One phone call. That’s all it takes to fix a mistake in Wren’s world.
“I didn’t ask for your help.”
She scoffs. “Yeah.You’re welcome.”
“They were going to drop the charges anyway!”
“That wasn’t a guarantee.”
“It was my mess to handle, Wren.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “You hit him because of me.”
I sigh. “I told you, there’s bad blood there. And I’m the one who chose to swing. None of it was your fault.”
She holds my gaze. “Then why is everyone talking about how shocking it was? How that guy goads you every chance he gets, and younever ever take the bait?”
“They’re exaggerating,” I say, although … not really. “You know how gossip is.”
Wren looks down. Low enough that her ponytail spills over one shoulder, helping to hide her expression. “You knew him crowding me like that and not listening would remind me of what had happened with Third. And you only knew that because I had told you what happened with him. So, itwasmy fault, and I?—”
“You’re wrong.” I touch her chin, lifting it until her face is visible. “I meant what I said—that punch had been a long time coming between us. Yeah, I got mad he was all over you. But I would have been pissed about it, no matter what you’d shared—or not shared—with me before. For the record, I’m glad you told me. I was the one who hit him, and I was the one who should have handled the consequences. I’ll pay you back the legal fees.”
Wren shakes her head. “I’m not taking your money.”
“I’m not taking your charity. I wasn’t asking, Wren. Like you didn’t ask before getting involved.”
We stare at each other, both too stubborn to back down.
Until she asks abruptly, “What are we?”
Probably the one question that could catch me off guard right now. Because there’s never been an obvious answer to it, not since the night we met and I jumped off that cliff after her for some idiotic reason, and it’s only grown more complicated over time. It feels especially complex right now because everyone is right—I don’t get in fights. It’s always been a hard limit for me, ever since the truth about my dad came out. We look alike. I spent most of my childhood trying to impress and please him. The comparisons were there, but one thing I could control was my temper.
Until Wren was involved.
We haven’t felt like strangers since the first time we had sex. Werarely seem like friends—the footing between us is too rocky compared to the smooth ease of spending time with Gus or Wade or anyone else I place in that category. Our chemistry is flammable—and not only in person. She’s the only person I can picture to get off solo anymore.
The scene with Brett took place because I was trying to protect her. And this is another attempt—to protect her from me. Because I’ll let her down, over and over again, and she should have learned that lesson by now.
I open my mouth.
Close it.
The silence drags on until she takes a step back, putting more distance between us. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. Good talk, Cap.”
I swear under my breath as she spins and walks away, blonde ponytail swishing as she heads for the ramp.
“How much was the lawyer?” I call after her.
“Nineteen dollars and ninety-nine cents,” she says, passing a sign that advertises the lunch special as … nineteen dollars and ninety-nine cents.
I groan, drag my palms down my face, and then head over to the marina to do something productive.
28
“Hey, Wren! Wanna come bluffing?”
I glower at Gus, then quickly glance at Wren. She’s about fifteen feet away, unlocking her convertible. Not meeting my gaze.
