Page 12 of Flirting with Trouble

“I’m totally fine, but I need to use your bathroom before I go.”

As she hurries into the bathroom, I put on my shirt and shoes, wondering why it bothers me that she’s taking off so fast. It shouldn’t. We were good together, and it was fun, but I knew she was using me. This was a big step for her after so many years of grieving her husband. She’s got to have a lot of emotional shit going on in her head. I guess it makes sense that she wants to get out of here, but I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to us than what went on tonight. Our connection feels too real to be a one-off.

“There’s no need to walk me down,” she says when she comes back into the living room, heading for the door. “Thanks for a great night, boy toy.”

“Victory,” I say sternly. I’m not a fucking boy toy. “I’m walking you down to the car.”

Victory

My emotions are reeling. I feel like I can’t breathe as we head downstairs, and I know Wells feels it, because his hand is on my lower back as we hit the busy sidewalk, and he keeps looking at me like he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t. I feel like an ass rushing off and dismissing him the way I did. It’s not like he did anything wrong. He did exactly what he agreed to do, and he did it surprisingly well. I’m the one who’s messed up. When I was lying in his arms afterward, without the constant distraction of his hands and mouth and other talented body parts driving me wild, I couldn’t stop thinking about Harvey.

I still can’t.

Thankfully, the car is waiting out front. “Thanks again,” I say awkwardly, needing to get out of here before I break down.

“Do me a favor and text me when you get home, so I know you got there safely.”

“I don’t have your number, but I’ll be fine.”

He pulls out his phone. “Give me yours and I’ll text you. Then you’ll have it.”

I rattle it off, and he thumbs out a text. My phone chimes in my purse.

He leans down and kisses my cheek. “You’re an incredible woman, Victory. I appreciate the trust you put in me tonight.”

I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that. I manage a smile, and he opens the car door for me. “Thanks again,” I say too cheerily, as if the guilt isn’t eating me alive, and slide into the back seat. After he closes the door, he stands there, his arms crossed, watching us drive away from the curb.

I look down at the butterfly tattoo on my wrist, guilt and sadness swamping me.

Shit. Shitshitshit. What have I done? I squeeze my eyes shut against tears, but I see flashes of Harvey, and on the heels of seeing him, comes Wells. The guilt is too consuming, and tears break free. I clench my teeth, telling myself to get a grip. This is not who I am. I am always in control.

Except when I’m not.

Guilt stacks up inside me. I stare out the window, trying to stop the tears, but my thoughts circle back to dancing and kissing Wells and how much I enjoyed everything we did, which makes me feel even guiltier. I hate feeling out of control. I need to talk to someone who will give me tough love and help me get my head on straight.

Leni, Shea, or Sutton would give me the harsh talk I need, but I can’t tell them about Wells. They’re too tangled up with the Silvers, and as much as I love my brother Clay’s wife, Pepper, they just got married six months ago, and they’re still in the honeymoon stage. They’re so happy, I don’t want to dump this crap on her. This is one of the rare times I wish my circle of friends weren’t so small. I’ve never had many close girlfriends. Growing up in newly developing countries with my wildlife biologist and photographer parents until I was in high school, marrying young, and running a multibillion-dollar business for the last several years doesn’t leave me with much in common with many women my age.

Without any sisters to lean on, I count myself lucky to have four wonderful younger brothers. They’ve all helped me through rough times, but Seth has always been my confidant. He’s the closest to my age, the most levelheaded, and he never judges me. Seth and I have always needed a level of structure our younger rambunctious brothers, Clay, Flynn, and Noah, didn’t. That’s probably why Seth and I became comrades in arms, talking out issues and taking solace in order and our studies.

Seth never gets too caught up in emotions, which is exactly what I need right now. It’s after midnight, but he’s a night owl, and he knows how tough today is for me. We had breakfast together this morning, like we do every year on the anniversary of the day I met Harvey.

I reach into my purse for my phone and find a napkin from the bar. I have no idea how that got there. I remember Wells zipping my purse, but why would he put it in there? I fish my phone out, and my pulse quickens at the sight of Wells’s text. It hadn’t fully registered that he sent one.

Wells: Hit me up the next time you’re down for some fun.

Hit me up? What was I thinking? I read it again, and it screams of our age difference, driving that guilt deeper into my chest. Not that I know how old Wells is, but my guess is around thirty. The car stops, and I look up from my phone. We’re at a stoplight, and the driver is watching me in the rearview mirror. He averts his eyes, and Wells’s voice whispers through my mind. The perils of being beautiful.

Ugh. The heck with good genetics. I’ll take a new brain, please. At least for tonight.

I call Seth, and he answers on the first ring. “Hey, Vic. Everything okay?”

As usual, his calm, deep voice is reassuring. I imagine him putting down whatever book he’s reading and pushing his black-framed glasses to the bridge of his nose as he sits back in his leather recliner. “No,” I whisper-hiss. “I just cheated on Harvey.”

Seth doesn’t immediately respond. As a business magnate and named Forbes’s Most Eligible Bachelor twice, he didn’t get where he is by speaking before he thinks. I’m sure his dark brows are furrowed and he’s rubbing his jaw, weighing his answer. “Vic, you can’t cheat on a man who’s not here.”

I roll my eyes. “You know what I mean. I’m such an idiot.”

“You’re not, which means one of two things. You’re either drunk and overthinking, or you’ve finally let yourself move on. Neither is bad as long as you’re in a safe place.”