“Iris.” His eyes narrowed, that amber heating, but not in a good way or a sexy way—okay, it was both—but the point was, his eyes weren’t increasing in temperature because he was turned on. They were sparking with frustration.
I didn’t want him frustrated with me.
I also didn’t want to lie to myself any longer.
And . . . why the fuck shouldn’t I tell the truth? Yes, I was beginning to take responsibility for the fact that I wasn’t perfect in my relationship, but Frank had cheated. Repeatedly. And my friends had been complicit in that behavior. Further that, if he’d had a problem, he should have come to me and addressed the problem.
It would have hurt for him to break up with me.
But it had hurt a lot more to have the breadth of his deception crash into me like a tsunami taking out houses on the coast—knocking into them, crushing them to pieces, washing them inland before stealing them out to sea.
It had caused so much damage.
And for what?
Brent placed one hand on the back of my neck. “It seems like some pieces are coming together in your mind, darlin’, so I’ll just say this.” He paused, waited for my eyes to come back to his. The intensity still there, the anger gone. Because this time, it was tempered with respect. “Frank was a fucking idiot to have let you go.”
“I’m not perfect,” I said, slipping my hands free of his still resting against his chest. I slid one to his shoulder, leaned in. “But I’m starting to see that you’re right. Frank was a fucking idiot.”
Brent unleashed his smile.
My panties got wet.
I leaned in, hesitated.
“You gonna kiss me?” he murmured. “Or do I have to go and find some mistletoe?”
I closed the distance between us, and on the day after Christmas, Die Hard paused on TV, my body draped over the lap of a gorgeous, kind man who called me darlin’ and kissed me like I was the most precious woman in the universe, I thought that perhaps meeting Brent had changed everything.
Because it felt like my life would never be the same.
Then his tongue slipped between my lips, his hands shifted, and he pulled me more snugly against his hips, and I lost track of time.
So much so that I forgot all about the pizza dough in the oven.
An hour later, I stared into the oven, to the bowl overflowing with the severely over-proofed pizza dough, and groaned.
“It’s ruined.”
Brent was leaning a hip against the counter, arms crossed, face nonplussed. “Is this one of those cherry pie ruined scenarios, or is it really ruined?”
Sighing, I grabbed the bowl and dumped its contents into the trash. “Ruined ruined,” I muttered, glaring at him. “You’re not allowed to come within a hundred yards of my commercial kitchen. You’re too distracting.”
He just grinned.
I pulled out my phone, opened DoorDash. “Your choice. My treat.”
He pulled out his cell. “How about your choice, and it’s my treat.”
I sighed. “Brent.”
He smiled wider. “Iris.”
“I ruined dinner,” I said, plunking my hands onto my hips. “I should pay.”
A step closer, his scent drifting over me. “We ruined dinner,” he said, fingers drifting up my arm, slipping behind my neck, and weaving into my hair. “But you bought supplies for both, so I’m paying.”
“Frank never argued with me about paying.”
“I think it’s already been established that Frank is an asshole,” he said. “I’m not trying to be all steroidal alpha-male, but if a girl I’m interested in tries to pay, I’m not letting her.”
I leaned back, glared up at him. “Letting?”
He shrugged then repeated, “Letting.”
My temper flared, my lips parted to fire off a retort . . . and then I saw the twinkle in his eyes.
He was messing with me.
The twerp.
“You’re annoying,” I said, even though I was smothering my own smile.
“That’s true,” he agreed. “Kace says it on the regular.” A beat before he held up his cell. “So, letting me pay?”
“Me letting you,” I replied, not bothering to fight my smile any longer. “Yup, that’s right.”
He snorted but didn’t otherwise reply. Instead, he stayed close as he scrolled through the restaurants on the screen. “Still in the mood for pizza?”
My stomach rumbled in affirmation.
A flash of white. “Pizza it is. Do you like Indian food? There’s this fusion place not too far away, and their tandoori pie is beyond delicious.”
As a matter of fact, I loved Indian food. “Is it spicy?”
“Is it Indian food?” he countered.
“True.” I giggled. “Well, the good news is I do like spicy things.”
He waggled his brows. “I’m hoping you’re saying that in reference to my spicy personality.”
I snorted. “I’m starting to understand why Kace says you’re annoying.”
“It’s a skill I’ve honed over many years.” He pressed the screen a few more times. “Okay, so pizza is an hour out”—he pocketed his cell then took my hand, started drawing me back to the couch in the other room—“so we’ve got time to see John McClane blow some shit up.”
“And eat caramel corn,” I said, letting myself get drawn along, partly because he was strong and fighting him would take effort I was feeling too lazy to exert after having spent the last hour in his arms, enjoying his mouth on mine, his hands on my body. But although I’d thoroughly enjoyed those kisses, I mostly let him lead me to the other room because I liked spending time with him. He was funny and kind, and had a no-nonsense way about him that I really appreciated after Frank’s duplicity. I liked how carefully he held me against him, as though I were important, but not like I was fragile.
And I liked how he teased me.
Gently, not in a mean way, and paired with a self-deprecating smile as he equally poked fun at himself.
I liked the smiles.
I liked the laughter.
Both made me feel lighter than I had in years, and the pain from Frank, the hole I’d opened, and the uncertainty I felt in leaving home and everyone I knew, shrank.
How two days could change a person’s life so unequivocally, I couldn’t quite believe, but it had changed. And not just because of Brent and how he made me feel, but also because the distance away from home, from what I was realizing was a black hole, emotional-vampire-filled drama den, had given me clarity.
I could do this.
I didn’t need my parents. I didn’t need my so-called friends. I didn’t need Frank.
And perhaps understanding that meant I would be able to let in more people like Brent.
“You’re pretty when you’re pondering,” Brent said.
I came out of my head enough to realize that he’d led me to the couch, had tucked me into his side. “I’m sorry,” I murmured. “I’m not used to having my head in the clouds this often. Usually, I’m a feet-on-the-ground, eyes-forward, plowing-on kind of person.” I wrinkled my nose. “Which is probably why I missed the fact that my fiancé was sleeping with every available female in the vicinity.”