Page 32 of Almost Perfect
“So you never wanted anything with this guy? Anything real?”
His question shook me from those bitter, shameful thoughts.
“With Bri? Nah. I mean, he’s probably the closest thing I have to a real friend other than my best friend, Jenna, but I don’t have those feelings for him. And if I did, I wouldn’t act on them.”
Those last words lingered in the cab of the truck like smoke, tingeing the air as he turned onto the flat road that led to his ranch.
“And why’s that?” he asked, his voice low and serious.
I’d been honest with him so far, so no reason to stop now, even if I wasn’t sure exactly why I’d chosen to tell him all of these pathetic details. “I’ve seen what it can do—love. And from where I’m sitting, it’s never been a good thing. It’s always been poison for people near me. So if I truly cared about someone, I’d let them go.”
* * *
Early that evening, Jenna called. I couldn’t avoid a conversation any longer, so I answered.
“You are avoiding me.” Her tone held a hint of worry underneath her sing-songy delivery.
“I’ve been avoiding everyone.”
“Are you okay?”
That gentle, genuine question made my throat clog up. If she heard me cry, she’d flip out. I was certain I’d never cried in front of her before. This was an easy fact to check since I’d never cried in front of anyone other than Candy until Wyatt Saint knocked on my door and saw the aftermath of tears last week.
I cleared my throat, banishing the emotion stuck there. “I am. I’m… good.”
“Really.”
The flat delivery told me just how little she believed me.
“Yes, really. I mean, I’m eating mostly cereal and smoothies. And like a genius, I chose a house really far from town, so I’m kind of stuck out here. But the guys who are renting me the place are nice, not weirdos, and it’s good.”
And after saying it aloud, I realized how true that was.
The distance had been helpful, the crying a necessary release. The location gave me all the privacy I could want, and I hadn’t had to worry about anonymity at all, which was everything I’d hoped for in coming here.
Kristoffer had taken care of putting off anyone who’d been looking for me, and though I could tell he’d been through the wringer with my agent, and definitely Rad, ultimately it was all going to be fine. If I could ignore the fact that I had to return to all that reality, I could genuinely enjoy this time. I could just be Calla.
“Sorry, did we sayguys? Tell me about this.”
I could imagine her waggling her brows. She would keep things lighthearted, then go in for the kill soon enough. Might as well take the detour while she was offering.
“Wyatt and Warrick Saint. Brothers. Warrick is a former pro-football player. He’s basically a walking house with a sunny disposition not unlike yourself.”
“He soundsdelightful.”
I chuckled.
“Oh, he is. And his brother…” How to describe Wyatt Saint? “Wyatt is serious. Thoughtful. Kind of intense but also really nice.” Confusing. Gorgeous. Generous.
“Now we’re talking. Tell me more about this Wyatt, because I can tell you’ve thought about this guy. What’s he look like?”
I cleared my throat again, then took a drink of water. “Tall. Dirty-blond hair that’s a little longer on top, shorter on the sides. Trimmed beard that’s a little darker than his hair, but has just a little gray in it. Blue eyes. Muscular. Good hands.”
Oh, those hands.
I’d confirmed my previous suspicion about his calloused hands hours ago when he’d stopped in front of my little barn house. He’d hopped out while I gathered my takeout bag and groceries, and by the time I was ready to exit, he’d opened my door, taken the groceries, and offered a hand to help me down from the truck.
And in a moment that just remembering made my stomach dip, our hands had touched. My fingers had slipped onto his warm, rough palm, and his thumb rested atop the back of my knuckles, pressing against me to assist my exit. My eyes had jumped to his, the current of sensation and electricity cycling between us demanding it. His gorgeous blue gaze studied me, and the look on his face had made me feel positively undressed.
