Sweet Cheeks(19)

And I wonder for the second time, what in the hell I’m doing here. How is Saylor sitting across from me with her wild eyes and a few leaves stuck in her hair that she doesn’t care are there and a flush on her cheeks? How this girl—definitely now a woman—who used to be my world, is making me question everything in my current life: the people, their sincerity, the chaos.

The answer’s simple: I owed Ryder big time.

But hell if I expected to show up to help Saylor, only to get that knocked in the gut feeling the minute I saw her in her bakery. Thinking your old flame will still look the same with her straight lines and tomboy demeanor, then seeing her . . . Curves, filled out, and sexy as sin was something I definitely didn’t expect.

“What’s your problem?” And her eyes are back on me, grin replaced by a sneer, as her question pulls me from thoughts I shouldn’t even be thinking. Brings me back to the present. To the lines I should be memorizing back in the hotel, and the shit I’ve got to do to help my mom tomorrow. To the life I have to get back to. But when I look at Saylor, all I think about is the here and now. And her.

“Who said I had a problem?”

She narrows her eyes, glaring at me through the moonlit space, and I wonder how long it’s going to take to make her not angry with me. She started off spitting fire at the bakery the other day to being completely apologetic and then to tonight . . . to I don’t know what she was trying to do. But the one thing I do know is Saylor doesn’t do something unless it has a purpose.

Question is, what exactly was that purpose? Regardless, it’s going to make repaying this favor to Ryder ten times harder if I can’t win her over sooner than later.

“If you’re curious about something, just ask, Hayes. Sitting and staring at someone is not polite. Or cool.”

Ah. There’s a glimpse of that fire and brimstone temper.

“I wasn’t staring at you.”

“Liar.” She snorts. “You kept staring at me in the club and you’re staring at me now. Most people would find it rather creepy.”

I laugh. Can’t resist as she rolls her eyes and crosses her arms across her chest. A chest that now is pushed up by the motion, and luckily it’s dark enough that my wandering gaze of her cleavage isn’t noticed. “Creepy. I’ll remember that.”

“You should. You do creepy well. Maybe it will help you get a part someday.”

“Perhaps. And I’ll owe it all to you. I’ll even give you credit in my Academy acceptance speech.”

“I’ll be watching for it. But, uh, if you weren’t staring, then what were you doing?”

Our eyes hold across the space while I debate the answer to give. I know I can bullshit her, which is probably expected, but for some reason, I don’t want to. Maybe it’s guilt over the past; maybe it’s the sense that I owe her some honesty. “I was trying to see how much of the girl I once knew is still there.”

Her head shakes subtly as if she’s uncertain she likes my honesty. It takes her a second to respond. Both of us treading carefully through the unresolved issues between us. “None of her.”

“I disagree. I see a lot of her.” And then some.

She purses her lips. Hugs her arms tighter around herself. That temper I know all too well starting to fire. Good. The teenager I was feared that hellcat side of her. The grown man I am kind of likes it. Knowing she can handle her own is definitely a plus.

“Why do you care?” Her question throws me. The defensive tone even more so.

“Not sure. Maybe being with you makes me feel like my old self. Reminds me of who I used to be before I . . .” I shrug as my words trail off with the realization that I just stepped on a land mine of sorts: acknowledging my life before means having to acknowledge how I left and never looked back. It was when my life was so much simpler without the constant pressure of the paparazzi and fans. When I could get a pizza without cameras flashing or date a woman I knew really liked me for me. When there were no rumors about cheating I had to ignore because I was being the good guy and taking the fall to protect my future.

“Before you walked out and left me confused and heartbroken without saying a word? You mean that before?” Her voice rises in pitch with each word. Hurt flashes in her gaze, clear as day through the moonlit night.

I did that to her.

And I f*cking hate the sight of it. Maybe that’s because I was too much of a * to face it. Then again maybe it was because I took that once-in-a-lifetime shot I was given and ran with it, made a killer life for myself, and if I came back, one look at her might have sucked me back in.

I was right. There’s no denying the tug on my heart seeing her again. The reemergence of feelings I thought had died.

Shit. I was young and inexperienced back then. Let the allure of Hollywood rule my thoughts and own my heart.

It still owns my heart. The thing is, I’m not young or inexperienced anymore. Could the man I am now handle both her and Hollywood?

Jesus Christ, Whitley. What are you even thinking? Do you not see the hurt in her eyes? The defense in her posture? You’re the one who put it there.

Guilt returns with a vengeance. The least I can do is give her an honest answer. “Exactly. That before.” My tone is even; my gaze unwavering.

“Huh.”

“Huh?” How am I supposed to take that response?