“Is that a fact?” she replied innocently. She bit into her lip and rolled it under her teeth. “What have you been thinking, Timothy Langston?”
I could feel my eyelids drop, my limbs go heavy at her sweet voice and the sight of her teeth scraping over her moist, berry-red lips.
“I’ve been thinking…” I drawled, running a thumb along my bottom lip. “That when I get home and I get you on the phone, it would be a good idea for us to get naked. Then I was thinking we could give each other…instructions.”
“Oh.” She blushed furiously. With a shy dip of her head, she visibly gathered herself, then she narrowed her eyes in a flirty expression and licked her lips. “Who goes first?”
My mouth went dry. I launched myself onto my bed and sat up against the headboard.
A beeping sounded in her background.
“My alarm,” she said. “Shoot. I’ve got to go.” She looked genuinely bummed. “I miss you. I love you.”
A wrench pulled hard and tight in my torso at the thought she was disappearing so quickly. “Miss you too. I love you too.” I wished I’d said it first.
After she hung up, I stared for ages at the silent phone in my hand, like a love-sick teenager.
Then I thought about who she was meeting. A gritty irritation dug its way under my skin.Don’t do it, mate. Just shrug it off and get in the shower. But it seemed I had no self-control these days.
Using my phone, I googled those Wainwright brothers—again—bringing up their website and a few paparazzi photos. The youngest one, William, was a good-looking guy, red hair, blue eyes with a friendly face. I could take him, no trouble. The eldest one, Darcy, looked similar but was larger and obviously in charge, all slicked-back black hair, dark suit, and afuck right offexpression. Apparently, he’d been a bit of a sportsman, with national medals for archery, if that even was a sport. He was a property developer, yes, but there was no concrete evidence he was an actual billionaire, like those stupid, gushy online articles claimed.
Throwing my phone to the other side of the bed in disgust, I took myself off to the bathroom. I turned on the shower and stepped in, preparing to think more deeply about Tabitha in her tight, low-cut blue dress. One palm propped against the wall, I took myself in hand, and as the hot water sprayed down on me, I conjured up our video call, running my mind over every tantalizing inch of her as she appeared on my phone screen, her top teeth biting into her bottom lip, the lines of her blue dress pushing up her fucking glorious tits.
Then I thought about who was going to enjoy all that gloriousness.
Darcy wanking Wainwright.
I had to admit it now. That man was me—but 2.0. And he had the attention of my girlfriend, who’d bought this sexy-as-fuck bandage dress to have dinner with him. In fact, he’d had hercompleteattention. All. Week. Long.
Not that I thought she would cheat on me. She wasn’t that person—far from it. It was just that I wanted to be with her.
Disgusted by my jealousy, I abandoned the task at hand, showered, and dried off. I’d clearly been living too long in my teenage bedroom, decorated with posters of rugby players and girl bands.
47
Tabitha
“Oh, Tim wouldlove this sports shop,” I said as the Wainwright brothers showed me a very cool store, so well-stocked it sold clothing and equipment for sports I’d never heard of.
It was Friday afternoon, the end of my week with the brothers, and they were leading me on a final walk-through of the mall, cameras trailing. Next, I was headed to the newspaper to finish the spread, so it could be published on Sunday. The camera operators had lowered their cameras, conferring on a shot, so I felt easy about mentioning Tim’s name. I knew I’d brought him up too much this week, but I was feeling soppy and pining for him.
“You two seem so perfectly matched,” William said. He was sweet, friendly, easy to talk to, and a romantic.
“Actually, we started out fighting like cats and dogs, in complete denial that we were in love.”
The two cameras hoisted into the air, red lights on. I couldn’t mention Tim’s name now that we were being filmed, but the topic of love in general wasn’t off-limits.
Darcy scoffed. “In love.”
“Take no notice of the hard-bitten cynic,” William said, giving Darcy the eye.
“I’m not a cynic. I’m a realist.” Darcy seemed amused rather than rattled. “I just think romantic love is a ridiculous commercial invention created by jewelers and romance novelists.”
“Well, you might surprise yourself,” I said. “I’d given up on finding someone, and now I’m in this relationship with a brilliant guy who loves me and supports me absolutely,” I said, my voice bursting with passion and conviction. “Love is real, Darcy.”
“Okay, if you insist. I’ll amend my statement,” Darcy said. “Love is real, but annoying, and nothing I intend to do.”
Both William and I laughed, but I was intrigued now. “You don’t believe in trying to find the love of your life and having a family together?”
