Page 63 of Blame it on the Bet
“No, actually, me and Helen,” he clarifies and takes a sip of wine.
I feel my chest tighten. “Helen is your…girlfriend?”
I’m totally unprepared for the shower of red wine that sprays across the table.
“Holy crap, Bryan!” I squeal and laugh at the same time. “What the was that?”
But he’s choking. And laughing. And crying. It takes almost a full minute for him to be able to speak again. I grab some paper towels.
“She’s my assistant,” he rasps. “And she bears a striking resemblance to one of those funny troll dolls. No way—I think I’d join Father Romance at the seminary before I’d get in a romantic relationship with Helen!”
“Okay, okay,” I laugh, sopping up the red wine.“If there’s not attraction between you, then what’s the deal with her?”
“What I meant is that she’s really helped me to get myself together. Before her, there was a string of gorgeous, clueless women parading through my office. Helen got me off the late-night party circuit and broke me out of the hung- over workday habit. She made sure I looked presentable and acted like a professional.” He pauses and looks down at his lap for a few seconds before finally raising his dark brown eyes to mine. They’re filled with a depth of sincerity and emotion that I haven’t seen from him before.
“I–I don’t think I realized how far down the rabbit hole I’d gone until she grabbed me by my stained necktie and dragged me out. And, believe me, I fought her every step of the way, too. I must’ve fired that woman a dozen times. But she just kept coming back. Kept telling me I had to get the hell out of my own way. And she was right.”
I find that I’ve been hanging on his every word, leaning across the table on my elbows, chin resting on the propped- up palm of my right hand. I draw a deep breath and pull myself back into the here and now. I like this guy. In fact, I like him more and more with every passing hour that we’re together. But I have to remember…
“Bryan, what’s your end game? What happens when all this is over—one way or the other?” I blurt. I don’t know where I get the nerve to ask, but now that the question is out there, I need to hear the answer.
His brows knit as he considers his reply. A couple of times he starts to speak but stops himself. At last, he commits to a thought.
“My endgame is always the same, Hennessy: to get what I want. I’ve never lied to anyone about that.”
“So you’ve said.”
“Thing is… While the goal hasn’t changed, the parameters of it have.”
“What does that mean, exactly?” I ask with some irritation. “I don’t like doubletalk, Bryan. I get entirely too much of it in my line of work, so just spit it out. Please.”
“It means,” he begins, standing up and moving around the table until he’s directly in front of my chair, “that I’m not sure what it is I want anymore. I came here looking for one thing, and now I’ve found something else entirely.”
I look up at him. His strong, square jaw has just a hint of stubble, and his normally perfect hair is a little tousled. Bryan Truitt looks handsome and respectable in his expensive suits and fancy shoes. But Bryan Truitt looks smoking hot in jeans and a button-down shirt. He offers me his hand, and for some inexplicable reason, I take it.
We’re only inches apart when he puts his hands on my shoulders, keeping those eyes, the color of molten chocolate, trained on mine.
“Do you know what you want, Hennessy?” he asks me, his voice barely more than a rumble in his chest.
I should say that I want to go back to my apartment and my job. I should say that I’m ready to be a responsible adult again, doing the work I’ve been trained to do. I should say that he has absolutely no effect on me, so he should just shuffle on back to his life in L.A.
But I can’t say any of those things. So I just shake my head and brace for the worst. I’m certain that he’s going to tease me, or worse, mock me. But he doesn’t. Bryan Truitt gives me the sweetest, softest smile I think I’ve ever seen in my life. And then, he puts a big, warm hand to my cheek. I find myself leaning into it as if by instinct. He keeps it there as he leans down, his face connecting to mine.
At first, the kiss is a whisper against my lips, a caress as light as a feather. But after a few moments, it turns into something darker and all consuming. I wrap my arms under his shoulders so that my palms are resting against his back, pulling him into me.
It’s been so long…
For the briefest of seconds, I flash on my neighbor friend. The one with the benefits. Except, suddenly I’m not seeing as much benefit to that relationship as I did a month ago. Suddenly, convenient and low-key and simple are looking a whole lot less appealing. Suddenly, I realize that what I really want—what I’m really longing for—is a messy, complicated relationship that spills over into every aspect of my life. I want a man and a love that consume me.
The second I feel his hands on my waist, all thoughts of any other man…of every other man…just fall away.
And then there is only him.
Chapter Twenty-Four
BRYAN
Truittism No. 12: Don’t think about it, just do it. You can always kick yourself in the butt for it later.
