Page 35 of Wine & Dine

15

Rhythm of the heart

[Dolores]

Two days pass without communication from Garrett. It’s totally my fault, and I own it. It’s just…I’m too embarrassed to go to his place and apologize. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of him, which is what I did. He was so sweet all day long, and then I had to go and take it one step too far. I just wanted to give something to him, and guys like that. Not to mention, the moment I felt his hard-on, I wanted to explore him like I’ve never wanted to explore.

I’m a sexual being by nature. It’s one reason I was with James, and then Rusty, for too long. I love the physical contact. It’s been a struggle to keep my emotions out of the mix, but I’ve worked hard at suppressing them over the years. When you’re stung a few times, you get the hint. Put up or get out. With Rusty, it’s been more put out and shut up.

Garrett is different, and this is my problem. I’m making him into something he’s not. He’s a good guy with a big heart—and a big dick—but we shouldn’t get involved. We won’t get involved. The other night would have led to a one-night stand, and I don’t need one of those. I need a friend, which Garrett has certainly been since I got to California.

But now I’ve ruined everything.

When Rusty called, I freaked out. He never calls me. What did he want? Why would he call at precisely the moment he did? How could the universe be so cruel?

Yet it was a reminder my home is far away and waiting.

“Where you been, baby?” Rusty drawls through the phone when I give in and return his call. A drag of a cigarette, or possibly something else, hisses through the line.

“I’m in California.” Remember? I’ve been missing for almost a month.

“It’s been a long time. When you coming back?”

Does he want me back?

Then another thought occurs.

Do I want to go back to him?

The deeper question is: can you return to someone who isn’t yours? I belong to Rusty. He’s told me on many occasions, but it’s not in a romantic, you’re mine manner. I’m property to him and the club by way of him. Rusty belongs to Devil’s Edge. Not a ruthless one-percent MC, but a riding club all the same with some pretty hefty rules. No other man could date me. No other man would risk it.

In Blue Ridge, not many eligible men exist. Sure, there are several Harrington brothers, but I’ve learned my lesson with James. Not to mention, the others are too much like brothers to me, so I can’t hook up with them. The Duncans are another crew of bachelors, but they are distant cousins, so just…no.

“I’m not sure when I’ll be home.” I take my time to answer Rusty, who’s pulled a few more hits of whatever he’s smoking on the other end of the line.

On a heavy exhale, he says, “Guess I’ll see ya when I see ya.” Then the line goes dead.

I don’t know why I called him back. A hint of false hope he’d say he missed me and wanted me to come home to him muddled my decision-making. Fake optimism stole the content of a great day with Garrett, and I hate myself for it.

These are my thoughts as I go for a long walk along the beach despite the dropping temperatures of late November. I miss Wally, which shocks me. I miss Garrett, which doesn’t.

As I stand before Denton’s door, unlocking it after my walk, I feel the presence of Garrett behind me. I want to lean back and press into him—like when he held me in his bed—but I don’t. I freeze, unable to turn and face him.

“I have something for you,” he says, reaching around me and offering me an envelope. I spin but can’t look up at him.

“You didn’t have to do anything.” I have no idea what the envelope could contain.

“I thought you’d like it.” My brows pinch, and my chest aches. He’s too good to me, and I don’t know why. I have nothing to offer him…but decent blow jobs. I’d willingly drop to my knees if he asked me to, but somehow, I think I’ve crossed a line he won’t want crossed again. On the other hand, Garrett’s a smooth talker, and I bet he’s used to getting what he wants from a woman and letting her go when he’s finished.

The thought makes me sad.

“Thanks,” I say. Waving the envelope between us, I’m still not able to look up at him, but he surprises me when his fingers tip up my chin. His eyes find mine, and he looks at me in that way he does—not a stare, a search. He wants to understand what I can’t even explain. I don’t recognize myself when I’m with him, and I can’t decide if that’s good or bad.

He nods and then steps back as if he’s found his answer. He watches me as he walks backward to his side of the hallway and then turns to enter his apartment. Without a glance back, he closes the door.

+ + +

On Tuesday, I find myself inside the Movement Mystique. The mystery gift is a voucher for four nights of dance lessons.