Sweet Cheeks(11)

All it takes is a split second of time to conclude why Hayes is here. What Ryder has gone and done. And I die a slow death of indignity, my pride thoroughly obliterated.

Fury fires within: at Ryder for calling him; at Hayes for coming here, which could potentially twist my insides and bring back feelings, emotions, and memories when I don’t want to be reminded. I want to be angry at him—for leaving me, for never speaking to me again, for showing up here with that disarming smile and knowing look like he’s going to win me over in the blink of an eye.

Well, he won’t.

“I don’t need your help.” My pride wars on every level with the comment. My acknowledgement of why he’s here. My not needing him to think I look good or bad or anywhere in between. “Or your compliments.” I bite back the emotion swimming in my voice. The bitterness inflamed over time.

“Did I miss something here?” He draws the question out while I just stare at him, hands on my hips, the chip lodged firmly on my shoulder.

“I’m going to kill him,” I mutter under my breath choosing to focus my brewing anger at my brother because it’s easier than acknowledging the confusion I’m feeling.

His chuckle rings around the empty bakery. It scrapes over my soul and opens those wounds I thought had healed. “Well, good thing you said him so I can assume you’re talking about someone else.”

“You’re not far behind Ryder on the hit list.”

“You always were quick with that temper of yours.” A flash of a grin. A shake of his head. His unrelenting stare.

And I hate that he seems amused. I feel like I’m being mocked. Played. And every part of it grates against my sensibilities. My body’s visceral reaction to him—the undeniable attraction still simmering beneath the layers of resentment—battles against my mind’s staunch refusal to acknowledge him.

“You lost the right to know anything about me ten years ago.”

“Agreed.” He purses his lips and nods, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders shrugged up like he understands my position. And I don’t want him to be understanding. I want him to be the cocky * because I refuse to fall under that boy-next-door charm, I know from experience he can turn on like the flick of a switch.

Talk about mortifying. Having your brother call the one man who crushed you and asking him to be your date to your ex-fiancé’s wedding. It couldn’t get any more daytime talk show topic if I tried.

“I should have known better,” I mutter to myself, thinking how I thought I was in the clear on this. That Ryder hadn’t brought up the RSVP or Mitch’s wedding since the day he found the invitation and therefore the topic had been forgotten.

I’m going to kill him.

Repeating it in my head makes me feel better. Well, not really but it’s easier to focus on that than anything about the man standing before me.

My hands fist. My jaw clenches.

Hayes chuckles and yet all I hear is condescension. Mockery. “Do you mind explaining to me why you’re—?”

“Whatever Ryder told you I needed help with, I no longer need it . . . I’m a big girl. A grown woman who can handle her own life, so thanks, but no thanks. I’d like to say it’s great to see you, Hayes, but it’s not. While I appreciate the gesture, because I’m not that much of a bitch, it’s actually just uncomfortable knowing why you’re here. This has to be amusing to you to come back, after being asked by my brother no less, to play the part of escort to try and help the girl you dumped.” I stop for a second to catch my breath, the purge of words almost cathartic. His eyes narrow, forehead creases, and his head shakes as he looks at me like he doesn’t understand what I’m saying. So I continue while my courage is winning out over the hurt and embarrassment. Hostility owns my voice. “Look, it’s been a long time and yet nothing’s changed. You’re still Mr. Perfect and I’m far from it, and the last thing I need is you here thinking you’re making it better when in the end it will just be worse. So I appreciate it, Hayes . . . I really do. It’s a nice gesture but it’s been a long day, I’m tired, and so I’m going to close up shop a little early tonight and forgo any more embarrassment for the day. Okay?”

I blow a breath out and just stare at him, impatience emanating off me with my stance—hands across my chest and teeth clenched tight—while he digests what I’ve said. I’m sure the look of shock on his face stems from the fact that no one probably says no to him now that he’s one of People’s Most Beautiful. Yet right now I can’t find the wherewithal to even care.

Until he speaks.

“Guess I underestimated your ability to hold a grudge, Saylor. But I get why you’re angry. I had my reasons back then, but the boy I was then is not the man I am now. I know what I did was chickenshit.” I hate the glimpse of emotion I see in his eyes but can’t read. It’s been too long, and I don’t know anything about the man he’s become to even try to assume what it is. All I know is the regret in his voice hits me and weaves through my anger but doesn’t penetrate the mortification I feel, knowing my brother recruited Hayes. How can he not think I’m desperate?

“Hayes.” I say his name. A request for him to stop. A plea for him to turn around and walk out the door without another word. A warning to just leave it be and forget everything Ryder told him. Anything so the teenager in me still clinging to her first love remains buried beneath the strong woman I’ve become. An apology is just a word and when it’s coming from an actor, I can’t trust its sincerity any more than I can trust myself not to believe it.