Wherever It Leads(52)

“Yeah. So that’s that. It was a great few days and I have enough material to masturbate to for a few months. It’ll all work out.”

She shakes her head, still in disbelief. Watching her work through the emotions is somehow cathartic. I follow her as the disbelief switches to sadness and then, ultimately, to anger. Her eyes blaze.

“Fuck him,” she says. “Fuck him and his cashmere voice and his big cock. I mean, I’m guessing he was packing.”

“Of course he was.”

“Shit.”

I giggle at her, the way she takes my side and keeps it real is so entertaining. “So that was my vacation. What did you do?”

“Went on a couple of dates. Ate some sushi. Did some hot yoga which, for the record, you should not try. It’s like asking for someone to contort you and asphyxiate you in the process. Horrible.”

“Noted.”

“And then I got to see Grant. So that was a good time.”

I groan and get up and refill my coffee. “What did he say?” I sigh, leaning against the counter.

“He said he wanted to see you. He was just sitting on the steps, Brynne. So weird. But when he saw me coming, he jumped up and wanted to know where you were. I just . . .” She blows out a breath and stops herself from finishing the sentence.

“But he’s okay. Like, nothing bad happened to him? He didn’t look strung out or desperate?”

“Not really. Not anymore odd than he has been the last couple of times I saw him. I wouldn’t give him your number since you changed it and I wouldn’t tell him when you were coming home. His number is under the Cosmo magazine on the coffee table if you want it and don’t have it.”

I’m too exhausted to exert any energy on Grant and tie myself up in whatever he has to say. It’ll just be some bullshit and what he won’t say—the truth about what happened in Zimbabwe—is the real kicker. It’s the reason when it’s all boiled down as to why I won’t see him.

“I’m going to grab a shower,” I say, pushing away from the table.

“Go wash that hot man off of you,” she winks. “And I’ll make us some brunch.”

“You’re making us brunch?”

“Well, I’ll order us brunch. You haven’t been gone that long,” she laughs.

I give her a thumbs up and leave. I walk through the kitchen, assiduously ignoring the Cosmo magazine, and into my room.

Reset button has been pushed. Let the chips fall.





“Where is my name tag? Have you seen it?” I rummage around on the top of my dresser and search for it. My hand knocks over a bottle of perfume but I don’t have the energy to pick it up. “Ugh. I always put it right here.”

Presley shuffles the array of items from my suitcase that are now dumped on my bed. “I haven’t. But the mess we made getting you ready for Cashmere probably knocked it around.”

“Probably.”

I crouch down and look on the floor and spy it lying behind a lamp. Retrieving it, I pin it to the front of my blue button-down Cooper and Sheldon shirt. My fingers fumble with the clasp, my coordination suffering the effects of not getting any sleep last night.

Every time I closed my eyes, a movie-like reel of images would start. Sometimes it felt like they started before I even fell asleep and that made me fearful to even try to let my lids close.

I feel like I’m walking around in a bubble. The world is speeding by, doing its thing, and I can’t keep up. I’m slogging behind, trying to keep pace, while being dragged down by the stresses of my life. Things were barely manageable before; I’d learned to put everything into a box and open each parcel as I was able. But now? There’s no hope. Fenton won’t fit into any box.

I keep telling myself he did exactly what a rebound should do: he was fun. He built me up, gave me some of my confidence back. And that has my chin lifted a little bit. Or a lot. So my plan worked. I rebounded. I think. The only problem is—now I don’t want to boomerang to the next guy. I want him and I don’t think that’s going to happen.

“I so don’t feel like going in tonight,” I groan, feeling a headache start to pulse in my temple.

“Why didn’t you just say no?”

“Because,” I sigh. “They let me switch with another girl so I could take the last couple of days off. So how can I say no now and not look like a complete jerk?”

“What’s the worst they can do?”

“Fire me!”

“Over that?”

“Yes, over that!” I laugh. “Sometimes I forget that you don’t understand basic life.”

She shrugs, examining a freshly manicured fingernail. “I understand basic life. I just happen to be born into a family with a trust fund. It’s not bad to be me.”

If anyone else would’ve said that, I would’ve rolled my eyes and called them a twat. But Presley doesn’t mean it badly. She’d do anything for me or for anyone she loves, which in honesty, is few and far between, but that’s not the point. She has a huge heart and is right—she’s lucky.

I twist my name tag until it sits only partially lopsided.

“I’d miss him, too,” Presley says.

Turning to face her, I glare.

“Don’t try to play pretend with me. I’m your best friend and I’m a female that saw him in those workout pants and you confirmed my cock theory. There’s no way in Hades you aren’t missing him.”