Smoke and Steel (Wild West MC #2)(55)

You and Nanook want to come over for dinner on Saturday?

It was maybe five minutes later and I was jotting down some thoughts on how to push out a new client call when Core responded.

No. I’m feeding you. My place. Five too early?

I was smiling when I replied, No. That’s perfect. Can’t wait. xx See you then, baby. Bring clean panties, he sent back.

Translation: we’re fucking and you’re spending the night.

I had no argument with that.

As I stared at his text, feeling the excitement at all that was happening with Core, I made a decision.

I’d moved on, and it was only fair that Bryan was free to move on too.

Decision made, I called him and wasn’t surprised I went to voicemail.

To ratchet up his billable hours in his bid for partner, he made my sixty to seventy hours a week look like I was a slacker. He was probably neck-deep in motions or sitting beside a client in court, and without a doubt, he was not going out for drinks with his buds tonight. Or if he was, he’d show up at around nine.

I realized then, it was not only one of the reasons why it took so long for me to understand he wasn’t the one for me, it was one of the reasons we worked well together for so long.

He didn’t give me shit about the time I spent on my business. I did the same for him.

But in reality, what this meant was that we hadn’t spent a lot of time together.

Bryan would stay the night a lot. We’d meet up for lunch here and there. We’d make plans to share an entire Sunday together every once in a while. We’d make “special dates,” which were dates where we made an effort to carve out time to go out for nice dinner or to a movie. On weekends, we sat beside each other on my couch with our laptops, in each other’s presence, but in our own worlds, working.

In other words, we slotted each other in when we could.

It was on that thought that I knew what I felt for Bryan had completely faded away.

When we were together, I knew his schedule. I knew when he’d be in court. In an abstract way that didn’t break confidentiality, he talked about his cases, and I enjoyed listening. His work was fascinating.

But right then, not knowing if he was in the office or in court didn’t bother me.

So yes, for me, it was over and this had nothing to do with starting things with Core.

“Hello, this is Bryan Thomason. I’m afraid I can’t take your call right now. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. If this is urgent, phone my assistant, Joelle, at…”

He gave her number, and then there was the beep.

“Bryan, it’s Hellen. I wanted you to know I got your call. I appreciate you giving that to me. It means a lot. I’m glad to have the man who made that call to remember when I think about you. I’m sorry it didn’t work out between us, but you’re a great guy, and I know you’ll find someone who will make you happy. I wish that for you. Our time together had meaning for me. Thank you for that. Take care.”

I ended the call and continued to stare at my phone, reaching for some feeling.

I cared about him enough to be sorry he hurt because we were over.

But for me…

Well, there was nothing.





I knocked on the door of Marcy and Kyra’s apartment that evening, it swung open, and Kyra nearly gave me whiplash after she latched on and dragged me in.

“Drop a cocktail on her,” she ordered Marcy, who was standing at their kickass brass and glass bar cart, a piece of furniture they had that I envied.

However, not only was a bar cart low priority on my build-my-life list, I didn’t have room for it in my small pad.

I had to admit, whenever I saw their setup, I wondered about going back to the roommate days. Sharing rent and utilities, they were able to live in a newer development that had a pool and a clubhouse. They had the needed two bedrooms, but they also had an open plan that featured space for a dining table and a bigger kitchen and living room than mine.

I could get a one-bedroom in their complex that would give me four-hundred extra square feet.

It’d also cost five hundred extra dollars.

So, yeah…

Their setup might be rad, but a-little-goes-a-long-way-because-you-work-a-lot-and-you-play-when-you-aren’t-working-so-you-don’t-need-more was the way for me.

For now.

“Sock it to us,” Kyra demanded as she shoved me into their plush couch. “Don’t leave anything out.”

Marcy plonked a fancy glass in my hand (I hadn’t gotten to the full set of fancy glasses yet in my build-a-life plan either, though I had pretty wineglasses).

Marcy was our appointed mixologist and had been since my sophomore year.

I looked at the yellow concoction in my glass then up at her in question.

“I don’t know what I call it,” she answered. “It has pineapple juice and rum and some passionfruit puree with soda water to cut it. It’s tart and it’s sweet. It tastes like a tropical Starburst. I’m undecided if it’s a keeper, since, I’ll warn you, it isn’t my best effort,” she judged herself honestly.

I sipped.

No, it wasn’t her best effort, true, but it was tasty.

“It has my approval,” I shared.

She smiled.

“Okay, hellllloooo,” Bree called. “Details on the date with the biker Jax Teller threw out of the Sons of Anarchy because he was way hotter than Jax,” she prompted.