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"Okay, stop," he muttered, pulling his mouth off mine as he pushed my hand away. "Fuck," he swore, rubbing a hand over his mouth and studying me over his knuckles with a wary glance. I stepped back, sensing his trepidation, unsure what was prompting it. "Fuck," he repeated. "You are crazy."
I met his gaze and said nothing. I was crazy. Being here, looking for him, falling right back into his arms without asking any questions … it was all crazy, especially the way my body was crying out for more, more, more. It wasn't like this with Brant. I didn't know why it was so different, didn't understand it, but regardless of the reason, my sexual connection with Lee was so much stronger. He had to feel the electricity between us. His eyes said he did. They were steady on me as he chewed on his thumb, thinking.
"I have a girlfriend," he said finally and dropped his hand. He pushed off of the Jeep and lifted his chin. "Is that a problem?”
The moment froze and crystallized, like shards of ice on a pool, spiderwebbing and crinkling underneath me until the statement slammed, full force, into the center of my heart.I have a girlfriend.Is that a problem?
I tried not to let my face show the war of emotions that were throwing a panic party in the front living room of my head. This was bad. Horrible. Heartbreaking. "No," I whispered, and I cleared my throat. “No,” I repeated, hoping he couldn’t hear the lie in it.
“Well.” He climbed into the Jeep and glanced over at me. "It's a problem for me. So, I guess I’ll see ya,Lucky." He sneered the nickname, as if I was anything but, and the tone hit like a slap in my face.
I was still standing there, heels askew on the gravel, my face red, panties damp, mind whirring, when he floored the gas and left me in the middle of the hardware store parking lot. His head didn't turn, and he didn't look at me when he drove past. He just left, and probably to go toher.
I have a girlfriend.
My hands curled into fists and anger took center stage over my hurt.
* * *
Brant didn't come home that night. I used my key to let myself into his house, telling myself I was staying there to surprise him with breakfast, not because I wanted him to hold me all night and reassure me that I was loved. Instead, I spent the night alone in his bed, hugging a body pillow and trying not to let my mind wander to Lee and what he was doing.
I closed my eyes, pulled the blanket tighter around me, and wished it was Brant's arm. Finally, around three in the morning, I fell asleep and didn't wake until noon.
Chapter 27 - Brant
When you truly love someone, you cannot walk away. No matter what they do. No matter the lies from their mouth, or the actions from their bodies, you tie yourself tightly to their sail and vow to be there through thick and thin. Let the wind blow you where it may. Even if that place is a crash. Even if that place tears you apart and kills anything good.
Layana was always a storm, but one I entered without hesitation.
Chapter 28
“Her name is Molly Jenkins. She's a med student at UCLA. Dean's List there, was a scholarship athlete until she damaged her ACL.” The private investigator delivered the information along with a dark blue folder, which he set in the middle of my desk. We were in my home office, the location chosen with discretion in mind.
"What sport?" I opened the folder and flipped through its contents, each image of the athletic blonde making me grit my teeth harder. She was prettier than me. Younger. Perkier. Wasthiswhat Lee liked?
"Gymnastics."
I sat back in my leather desk chair, taking my time with the information, which was divided into tabs. Rotating slowly in the chair, I scanned her transcripts, social media posts—even her college application essay was here. I didn’t see what I wanted, and I looked up at the man, whose name had slipped my mind. “So, what's wrong with her?"
“Excuse me?"
"I don't want her resume. I want her weaknesses. Does she do drugs? Have a kid? Attend orgies on the weekend?"
His eyes darted to the folder. "My report is very comprehensive, Miss Fairmont.”
"And leaves anything negative out." I sat back in my seat. "Where's the dirt?"
"I didn't find any." He drummed his fingers on his knee. “She’s young. Too young to have skeletons. Seems like a sweet kid.”
Oh great. Hot and sweet. A gymnast, so she could probably bend in ways that would kill a normal woman. "Where does she work?"
"Olive Garden. The one in Stonestown."
“I need a copy of her schedule, what days she works."
He nodded and the downward tilt of his head revealed the hair plugs that dotted his scalp. "Anything else?"
"No." I sighed. "Not yet."
