Page 64 of The Nice Guy
Nodding, I shut the door and walk to my side. She stays silent the entire drive to her place, and I hate how the guilt creeps back in, mixing with the anger and creating a turmoil of emotions I can’t settle. Even though she’s the reason I’m acting this way, she doesn’t know I know. To her, she doesn’t understand why. And if I’m hell-bent on being an asshole, why put it off?
Because you love her, idiot.
“Can I stay with you?” I ask as I park in her driveway.
“I don’t think you should,” she says and hops out of the pickup before I can open my door.
“I’m sorry about today,” I say and hurry up the porch after her.
Turning to face me, she gives me a smile that looks oddly familiar. The smile I saw in the engagement picture. The one that doesn’t reach her eyes. “It’s okay. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Brynlee, I really am sorry.”
“I know,” she says. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
She steps inside and shuts the door behind her. Resting my forehead on the door, I call, “Talk to me now. Please?”
“I’m covered in flour.”
I feel torn. Angry as I am, I still love her. “Baby, please? I don’t want to leave like this.”
The door opens, and I rush in, ignoring everything my head tells me, and kiss her. Salt from her tears hits my tongue when she opens her mouth for me, and I hate that I made her cry. Maybe if I can stop being a grade-A jerk, I can show her that Ican offer her things Kevin Sandoval never could. I may not have the money or the model looks, but up until yesterday and today, I think I’ve been a damn good boyfriend.
Picking her up, I carry her into the bedroom where we strip out of our clothes, dropping everything to the floor, ready to continue this in the shower. It’s selfish, I know, but I particularly like sex in the shower because we don’t use condoms. I’m about seventy-thirty in my ratio of pulling out in time, but I know she’s on birth control. It’s less messy this way.
I hate how much I wish she wasn’t on anything. That I could knock her up because I know she’d stay with me. It’s not a reason to bring a child into the world, but I love her so damn much. And I’d love any child we had together. It’s the dream I thought we’d make come true until I saw that damned countdown yesterday.
With our clothes peeled off, flour dusts everything, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She’s down to just her panties while I’m in my boxers, both ready to go. At least I know she still wants me. That says something, right?
Her phone rings in the purse she tossed to the ground as soon as we entered the room, and she narrows her eyes. “You and Darla are the only people who call me,” she says while I reach for her phone.
Handing it to her, she has the nerve to look surprised when Kevin’s name appears on the screen. She silences it and tosses it on the counter.
“You don’t want to answer that?”
“I haven’t talked to him since I left Chicago, and I know what he’s calling about. I’d rather be here with you than worry about him.”
“I think you need to talk to him, Brynlee.”
In that moment, I know I can’t do this. I can’t sleep with her and pretend she’s mine. She knows how good of a boyfriend I can be, and what kind of husband I’d make. If she hasn’t decidednot to marry him yet, that’s her decision. I grab my clothes and put them on.
“What are you doing?” she asks, grabbing her silk robe and slipping it on as I pull up my jeans.
“You should talk to him. I’m givin’ you privacy.”
Brynlee runs after me as I reach the foyer, her hand clutching the robe tightly at the top as she looks at me with confusion. “I don’t want privacy. I… I can call him back in front of you, if you want. There’s nothing between him and me anymore. There was never really anything before, either.”
That hits a nerve, and I whip around. She’s saying there was nothing between them, but she’s going to leave me and go back to him. That’s rich. “You’re marryin’ him.”
“No, I’m not,” she says, and she actually looks surprised.
“I don’t thinkheknows that.”
“I think leaving while he was gone and taking all of my stuff is pretty clear. Not to mention the note I left telling him as much. Why are you acting like this? Why are you doing this?”
Shaking my head, I hold up my hands. “I’m not doin’ anythin’.”
“You’re trying to ruin this. I don’t understand—”
