Make Me (Broke and Beautiful #3)(36)

A sharp pain hit Russell right between the eyes at the mere thought of Abby’s being with him but wishing for someone better. Abby could never be unfaithful; she simply didn’t have it in her blood. But she had the potential to marry someone who wouldn’t need to work at all. Ever. Someone just like her, who didn’t need to work unless he damn well felt like it. Abby and this rich, imaginary dickwad could travel and have nannies. Gifted children. Parties in f*cking Southampton. Until he’d seen the estate, Abby’s wealth had been like an open umbrella he’d been carrying around, but walking into this house had snapped it closed around his head. He couldn’t even see where he was going now, it was so in his face.

What the hell did she need with him? A dirt-poor, uncultured * from Queens who—in a delightful twist—also liked to tie her up. Hold her down. Make her beg. Things he’d only ever wanted to do with Abby. Before the day she’d walked out onto her building’s stoop, he’d been with girls and never felt the desire for more than hard, fast sex. There’d been no need for control—not like the kind Abby made him crave. The goodness in her, the total trust when she looked up at him, had roused something powerful, and it continued to grow and strengthen. He wanted that trust everywhere. In bed and out. Always focused on him. It surprised him beyond belief that now she seemed to enjoy what they did, but she might stop one day. Realize she deserved to be cherished. Not manhandled or sent to her knees to find the ache.

Russell pushed away from the sink with a sound of disgust. One thing was for sure. They needed to talk. He needed to find a way to assure Abby that he was the f*cked-up one in this situation. Not her. Never her. Yeah . . . she needed to know that now.

He took a breath to brace himself, just in case he found her still sitting on the floor. But when he opened the door, the room was empty.

“Fuck.”

A part of Russell he wasn’t proud of calmed somewhat when he spotted the shredded gold bikini in the wastebasket, but an urgency still existed to get eyes on Abby. Make her look him in the eye when he apologized for walking away without a word. After the trust she’d given him, his behavior was a ten on the shitty meter.

Soon. She’ll understand soon.

Russell went across the hall and changed quickly into an old pair of board shorts and a Yankees T-shirt, snorting at his choice of attire in the Hamptons. He wouldn’t be winning any fashion contests today, thank God.

After pausing several times on the way down the staircase to stare at pictures of Abby growing up, Russell finally walked out onto the back patio, where Louis was already barbecuing hot dogs. His gaze sought out Abby where she lounged beside the adjacent pool with Honey and Roxy, taking in every detail about her in a sweeping head-to-toe check. Her hair was more mussed than usual, her lips slightly swollen. Gorgeous. It pained him when she didn’t look up, didn’t acknowledge him, but he’d more than earned that treatment.

“You hungry?” Louis asked, looking completely at home in a pair of Ray-Bans and some deck shoes. “How about a well-done wiener?”

“What?” Russell heard his defensive tone and reeled back his attitude. Something about grilled-wiener talk right on the heels of a blow job didn’t sit right with a man. “Uh. Yeah . . . well-done.”

Ben managed to pry his attention away from a bathing-suit-clad Honey. “Find any booby traps around the estate?”

“Pretty sure I’m not the one who’s fallen into a booby trap, bro.”

“Guilty as charged,” Ben said, and went back to staring at his girlfriend.

Feeling Louis’s perceptive-lawyer antenna pointed in his direction, Russell managed not to devour the sight of Abby in a sexy, black one-piece. Modest by most people’s standards but not by his. His hands itched with the need to bundle her up in a beach towel and carry her back upstairs, but he forced himself to relax as much as possible. His friends weren’t capable of looking anywhere but at their girlfriends, so they were on neutral ground. Now, should the super group decide on the beach as their destination tomorrow, he’d have a shiny, new battle on his hands, wouldn’t he?

“Hey, uh. Russell—”

“I just want to preempt whatever you’re going to say with this,” Russell said to Louis. “You look like an Abercrombie & Fitch advertisement. In a very real way.”

Louis gestured with his tongs. “You’re being defensive. That means you did something stupid. Tell me what it is while we’re alone.”

“I’m here, too,” Ben chimed in.

“That’s debatable.” Louis turned his back to the girls and lowered his voice. “As your attorney, I’ll do my best to advise you.”

“And protect your own ass,” Russell added. “Anyway, you gave me a refund, in case you forgot.”

“That was a symbolic refund. I can claim plausible deniability if push comes to shove, but we’re still protected by the bro code.” Louis gave him a meaningful look. “Has push come to . . . shove?”

“I don’t know what we’re talking about anymore.”

“Me either.” Ben threw an exhale toward the sky. “Just tell us why Abby came out here looking like someone ran over her puppy.”

“She did?” Russell wheezed the question, feeling as though he’d been slugged in the stomach by a giant. “Ah Jesus, this weekend was a bad idea. I just needed until Wednesday. Less than a f*cking week.”