Page 34 of Wicked Heat

Either way, she was a fixture in the household, and the only one close to his age.

Of course, they’d become friends.

And that’s how they should remain.

That would be the smart path to follow. And he was a smart man, wasn’t he? That’s what everyone said, and they’d been saying it his entire life, even in those early days when the fact that he was smart had seemed to turn everyone in his family against him.

And, yeah, he’d been smart enough to dial it down. To keep to himself and not flaunt his grades. To read only when he was alone and undisturbed, and to keep his books in the back of his closet behind his dirty laundry and hidden from Abigail, the great-aunt who’d adopted and purportedly raised him. If put-downs and regular beatings were the way to raise a kid.

He’d gone from being a quiet child who never got in trouble, to being the guy who knew how to draw attention for reasons other than his brains. He’d gotten into sports. Into cars. Anything that let him go fast. Anything that helped him outrun the thoughts that spun in his head like demons, telling him to go faster, faster, faster.

Maybe if he went fast enough he’d outrun the whispers and rumors.

Maybe he’d finally be able to catch up with the secrets that floated on air, but that he could never quite grasp. Secrets about Ashton Stone, whoever the hell that really was.

Maybe if he ran fast enough, he’d finally learn.

That, however, wasn’t possible. And the fact that he’d realized as much early on was one of the downsides of being smart.

So, yeah, he had kick ass reasoning skills, a seriously impressive head for science, and a pretty solid grasp on psychology.

Right then, every single synapse of his well-praised mind was telling him that the smart thing to do was to walk away from Bree. To drop her at her terminal, then drive on to the parking area and use the next few months to push her very firmly out of his mind.

That would be the smart thing.

But apparently, he wasn’t as smart as his PR suggested. Because instead of dropping her off, he heard himself suggesting that, since they were both early, they could spend the time before their flights in the first class lounge.

“They’ve got a decent buffet,” he added as an extra incentive. “Although I think those cookies would be better than anything they’ll be offering for dessert.”

“Even without snickerdoodles, you still want to spend time.” She pressed a hand over her heart. “I’m honored. Truly. Of course, I’ll join you.”

“You just don’t want to sit in those horrible gate chairs where you have to buy your own coffee.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said as he pulled into the valet parking lot. “I’m not remotely interested in coffee. But I’ve heard those hoity-toity lounges have an open bar.”

Her smile—and her voice—had a flirty lilt that he assumed was unintentional even as he hoped otherwise. A hope for which he then chastised himself. Over the years, he’d spent far too much time casually shaking off the shackles of friendship as she slid into his fantasies.

In reality, though, he’d hold his secret close, and maybe she’d never have to know how twisted he’d been or the horrible things he’d done, because he damn sure wouldn’t tell her. He wasn’t that man anymore. But he would spend every day for the rest of his life paying penance for all the mistakes the fucked-up version of Ashton Stone had made.

An hour later, they were tucked away in a U-shaped booth where they’d been talking, sipping their drinks, and snacking on a variety of food from the excellent-as-advertised buffet. As predicted, though, the cookies in the box out-did everything the dessert buffet had to offer.

They’d already split a snickerdoodle—a pleasant surprise for both of them when she opened the box and saw that it contained a mix of four flavors: chocolate chip, snickerdoodles, oatmeal raisin, and white chocolate macadamia.

But what really impressed Ash was the fact that Bree tried all four along with him, making her the first woman he’d met in Los Angeles who actually ate dessert. Most declined because they were “too full,” or simply pushed it around on the plate, as if that would trick him into thinking she’d both eaten and enjoyed the treat.

Why not just say no? Why the pretense?

Or, better, why not dig in with gusto as Bree had?

He knew it shouldn’t bother him, but he’d grown up in a household that spent more time trying to shift reality than living in the moment. It had made him a cynic in things both large and small.

“A Tic Tac for your thoughts.”

He looked up at her. “What?”

“I don’t have a penny.”

“My thoughts aren’t worth even that much. I was just thinking about dessert.”