Crazy Girl(37)

At one point he’d leaned over and whispered to me, “You look beautiful tonight, by the way.” And there I was, smiling, getting lost in the sweetness.





“I’m a writer. Anything you say or do may be used in a story.”

-Unknown





When we left the pub, we went back to his house and put on a movie, hunkering down on his leather couch with a glass of wine each.

“You can sit next to me,” Wren announced as he patted the space between us. “I promise I won’t bite, or try to seduce you.”

My mouth tightened. Poke. Poke. Poke. He couldn’t help himself.

Taking his hat off, he tossed it on the coffee table and combed his fingers through his hair, giving it a bed head/tousled look. It was unfair really…that a man could look that good by simply running fingers through his hair.

“How do I look?” He waggled his brows, lifting one side of his mouth in a goofy smirk.

“Handsome,” I admitted. Even I, the most cynical in all the land, was still susceptible to his good looks.

He grinned and patted the space next to him again.

Chuckling, I scooted closer, curling into his side, his arm over my shoulders, our feet resting on the coffee table. I was buzzed by the alcohol, but my wistful haze was from more than the drinks I’d had that evening. The charm of the town, the pub, the people, it all had me floating on an air of sentimentality. It felt good to know places and people like this did exist—not just in movies or books. Little things got to me. I’d always been this way.

“Your town is pretty amazing,” I told him. “I loved the pub. Like a lot. Thank you for taking me there tonight.”

“I know a lot of good people here.” He nodded in agreement before scratching at his beard.

I sipped my wine and stared ahead at the television, though I wasn’t really watching it. Being this close to Wren was unnerving. Mostly because I liked it. When he wasn’t getting on my nerves, I wanted to be this close to him. Only a few hours before I’d felt like fleeing on him, and now here I was cuddling with him. I was like a light switch, flipping back and forth. It was no wonder he thought I was crazy…hell, sometimes I couldn’t understand myself.

“Aww,” he cooed as his fingers grazed my shoulder softly. “You kinda do like me.”

And then, just like that, the switch flipped again. I’m not sure why his statement hit me the way it did, maybe because in some way it sounded patronizing, like he was teasing me.

Jumping up, I set my wine glass on the table and spun around to face him. “I know I’m a mess, but you have to admit any woman…” I paused to correct myself, “Any smart woman would look at you and all this, and think you had a pretty sweet setup for getting laid here.”

He snorted, remaining in the position he was when I’d jumped up, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “Setup?”

I rolled my eyes. “Come on, Wren,” I grumbled. “I’m not saying you’re a skeeze, I’m just saying any woman would probably be a little wary.”

“So you think I’m just trolling for ass here, huh?”

I cringed at how crass his question had sounded. Not that I was some delicate flower and couldn’t handle it, because I could drop f-bombs with the best of them. I was well versed in the world of cursing. Thinking he was the kind of guy that ‘trolled for ass’ was bad enough, hearing it out loud was worse.

Placing my hands on my hips, I decided to be honest. “I don’t think you have any problems getting laid.”

“And what makes you think that?”

Again, I rolled my eyes. “Your nice cars, the big house, the way you keep weapons and bullets everywhere to reiterate what a badass you are. I mean look at you.” I flung an arm in his direction. “You look like a freaking gladiator.”

He laughed.

“I wasn’t being funny,” I griped.

Now he moved, scooting forward and placing his glass on the table. “Look, Hannah. I think you’re a nice woman…but I’m at a loss here. Clearly, you’ve been through the ringer and it’s made you,” he motioned a hand at me, “like this.”

My head reared back slightly. “Like this?”

Tilting his head up, his eyes narrowed as he looked at me. He was angry, frustrated at the very least. “Bitter,” he clipped out. “Cynical.”

I winced internally. That was a low blow.

“I’m a goddamn man,” he stated bluntly, his stare burning into mine. “I work my ass off. I work too much, honestly. I pay my bills, I workout to keep in shape because it’s important to me, and if I want something, I go for it. I work hard to have nice things. I’m not setting up the ultimate pussy magnet pad. I live in the middle of nowhere. Do you really think it’s that easy for me to just get women out here?”

“Well, I’m here,” I argued, though I wasn’t sure that helped my plight any.

He stood, his body inches from mine, his height towering over me. “And why are you here?” he asked. “Obviously, you cannot be seduced by my house and my stuff. You’re too smart and enlightened of a woman for that.” I glared at him. He was being a condescending ass. “Or is it,” he paused, before continuing, “is it that you see an attractive, successful man and you think the only thing he could want from you is sex because you can’t see why else he’d want you?”