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“Is she okay?!” Panic doesn’t even bother hiding in my tone, a sound that has my best friend triumphantly smirking. “Is something wrong? Is there something she needs that we haven’t provided?”
Green eyes that are usually filled with hope momentarily flash me hatred. “I’m sure she’s fine, Wes.”
“Would you like to stay and try the samples with us?” J.T. charmingly offers, body gravitating closer to her. “We could absolutely use an objective, consumer’s opinion.”
Rather than divert her gaze to him, she keeps it locked on me. “Would you like that, Wes?” Eagerness returns. “Would you like me to stay?”
I would like to know what’s wrong with Bryn.
What Clark’s doing for her.
With her.
Because of her.
I’d like to know if she likes the sugar infused pancreas poison, she had J.T. make while Lucky scoffed.
I’d like to know what she plans to eat.
Wear.
Fuck, I don’t know whether I want her wearing more clothes so that no one else gets to see her incredible long, tone legs look so beautifully bare or less since covering up tits that perfect should be a crime punishable by ball hanging.
The idea of seeing her topless leaves me no choice but to move behind my desk.
Adjust the growing bulge I did not give permission to join the conversation.
That hasn’t even wanted to be a part of this type of discussion for years.
“I’m sure he wants you to stay,” the man with an unrequited crush desperately pleads, eyes widened to assist in his imploring. “Right, Wes?”
Dropping down into my chair precedes an indifferent shrug. “An additional opinion on the product is welcomed but not crucial.”
J.T.’s mouth twitches to express what I imagine is his insistence she’s more than welcomed, she’s wanted and needed, yet she curtly nods, cutting him off. “Would you two like me to pour glasses before my dismal or is that something you would prefer to do yourself?”
He tries again to answer, “You can-”
“We’re capable.” I fold my hands on top of my deflating member and nod. “Thank you.”
She offers the same gesture in an exiting nature. “I’ll be in the greenhouse assisting if you need me.”
Another word doesn’t leave my lips and another glance doesn’t leave her.
Her shutting the door accents her departure, which is followed by J.T. sighing, “Ladies always want The Bat, never the Wing.” He cringes over his phrasing. “Like…as in…Nightwing. Not as in one of my legs or arms.”
“That was all…” my face scrunches in mirth-filled bewilderment, “just bad.”
Ringing sounds from the mounted tablet on the desk prompt him to head for the leather seat across from me in order to answer it. One tap presents his presence to Sully Marcel, the head of our largest distillery in the country, “Morning, Sully.”
“Mr. Reese!” He enthusiastically states in return, images of his pudgy, fair skinned face popping up in my mind. “I’m so ecstatic for you and Mr. Wilcox to sample and decide on the limited-edition flavors we’ll be launching this winter. I really think this is the best batch we’ve created so far!”
The face of my company beams brightly, and I merely sit back.
Watch.
Observe the man the world loves to see while wallowing in the self-disgust that’s settling in the pit of stomach.
Maybe part of me does need someone like Bryn, but I can guarantee that no one needs me.
