Wherever It Leads(53)

I slouch over to the bed and sit on the edge. I do miss him. But that’s not the problem because I’ve missed people before. I missed Grant. I still kind of miss Grant in a weird way. But this feels different. I miss Fenton, yes. I miss the sound of his voice, the way he makes my skin come alive under his touch. I miss the little idiosyncrasies that make him him. But I also miss the way he makes me feel–giggly, interesting, safe, desired. It makes how I missed Grant feel incredibly superficial. What I feel for Fenton is wrapped around some deep part of my consciousness and it doesn’t just hurt–it aches.

“He was that good, huh?”

“Yeah,” I chuckle. “He was that good.”

“I figured. Rich, sexy *. Of course he’d be great in bed.”

“Right? But you know, Pres, it was more than that . . .” I sigh, searching for the words to sum up all that Fenton was in such a short period of time. “He’s smart. He’s kind and funny and silly. He listened when I talked. He didn’t get mad when I challenged him.”

A picture of Grant and I sits on a shelf across the room. His arm is around me and we look exactly like what our relationship was—young and immature.

I spin around to Presley again.

“When I would go somewhere with Grant, I had to fight for his attention with every pretty girl in the room. But no matter where I went with Fenton, we may as well have been alone. He never looked at anyone but me. I never felt like I bored him or that he wished he was home watching football. It was just . . .”

“Magical?”

“Kind of,” I whisper. My eyes close and I swear I can feel his breath on my neck, his voice murmuring in my ear. “He could’ve made me want to try a relationship again. I guess he was just too good to be true.”

She narrows her eyes. “You don’t think you . . .”

“What?”

“You don’t think you fell in love with him, do you?”

“No,” I shoot back too quickly.

She slaps her palm against her forehead. “Didn’t we go over the rules of the rebound? No falling in love, Brynnie. Oh my God.”

“I’m not in love with him,” I huff. Even I am not convinced by my tone. It’s a thought that’s crossed my mind a time or two over the last few days, but I’ve scooted it right back out.

Presley doesn’t respond. Just watches me.

“I’m not, Pres,” I assure her . . . and me. “I don’t know him enough to be in love with him. Lust? Yes. Absolutely. Love? No. No way. How can I be in love with someone I met a few days ago? That’s impossible! That’s stupid. No one does that. No one falls in love right away.”

“Tell me the story again of how your parents met and, you know, fell in love.”

I glare at her, shooting the sharpest daggers I can manage right into her skull.

“I’m not saying you are in love with him, Brynne. I’m just saying that maybe this was a guy you feel like you could’ve fallen in love with. And now you’re a little heartbroken, which is totally understandable under the circumstances.”

“What circumstances?”

“That he’s a f*cking ten in every category.”

I roll my eyes. “You aren’t helping here.”

“I knew he’d have a magic stick. I have to say I’m impressed he was a wizard all around.”

“Oh, Pres,” I giggle, Fenton’s invisible touch gone with her silly words. “You’re nuts.”

“True,” she grins in victory of distracting me. “Okay, you go to work and do your bookstore thing, and I’ll grab some expensive wine and we can just drink the night away.”

“I’m sure you’d hate that,” I laugh at my wine-loving friend.

She clutches her chest. “It will be torture, but I’ll do it for you.”

I lift off the bed and start the search for the purse I take to work when the doorbell rings. Presley stands and heads towards the hallway.

“I’ll get it,” she says.

“Expecting someone?”

“Maybe,” she sings. “I was with this guy a couple of days ago and he’s been threatening to show up and f*ck some sense into me if I don’t return his call. So, naturally, I’m not returning any of his calls. Or texts.”

I locate my purse under a pile of sundresses I discarded when packing only because it starts ringing. I see my father’s number and my heart leaps into my throat. “Daddy?”

“Hey, Brynne Girl. Did you make it home?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. I should’ve called.”

“It’s fine. I’ll let your mother know. You know how she gets.” He takes a long pause and I wait. He has something else to say, I can feel it through the line. “Grant came by here yesterday.”

“He did?” I sit on my bed and wait for him to reply.

“Yeah. He was really shaken up.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing much. I let him hang around for an hour or so then told him to hit the road unless he had something to tell me and he said he didn’t. But I think he did. I think he was going to tell me something.”

“About Brady?”

“I guess. He was just so odd, even for Grant. I know things between us are strained, and he isn’t the little boy I carted to baseball practice years ago. But there’s no comfort level anymore. It’s like he feels guilty and won’t tell me why, and I finally just told him to go so I didn’t wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze until he got it off his chest.”