She doesn’t avert her gaze, her chest pumping quickly the way it often does around me. My thumb swipes over the apple of her cheek before she pulls away, taking a step back.
“Only when I need to,” she whispers.
“And you don’t opening weekend?” I question sliding out of the truck, closing the distance she just put between us. It makes no sense how much I need to be close to her. It’s as if I need to be circling her orbit to get a view of her.
“You can take my room,” she says again, taking another step back.
I can’t help but reach for her, my hand finding her waist, while the other cups her face again. I have no idea what the hell I’m doing. It’s wrong to take advantage of my jumbled feelings for her, but I can’t help but be attracted to her. It’s not like I suddenly became a saint and stopped sleeping with women after my divorce. I just don’t date them. I don’t have the time or the desire to put myself out there seriously. Not when I am one man in public and another behind closed doors.
Her soft lips part, those eyes never leaving my face.
“Betty.”
“Please don’t, Nash. I am trying to keep my distance and not make this weird.” Her whimper nearly shatters my heart. Of all the people I’ve crossed paths with in my entire life, Betty has been the kindest. She’s the last person I’d ever want to hurt.
“You don’t have to avoid me.”
Her gaze casts down to her feet, her hands knotting in front of her stomach before she looks up at me again. “Yes, I do. If you’re staying at the house, I can’t. I always knew you would never see me like that, but then that night, at the party, I remembered how much fun we were having, and my fantasies got away from me. I guess that’s why I told you. A part of me thought maybe now I could have you the way I always wanted. But I can’t, can I?”
“Betty,” I sigh. “I’m not the type of man you need.”
“That’s what I thought.” Her sad smile wobbles, and I would do anything to go back in time to the days when I would be at her house and she would giggle over documentaries. I wish I could go back and have been invisible to her then. I hate that she’s carried this flame for me for so long, and I can’t give her a damn thing back except a meaningless fuck. “You have the code to the main house. The sheets are clean. Have a good night.”
There’s nothing to do but watch her walk away. I tell myself it’s for the best. Hopefully, she’ll never look back. I can’t stand breaking that woman’s heart any more than I have.
The scent of fresh linen and eucalyptus envelops me as I roll over in bed. Not the bed I was supposed to be sleeping in, but Betty’s.
Staring up at the ceiling, I can’t help but replay every moment with her since the night she told me she’d been in love with me. Since then, very few of our interactions have been one-on-one. I regret not having tried harder to talk to her. Instead, I let her avoid me as much as she wanted, while I lingered in the shadows, learning everything I could about her.
It surprised me that she’s very much the same Betty I always knew. Organized, funny, charming, and witty. The way she latches on to facts and can spew them back to you as if it’s nothing always impresses me.
Had she not been so much younger and Beckett’s little sister, would I have ever considered her?
Before Betty confessed to me, I couldn’t recall a single moment I so much as looked at her as anything other than that ten-year-old girl staring up at the stars. I met her as a kid, and that’s where I kept her. She remained that young, curious mind I could sit back and listen to ramble about everything and nothing for hours.
My phone suddenly buzzes on the nightstand, a groan leaving me as I snatch it off the surface.
“Hello.”
“Sleeping in, I see?” Hunt chuckles from the other line—my right hand in business.
We met in college, freshman year. He wasn’t my roommate, but lived down the hall. It didn’t take long for us to forge a bond. Neither of us cared for our assigned roommates and found refuge in each other.
When I first told him I was going into the distribution business with my father, but also consulting on the side, he was the first to cheer me on. His experience in corporate America and prestigious business degree made him my best resource. He’d supported me from afar and then at my side when he quit his soul-sucking job. We’ve been a pair ever since.
“It was a long night,” I groan, digging the heel of my palm into each eye, clearing the sleep.
“Is she still there?” His voice drops as he whispers, but I can hear the laughter in his tone. After my divorce, Hunt has called me plenty of mornings and found me whispering as I stumble around trying to redress after yet another fling or one-night stand.
“It was opening night. You know that,” I grunt, throwing my legs over the side of the bed. “Why are you calling me so early?”
A soft hum sounds through the phone as if he’s contemplating the mysteries of the universe. “The Langley deal might fall through. Turns out the purchaser can’t come up with the funds.”
“Shit!”
The soft tap of his finger on a tablet screen fills the brief silence. “Yeah, not ideal. But another buyer will pay almost double if it does.” That’s Hunt. There’s always a Plan B, C, and D. It’s not enough to trust someone at their word. He’ll be prepared for every scenario and then prepare additional favorable outcomes for the plans we didn’t need to use.
“Then why are you calling me?” I groan, ready to fall back into Betty’s soft pillows and pretend they’re her soft body.
