honesty was the key to cooling her sudden ire. “Oh,” she said, and seemed suddenly at a loss.
Which only emphasised exactly how badly Will had messed up here. In the aftermath of her explosion, the magnitude of it really hit him.
He’d made Abbie doubt herself, hadn’t he?
He’d made her feel … played with.
He’d ignored her twin’s advice—ignored his own knowledge of her, and of the shit she’d been through with her husband—to carry out some cloak-and-dagger plan like she was a science experiment.
Well, fuck that. Fuck the fucking plan.
Will exhaled hard and propped his elbows on his knees, dropping his head onto his hands. “Shit,” he muttered.
“What are you doing?” Abbie demanded. She was always edgy when she was confused. Yet another thing he should’ve taken into account.
He should’ve taken her into account. That was the bottom line. But … “Honestly? I’ve never done this kind of thing before.”
“Well, that’s a lie,” she said. “I do see the headlines, you know. And don’t say it’s all made up, because Jase mentions things, too.”
Will frowned and looked up at her. She was still lovely in the pale morning light, even lovelier with that defiant frown and the fire in her gaze. “What are you talking about?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m talking about your marauding penis, William. I’m sure it’s very cold and lonely up here in the Highlands. But you better order yourself a Fleshlight because you ain’t warming that thing up in me.”
Will almost choked on his tongue. “Abbie!” Since when had the Farrell twins been this sex-obsessed?
“What? I know what you’re up to.” She scowled.
“No,” he said, straightening. “You don’t.” Was it his imagination, or did a flash of hope appear beneath her stony expression? Like the impression of a flash of lightning after you closed your eyes?
Maybe. She was probably hoping he hadn’t turned into a complete prick since they’d last seen each other, hoping he could explain this absolute shitstorm in a satisfactory manner. Which he really wished he could, but … crap. What was he supposed to say? Me and my marauding penis want a lot more from you than that?
Ha. Abbie hated feelings stuff. She’d been single for two years, and she sent him more men-ain’t-shit memes than she did Rihanna selfies, which was saying something. If he admitted he’d come here hoping to charm her into crushing on him, she’d probably laugh in his face.
But if he said … if he said, Thirteen years ago, you came home from uni for Christmas, and I saw you for the first time in months after seeing you every day for years, and it hit me like a brick that I was in love with you, always had been, and that has never changed, it’s never changed—
If he said that, she’d be unbelievably freaked out, and it would make the family Christmas awkward as shit.
And he’d lose her. Or rather, he’d learn once and for all that he’d never had her. Years of the-time-just-isn’t-right hopefulness would fade away like smoke. The maybe-possibly-one-days he’d used to get himself through dark times would vanish. They’d never really have existed in the first place. Wanting Abbie had kept him going for so long that having to carve her out of himself might fucking kill him. And if he spilled his guts and she politely said, “No, thank you,” he would have no choice but to die right then and there.
But if he lied, and it made her sad again, he’d die even harder.
So what the hell was he going to do?
“I care about you too much to fuck with you on purpose,” he said. That was honest. That was real. “You know that, don’t you?” He watched her face and hoped and hoped—
Yes. Her thawing was slow, like a reluctant spring, but it was there. “I suppose I do know that,” she said finally. “You’re—you’re like my brother.”