Page 45 of The Sweetness of Life

Almost all night, Shelby and James have been glued together. When we got here, he lingered by her while she cooked, offering to help. When it was time to eat dinner, he sat next to her and kept her laughing, and afterward, he helped clean the dishes. I see the way he looks at her. It’s the way I catch myself looking at her when I forget who she is and what she does. I understand their connection through Lexi makes their situation unique—Shelby is his sister’s best friend, and that story is as cliché as it gets—yet with every smile, every giggle, every casual touch, I feel like I’m losing my damn mind. I don’t like it. At. All.

The echo of her laughter carries through the French doors and into the cottage. I turn to look at them, but they’re covered in darkness. It’s better this way—the less I see, the easier it will be to let him sweep her off her feet and get her out of my hair . . . so then why does the thought of this leave me unsettled?

There’s no need to pretend as if I don’t know who Kyle is talking about, so instead, I try to shut the conversation down.

“I don’t want to talk to her. I think it’s great that he’s here. He’s entertaining her so I don’t have to.” I move to sit on the couch, pull out my phone to check my e-mails, and because I know it will rile him up, I say, “Jack seems to be taking care of Michelle, too, so hey, it’s a win for both of them.”

“What?” His attention whips to the back patio, where she’s sitting in the chair next to Jack. At that exact moment, Jack leans over to her, whispers something, and she laughs. Kyle’s hands tighten into fists before he storms outside to join the group. He sits down on the other side of Michelle, and she smiles sweetly at him.

He has it bad for her, and as much as I hate to admit it to myself, I have it bad for Shelby, too.

Shelby.

The image of her face this morning when she said hello to me and I didn’t say it back, the disappointment and embarrassment—I don’t know how to fix the damage I caused in that moment. I told her I wanted us to be friends; I’ve treated her like a friend. Hell, after last night, I made her more than just a friend. Then, at the first opportunity I had to show her I’m not the person I was when she got here, I blew it. In a way, I’m still decompressing from our time together last night, and seeing James’s reaction to her elicited emotions from me I wasn’t expecting.

I also made the mistake of telling Kyle I kissed her.

He laughed, but I could see the wheels turning in his head the more he thought about it, and the laugh slipped off his face. He then proceeded to lecture me about the plan, a plan that’s working and will be completed soon enough, the plan that’s left me feeling duplicitous.

When Shelby walks in from the patio, she doesn’t notice me sitting in the living room, and I watch as she rinses her wine glass, sets it on the counter, and walks to her bedroom. She’s changed from this morning, putting on a top with a little skirt . . . a little skirt that shows off her endless smooth legs.

I get up to follow her, shut the door behind us, and lean against it with my arms folded across my chest.

Her head snaps around and wide eyes lock onto mine. “What are you doing?”

Instead of answering her, I stare at her and feel the temperature of the room rise.

Huffing at me in frustration, she slowly bends over and slips off her shoes. “Whatever,” she mumbles without breaking eye contact with me.

“Are you having fun talking to my friends tonight?” My voice is rough, deeper than usual. I swear this girl twists me so badly I can’t even speak normally around her.

She stands straight, and her face falls but quickly recovers. The feistiness I’ve come to admire in her flashes as she lifts her chin and her stare becomes a glare. “I am. Thanks for asking.”

I watch as she moves to the closet and pulls a sweater off a hanger, slips it on, and then crosses the room to stand directly in front of me. Looking me up and down, she twists her lips to the side as if she’s contemplating something before a slow, sly smile forms on her lips. “Wait . . . are you jealous?”

“No.” I snort as if the thought repulses me, but I am. “I’m curious. Looks like James is pretty caught up in your spell.” I lean forward a little, forcing her to tilt her head back if she wants to keep looking at me.

“There’s no spell. What you see is what you get—haven’t you figured that out by now? And what’s so wrong with someone being interested in me? You sure were last night.”

“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it.” My jaw tightens, and my eyes narrow.

“You are such an asshole sometimes.” She tries to push me out of the way to get to the door, but I don’t budge and pull her back in front of me.

“You do bring out the best in me,” I say sarcastically, though I should be saying she brings out the worst. God, I hate the person I am with her. I’m never deceitful or snappy or short-tempered. I was taught to always be honest and kind, and I’ve tried to live my life that way.

“How so? What have I ever done to you, anyway?” Her face flushes red; she’s angry, and it makes her look a little wild and a lot irresistible. “I mean really, how do you have so many friends? I don’t understand. Do you treat them the same way you treat me and they tolerate it? Because quite frankly, this”—she waves her finger back and forth between the two of us—“is a lot of work.”

She brushes her hair off her shoulder and shakes her head to settle it on her back as she tilts her head. My eyes run over the curve of her jaw, travel over the long lines of her neck, and land back on her mouth. Part of me is screaming to step away from her because this is wrong, but the other part of me that’s drawn to her says it isn’t. The latter is stronger, which is what put me in this situation to begin with.

“He isn’t the right guy for you.” My blood pumps a little faster through my veins at the thought of another guy’s hands on her.

Her jaw drops, her eyes narrow, and she lets out an exacerbated huff. “And how would you possibly know what type of guy is right for me?” She takes a few steps back to put some space between us.

“There’s a reason Lexi set us up but has never introduced the two of you.”

Why am I saying this? I’ve made it very clear that I’m not interested in her, though that’s a lie in and of itself since I kissed her last night and want to kiss her again right now. Not even reminding myself that she’s a critic and an insatiable workaholic can help me shake the need.

“Really? You want to go there now? After how you consistently treat me?” Her glare turns sharp and murderous; I have the sudden urge to protect myself.