Eight o’clock came and went as I bathed Liddy, read her abedtime story, and tucked her in for the night. I sent another message at eight thirty and waited… and waited. Sadness morphed into anger when another hour passed. I made the mistake of looking into the dining room on the way to the kitchen for a glass of wine and that anger swelled. If I was being honest, I was more pissed off at myself than at Garrett. I should have known better than to put myself out there, especially with him.
I was a fucking idiot, and I took that indignation out on all the food still sitting on the table. Stacking the dishes and carrying them into the kitchen, I went for the trash can and started throwing everything away, scraping the plates clean. I dumped the nearly untouched pie right on top of everything else, then moved to the sink where I scrubbed furiously at the dishes until they damn near sparkled, forgoing the dishwasher in an attempt to work out some of my aggression.
“Miss Gwen?”
I shrieked, dropping the plate as I spun around, causing it to shatter against the tiles into hundreds of shards all around my bare feet. “Shit. I’m sorry, Sylvie. You startled me. I didn’t know you were still here.”
“Don’t move.” She scurried to the small closet that held the cleaning supplies and retrieved the broom. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” she apologized as she swept up the broken plate. “I stayed late so I could clean up after dinner.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” I croaked past the lump forming in my throat.
She gave me a pitying smile as she emptied the dustpan into the garbage. “You worked so hard on dinner. You shouldn’t have had to clean it up as well.”
I let out a humorless chuckle and turned back to the sink, going for the pie platter. “Yeah, a total freaking waste of my time,” I muttered to myself.
“It’s his loss.” I turned at Sylvie’s fierce declaration, surprised to see so much frustration on her normally kind face. She and Rosita were two of the sweetest motherly types I’d ever met in my life, so to see Sylvie’s eyes flash with ire was downright shocking. She was like Mrs. freaking Claus, for Christ’s sake.
“Sorry?”
“It’s Mr. Wilder’s loss.”
I offered up the best semblance of a smile I could manage considering I wasn’t feeling it. “Thanks. I should have saved you some—”
“That’s not what I meant,” she butted in. “I’m sure the meal was great, but I mean that if Mr. Wilder isn’t able to see the blessing living under this very roof, it’s his loss.”
“Sylvie,” I whispered, tears burning my eyes and nose.
“Known that boy for more years than I’d like to count. Seen him make countless mistakes, one right after another, which hurt like you wouldn’t imagine because I know the good in him. Always been afraid he’d end up miserable and alone, but the minute you and that little angel moved in here was the first time I had hope. So if he can’t see what’s right in front of him… well, like I said, it’s his loss.”
I tried my hardest to ignore the pang of longing her words caused smack-dab in the center of my chest. I cleared the emotion from my throat and pushed my feelings for Garrett to the deepest, darkest recesses of my mind. “Thanks,” I said quietly. “And thank you for staying, but it’s already ten. You should get home. I’ll take care of cleaning up.”
Sylvie nodded, her face awash with sympathy. She left shortly after that and I went back to scouring the dishes. The front door opened twenty minutes later and I walked out of the kitchen just in time to see Ian guiding a sloppy-drunk Garrett into the foyer.
“There she is!” he shouted loudly as he pushed away from Ian and staggered toward me. His weight hit me, causing me to rock back on one foot to stay upright. I cringed at the smell rolling off him as he whispered, “So fuckin’ pretty. Ian, isn’t she fuckin’ pretty?”
The stench of whiskey, weed, and cheap perfume was so strong it burned my nostrils. I fought against his hold while at the same time fighting my gag reflex at the offensive smell.
Even as drunk and high as he was, stumbling so badly he could barely stand up straight, struggling against his grip on me was like struggling against a brick wall. I got nowhere.
“Garrett, let go. You’re wasted.”
He ignored my demand but turned his head slowly back to Ian. “See, man. Only woman on the planet who doesn’t want me to touch her.” There was a bitterness to his laughter as his glassy, bloodshot eyes came back to mine. “She makes me hard just walkin’ into a goddamn room, but can’t stand it when I touch her. Talk about a hit to a dude’s pride.”
The crush of emotion that fell on me just then would have taken me to my knees if not for Garrett’s arms. I was hurt that he’d stood Liddy and me up for dinner. I was pissed as hell that it was for a party, and that he’d come home smelling like booze and sluts. But at the same time, my skin sizzled knowing he wanted me in that way.
I’m a mess. There’s something seriously wrong with me.
Ian came over and easily untangled us, which wasn’t much of a surprise since the only guy bigger than Garrett was him. Ian topped him in heightandmuscle. “Let’s get you up to bed, Mr. Wilder.”
Self-preservation dictated that I push the desire into a box in the back of my mind, lock it tight, and focus on my anger. I focused all my energy on that and working to repair my dented shield as Ian led Garrett up the stairs. I could have sworn Iheard him ask Ian how to get out of the friend-zone as they disappeared down the hall.
As I went back to the kitchen to finish up and shut off all the lights, I promised myself that by the time I woke up the following morning I wouldn’t give a single fuck about Garrett Wilder and what—or who—he did.
THIRTEEN
I’d already droppedLiddy at daycare and was sitting at the island, nursing a cup of coffee and reading a book on my Kindle, when Garrett came shuffling into the kitchen. I chanced a quick peek through my lashes, hoping his imbibing from the night before showed on his face. No such luck. Whereas anyone else that hungover would look like death warmed up and run over a few times, that bastard still looked good.
As a matter of fact, he looked better than normal. But that might have had something to do with the bare chest and loose sweatpants that hung seductively off his hips… or the way he had his long, shower-dampened hair pulled into a messy man-bun at the back of his head… or the sexy stubble that lined his jaw and cheeks. He looked like a goddamned rock god with all those tattoos on perfect display, and I wanted to punch him in his too-handsome face.
