Page 34 of Conflict
Branson’s thumb taps the edge of his glass. “Hmm. Well, that’s about all the knowledge I have of the female population. So, enlighten me. What’s with the new girl and the dry spell?”
I do what he’s asked and tell him everything, from seeing Alyssa when she checked in to being on the beach and spotting her walking along the sand. And I tell him about the hot tub, but I skim over the details about us spending the night together, giving him just enough without spelling it all out.
Contrary to popular belief, any self-respecting man doesn’t fuck and tell. Much.
Then I tell him about the morning after, when a dutifully respectful employee outed me before I could tell Alyssa the full truth. It turns out I don’t even get to the part where he interrupted before he curses under his breath.
Branson stands, takes both of our glasses, refills them, then returns to his seat. He studies me for a moment, his head cocked to the side as if I’m some sort of exotic specimen he can’t quite figure out.
“You’re telling me you met a girl at the resort in the panhandle. Had the best sex of your life with said girl, who turned out to be a virgin, and yet you still had the best night of your life.” He pauses, glancing at me.
I nod with a sigh, not sure why he has to spell it all out again.
“Then she found out youweren’tmerely the pool boy and was angry you hadn’t been honest about having money?”
I throw a hand into the air. “Basically. Except it wasn’t about the money, I don’t think. It was more that I’d misrepresented myself after she’d trusted me.”
Branson drinks. “She’d known you for mere hours before you got into her bed?”
I don’t correct him even though it was a much shorter timeframe. “It wasn’t like that, Branson. We just… I don’t know. We had this instant connection. It’s nothing I’ve ever felt before.”
He stares at me for a moment then rests back against the chair, slumping down. “Good God, not you, too.”
I frown. “What?”
He runs his hands over his face and groans before giving me a pointed look. “I thought we were bachelors together. Brothers-in-arms. Wingmen.”
“Branson, you’re rarely in the city, and I have a feeling you haven’t been laid in a lot longer time than I have.”
“Can you blame me? Megan put me off pussy for so long. Not to mention I’ve been terrified to get my dick wet again for fear I’ll be banging another one of my brother’s girls and accidentally marrying her, too.”
It’s not that I want to kick a horse when he’s down, but I can’t help my response. “You know, I tried talking you out of marrying her, if you recall.”
“I thought I was doing what was best for the family. Just the beginning in a long string of bad decisions. But it doesn’t matter anymore. Without me, Knox wouldn’t have Charlie, so at the end of the day, everyone should be thanking me for taking one for the team.”
I chuckle. “I hear Cohen’s down for the count as well.”
Branson groans. “God, Shane. I thought Knox and Charlie were too much. But Cohen? He’s the reason for the saying ‘lighting up when his woman walks into the room.’ It’s disgusting, the way he fawns over her. Sure, she’s pretty. Hell, she’s gorgeous if you like the twenty-two-year-old fiery-redheaded siren type…” He pauses and looks up at me. “Never tell Cohen I said that. In fact, never tell anyone that.”
“So you’re here because there’s too much love up in Belle Meade and you need a break.”
Raising his glass, he smiles with wicked intent. “Looks like we’ve both got dry spells to break.”
I raise my own. “Don’t worry, Branson. Tonight, I’ll nudge all the fiery redheaded sirens in your direction.”
He rolls his eyes then reels back. Confusion crosses his features. “Wait a minute. If you’ve found this great woman, what’s with the dry spell, and what’s with looking for randoms?”
I sigh. “When she found out I was a Wellington, she was pissed. I think. I had to leave quickly, and I asked her to wait for me. Suffice it to say, she didn’t.”
Something unreadable crosses Branson’s features, and he stands. With his hands balled into fists, he presses them against the desk, leaning in close and staring at me. “Shane, I’m only going to say this once. You find a girl who doesn’t care you’re a Wellington, you don’t go finding randoms. You do whatever the fuck you have to do to find this girl, and then you fucking marry her.”
As if I hadn’t already thought that.
Like I said, I’d wanted to respect her wishes. Now? Not even a little.
Branson only slightly helps me keep my mind off Alyssa over the weekend. Even when we visit our favorite city nightlife spots, it’s apparent neither of us is into it. No free drinks for the ladies—hell, not even second glances. And first ones are usually an accident. So, after an uneventful Friday night, we spend Saturday and Sunday lounging in my condo, watching football, drinking beer, and eating like a couple of frat boys. Yeah, I love to cook, but I’m too busy wallowing in self-pity to even poach an egg. Branson’s lucky I care enough to order takeout.
By Monday morning, we just shake our heads at each other.
