Page 86 of Hard to Love
And if that meant Alex had to give up his to save Nicolás’s, so be it.
Alex’s short taste of peace fled.
“How’s your competition entry coming along?” Greer asked, her words soft and sleepy.
“It’ll get there,” he said.
“They like you, you know that, right?”
“Who?”
“The people here in Prophecy.”
“Because I made fucking flan?”
“Because—” she drew little circles on his chest that made Alex’s heart ache with what he had to do, “—you’re actually a nice guy. And—let’s face it—the women like you because you’re hot and now they know you can cook. That’s as sexy as all get-out. As long as your design is as brilliant as the others I’ve seen so far, you’ll win.”
He sure as hell hoped so because he needed that money. Payoffs and disappearances took stacks of cash.
“I’m sorry about that scene with Raylene and the others today,” she said.
“They love you and want to see you happy.” And the dark place inside him wanted to hunt down the man who would eventually make her that way and have a conversation with him. He would either beat the shit out of the guy or beg him to care for this woman the way she deserved.
But another thought had been burrowing in his brain since he’d made the decision to leave Prophecy. “What happens if one person gets prophecy boots but the otherperson, the soul mate, doesn’t for some reason?”
She raised her head, the pleasure of their lovemaking still soft in her eyes. “Are you saying you finally believe what we’ve been telling you?”
“I’m still letting it marinate.”
“Well, if one person puts on the boots and the other doesn’t, it’s what I guess you’d call unrequited. A one-sided relationship that’s not even really a relationship.”
“So that’s it? No chance for the first person to move on?”
“Oh, she can physically move on. There would be nothing keeping her from dating, maybe even marrying someone else. But it would never be true love.”
That was only a problem if Alex believed that the day Whit Maddox had drawn his daughter’s boots he’d also designed a pair for a complete a son-of-a-bitch, one who would leave her. That was so farfetched, he couldn’t even believe he was thinking about it. “I need to talk with you about something else.”
Her eyes narrowed and lost their softness. “Why am I getting a bad feeling about what you’re about to say?”
“Look,” he said, trying to scoot away a few inches to give them both some psychological distance, “I know I told you I’d stick around, be Wild Card’s resident artist, but I…I can’t.”
She pushed up, both palms flat on his chest, pinning him to the bed. “What do you mean you can’t? There isn’t any such thing. There’s only you choose not to.”
He forced his arms to remain at his body instead of wrapping around her, pulling her close, pulling her toward his heart, the way he wanted to. “Then I choose not to,” he said, deliberately using a flat tone.
“Is this what you do?” She shoved away, scrambled tothe side of the bed to fish around on the floor for her clothes. “You make promises and then just walk away from them? Have you ever realized how much you hurt people when you remove yourself from their lives without asking how they feel about it?”
He clenched his hands rather than touch her bare back. No way would she appreciate his hands on her right now.
She swung around, her face tight. “This is about Nicolás, isn’t it?”
“The details aren’t important.” God knew he didn’t want to share any more about his kid brother’s problems or what he planned to do about it. He wanted her as far away from this shit as he could possibly get her. Hell, he’d ship her off to Antarctica if he thought she’d go for it. But her being in Prophecy and in the dark about what was happening would have to be good enough. “But it means I can’t stay.”
“What about the contract? If you win the competition, that’s a given. Hell—” she yanked on her clothes, “—that’s been a given from the start. You know and I know that I jerked you around with that whole competition thing. Delaney wants you.”
“What about you?” Jesus, what was he doing? Just making this whole thing worse. “Doyouwant me?”
And God help him, Alex had forgotten just how much meanness a Texas woman could pull over her like a fine fur coat. But the look on Greer’s face was a jackslap of a reminder. “Fuck you, Alex Villanueva.” She enunciated each word precisely, as though he might not understand her otherwise. “I don’t mind a little uncomplicated sex now and again. But that’s not what this has been between you and me. Don’t tell me you thought it was, because that’s crap, and I don’t play emotional head games.”
