I roughly scrub my face, trying to shake the thought. I can’t have it both ways. Keep her and shove her away. And if she finds out, knowing what I already know about her, she’ll leave me anyway.
I can’t fucking win.
So I stay put, order another beer and a double whiskey to add to the numbness I long for. I need to end it with her, it’s the only way.
“You’re pouting over there like somebody pissed in your Lucky Charms, but you were the one who brought it upon yourself. So, you’re the asshole, a dick, a pussy . . .”
“Enough, Kyle.” I slam my fist on the table with a resounding thud. “The suggestion box is closed.”
“Nope. Not to me, it isn’t. What gives, man?” He loosens his tie around his crisp blue shirt, then his arm stretches over the chair next to him. His way of telling me he’s getting comfortable and I’m not getting out of this conversation.
I drag my fingers through my hair and level my stare at Kyle. “I’m not in the mood to talk about it.” Another long pull of my beer and I empty the bottle without looking at him.
“Uh-uh, fucker.” Kyle snorts. “You didn’t just call me, make me cancel my afternoon meetings to have a beer and watch waitresses walk around in tight-ass tanks bouncing their tits just to tease my dick. We have got some catching up to do. And the one I’m most curious about is why you haven’t even slept with her yet. Either she’s not your type, clingy and shit . . . or she’s got that bewitching pussy. So afraid to touch it, and once you do, you’re under her spell and she’s ruined you for the rest of the bunnies that have been hopping for your attention.”
I shake my head and flip him my middle finger.
“Then fess-the-fuck-up,” he adds.
Leave it to him to tell me like it is. I raise my empty beer bottle and motion to the waitress for another round.
“She’s different. That’s all I’m going to say,” I grumble out the words.
“Different my ass. You’re afraid to fall for her . . . or, wait . . . you already did.” Kyle clears his throat. “That’s it, isn’t it?”
“I never said I fell for her.”
“You don’t have to, jackass.”
“You know, you’re pissing me off right now.”
“It won’t be the first and definitely not the last.” He purses his lips as our stares hold.
I hate it when he’s right.
I have been thinking about Delilah a lot and it’s scaring the shit out of me. I brought her lunch for shit’s sake and I wasn’t anywhere near her office.
Goddamn it. I scrub my face with my hands as the buzz dizzies my head.
I want her, all of her. Not just because I want to chase her worries away and not because she’s different from any other woman I have met. I want her because of how she makes me feel. She makes me forget the hurt and guilt inside.
From Matt, Laura, and the boys.
To my dad, who sits in a damn hospital.
And being a Saint Clair.
My mind is running in circles. I have sat here for the last hour in this gloomy bar off the beaten path wondering why I’m here and not with her.
The waitress drops a beer bottle and the double whiskey on the table as she flirtatiously smiles. A distraction I would usually invite to sit with us after her shift, but I don’t budge.
Her blonde hair falls over her bouncing tits in her tight tank, showing off her cleavage. Her denim shorts reveal enough cheek to make any man do a double-take and ogle at her long tan legs down to her cowboy boots, and it doesn’t even faze me in the slightest.
Kyle wiggles his brows, and she takes the business card he offers. The bite of her bottom lip tells me she’s Kyle’s next hook-up.
The waitress slips the card down her cleavage. “Thanks,” she says and I’m sure Kyle just got a hard-on just hearing her sultry voice. “I’ll call you after my shift, Wayne Butters.” She winks and walks away.
I stifle a chuckle. “Are you still using that damn card?”
“These bunnies don’t need to know my real name.”
“Serial dating rule number one,” I state with a shake of my head. “You’re sick, you know that?”
“And you’re pussy whipped,” Kyle snorts.
“Fuck off, Ky.”
“Looks like I will be with blonde-boob-job when she’s done with her shift.”
“Whatever.”
The glass tumbler is almost at his mouth when he says, “This woe-is-me shit is killing my vibe. Can you lighten up?”
I shake my head as the gnawing ache in my chest grows when I remember the look in Delilah’s eyes when I told her I wasn’t going with her. And it’s fucking killing me.
“I’m a damn mess.”
“Yeah . . . so, fix it.”
“How?”
“Look, I know you better than most. I know all about your past and present, and why you are running from it rather than embracing it. But someday, dude, you will have to face it if you want things to work out with you and your Kansas girl.” Kyle tips his amber liquid back, then leans in. “It sounds like you broke her heart and yours along with it. But if she’s willing to talk to you and take you back after giving her the shaft, she’s in love with you too.”
“I never said I was in love with her.”
He raises his glass, taps the neck of the bottle, gives me a knowing nod, and takes a sip. “You didn’t have to, my friend.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Delilah
“The pool is down this path and the gym is in the adjacent building,” the cheery young lady behind the desk tells me as her finger traces over the resort map. “Room service is open till ten o’clock every evening. Happy hour is in the common lounge from five to eight.”
“Thank you,” I say, pausing to look at her badge on her blazer, “. . . Nicole.”
“Your meeting with Miss Stevenson will be in the Pine Room, which is just down this hallway.”
I glance up at the oversized clock on the wall. I still have a couple of hours to freshen up and walk the grounds to take in the landscape.
After the thirty-minute drive east from the city, the horizon greeted me with a panoramic view of open skies, lush green trees, and a narrow road that led me to Evergreen Escapes. It sounds like a high-priced spa, but now that I’m here, it all makes sense. It is a getaway, an evergreen oasis, an escape.
“Will you be needing two keys?” she asks as I stare at her for a beat and the pit in my stomach grows. I should have been asking for two, but I feel like such an idiot right now as I glance at a man and a woman checking in next to me. “No, just one, thanks.”
She programs the plastic card in the machine, slips it in a cardholder, and hands it to me. “To get to your room, head down this path”—she points to my right—“follow it and it will curve to a fork. Bear left, it will lead you to your secluded quarters. Tent number nineteen.”
I roll my small suitcase through the automatic sliding door and down the graveled path. It’s a bit of a walk, but just like the brochure stated, the sleeping quarters definitely give you the privacy it promises. Something I cataloged for one of the marketing designs.