Page 99 of Body Shot

Right, right. Wrong thing to say. I swipe a hand over my face.

“Please.” Her breath quickens and her face flushes and she stalks over to the door to fling it open. “Just leave. This isn’t going to work for us. I can’t just waste my life having fun.”

What the fuck? What the fucking fuck? Waste her life?

I swallow hard, hearing the things my parents always say about how I’m wasting my life. About how I was a bad influence on Aidan. How it was my fault that he died. And just today, what the guys said about me not being reliable. Having too much fun. Falling short.

Yeah. That’s me. Selfish playboy. Worthless.

I stare at Hayden, heat pouring through my body. My own hands clench and unclench.

“Do you ever wonder why you work so much?” I ask tightly.

She frowns. “I know why.”

“No.” My lips flatten. “Maybe you work so hard because you don’t want to admit you have no life outside of work.”

Her eyes widen and her lips part.

“Maybe you’re just hiding behind your work,” I say, my tone hard. “Hiding from life. But hey, if that’s what you want—you got it.”

I swallow. And walk out.

22

HAYDEN

I think my chest is going to explode, my heart is racing so fast and hard. My whole body trembles as I slam and lock the door, then stumble into my living room and fall facedown onto the couch. I press my hot cheek onto the cool leather and squeeze my eyes shut. Oh God. Oh God.

What just happened?

Oh hell, I knew it was going to be difficult to tell Beck we have to end things, but I never in a million—or ten million, ha!—years expected him to say those things.

Hiding from life? I’m not hiding from life! I’m living life the way you’re supposed to, doing the things you’re supposed to, taking my job and my mission seriously. He’s the one who’s hiding from life!

Really? No. Wait, maybe. But I understood that after all his years of service that he deserves to have fun. But is that all he wants in life? Fun? Because that’s not enough for me.

Fuck him.

Hot tears flow and wet the leather beneath my cheek.

And what the hell? He has ten million dollars to just hand over? That cannot be real.

But Beck’s not a liar. I haven’t known him long, but there’s no way a man with his integrity and honor and strength would lie.

But if it’s true, it makes me feel . . . hell, I don’t even know how I feel. I drum my feet onto the couch and groan.

Yes, it felt insulting. That he thinks he can buy my time. That he can just write a check and I’ll be there anytime he wants to try some new sex position. Or let him lick tequila off my body. Or . . . or let him help me with my aunt and uncle.

Shit.

I also feel betrayed. Because he never told me. Not that it matters. I don’t care who his family is or how much money they have. But it’s part of him . . . part of who he is . . . and he didn’t tell me.

I don’t know why that hurts so much. We were both clear that we were just having fun. I shared some stuff with him I don’t tell a lot of people—like my parents’ cancer diagnoses, my own fears that I would get cancer too, my aunt and uncle’s situation, the way I was made fun of as a geeky kid. He told me about losing his brother. I thought we were getting closer, not just physically. Or sexually.

But I guess I was wrong.

I flip over on the couch and stare up at the ceiling.

---