“Because everyone in this town—and my family in particular—is desperate for me to find someone. Bryn is getting married in five weeks, and I need a date, okay?”
“Come on. You’re thirty-three. You can’t tell me you don’t have a guy or two in this town you can call who would come running at a moment’s notice,” I say, and the thought makes me angry.I don’t know what kind of asshole could have Izzy as an option and choose not to commit to her fully, but he’s clearly an idiot. And I should know: I was that idiot in our friendship.
“Ha.” She scoffs, and for some reason it calls forth a surge of something primal and stupid from deep inside me.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” I ask. I deserve whatever pain the answer causes me.
I take another step closer, fully in her space now. Her chest almost brushing mine. My lips inches from hers. “You’re telling me you don’t have some fuck buddy around here? Some guy you visit when you need a release from a hard week? A boy toy who would happily take you to the wedding just to have the chance to watch you fall apart on his lips, his tongue, his cock, that night?”
Her eyes are like drills, digging their way into my soul as she laughs again.
“You’re wrong. I’ve never fallen apart on a man’s lips or tongue or cock, in fact,” Izzy says as if she just won the argument.
“I’m sorry, what?” I ask, the fire of the argument gone, replaced by a different burn: one that feels suspiciously like need.
“Has no man ever made you come, Iz?” The sound that comes out of my throat can only be described as a growl.
Izzy’s eyes are wide as she backs away from me, flitting her gaze from side to side. “Shit. I didn’t mean, I…that…I didn’t mean. I—”
“I think you meant every word of it,” I say, stalking after her, a wolf chasing down a scent it can’t ignore.
And, like an animal that knows it’s been seen, she freezes before turning and running into her house, the bundle of balloons trailing along behind her.
She slams the door so quickly a red balloon remains outside, floating, sad and alone, by the door.
I hear the lock click as I follow her, and I bang my fist on the door. We’re not done with this conversation. “Open up, Izzy.”
I stand there, knocking, for what feels like five minutes, my demands turning to pleading through the door, not caring if she’s on the other side or not.
She doesn’t come out. Not to rescue her balloon or me.
So finally, I say, “I meant it, Izzy. I don’t know why you need a date but pick me. I’m your guy. I won’t let you down. The offer stands. I don’t need an answer now. But today, tomorrow, next year. If you ever need someone, I’m your man. And”—I consider if I should add the next part, but there’s something inside me that won’t let me walk away until I do—“if you ever need someone to help with the other thing…pick me for that too.”
***
“No luck?” Nash asks as I slink back into the passenger seat on Wednesday morning after failing to see Izzy yet again. It’s been four days since she shut that door in my face, and I’m losing my mind trying to talk to her.
“Left the coffee with Becca again,” I say on a sigh. “She said Izzy’s not coming in this week.”
Nash looks at me, his gaze making me feel even more anxious than I already do.
I’ve replayed the conversation in her front yard over and over again, and as much as I’m worried I did something to make her mad, I’m pretty sure it has less to do with me and far more to do with what she confessed about never having an orgasm with a man—or at least that’s what I think she said. I wish I could tell her she has nothing to be embarrassed about. Honestly, it says way more about the asshats she’s been with than it does her. The only thing she would possibly have to be embarrassed by is if shedidn’t walk out on whatever guy didn’t put one hundred and ten percent effort into getting her off.
“What happened again?” Nash asks.
I shake my head. “I think she got embarrassed by something she said, and now she’s avoiding me.” The Izzy I knew fifteen years ago was a ruminator. She’d replay minor awkward mistakes in her head until suddenly they were these full-blown traumatic events. If I had to guess, that’s what’s happening again.
“But,” Nash says, looking between me and her office, “what did she say that was so embarrassing.”
“I’m obviously not going to tell you.”
Nash shifts his head from side to side. “I respect that. But what are we going to do?”
“I’m going to keep showing up. Eventually she’s going to have to come back to work, or open the door, and when she does, I’ll be there. Even if that means I have to sleep on her porch.”
Chapter fifteen
Izzy
