Page 31 of My Grape Crush
“Even if it did,” I say, careful not to admit to anything, “that doesn’t make it right.”
“Then why go there if you know it’s wrong?”
I blow out a breath. Jesus. Why won’t he drop it? Why push harder on a darkening bruise?Because sometimes life is a dumpster fire of bad decisionsis what I want to scream. Because I fell hard for my ex-boss, smug in his Armani suits and swaths of Paco Rabanne cologne. And because Brett abused his power, I sank to his dubious level and snagged the opportunity to lean into mine.
Of course it wasn’t right.
I momentarily lost my bearings in the vineyard because it felt fucking great to be in charge. Because charismatic and elusive men are my weakness, Rhys, and you are the gold standard.
“Can we talk about something else?” My voice is more cutting than intended.
After a very, very long silence, he asks, “How about those Canucks?”
Chapter Ten
RHYS
Fuck!
My heart twists in my chest, and I can’t manage a deep breath. I slam the fridge door shut so hard, the jolt rattles my teeth. I should have hit the liquor store. Rosé won’t cut it at a time like this.Shooters of flaming eighty-proof rum are what this guy needs to settle down.
Way to ease us in, Dani.
Like, how about a lakeside sunset together before making my body scream? Am I supposed to pretend that away?
She dropped me off a minute ago, and we both said polite goodbyes after suffering through silence darker than deep space on the ride home. And now a zillion strange emotions swirl inside me. A wild ache. Unexplainable shit.
It’s just a little early for moves this intense, and for feelings like this.
Going through the motions of idle chit-chat during lunch while the knot in my chest refused to untangle was brutal. I tried to silently connect with her, to help me perform some mental arithmetic, to figure out what it all meant, because something untold fuelled her. Instead of a playful manhandling, she rode me into wasteland territory with six guns blazing.
To prove a point is what it felt like.
I pace around my expensive kitchen that smells like lemons, feeling caged in, trapped in an endless loop. I can still smell her, feel her skin beneath my fingers, her voluptuous body pinned needily against mine.
The explosion of need in my blood caught me off guard.
Me shutting her down on the way home didn't pave the path to resolution, but the need to protect my heart kicked in automatically. The rumors about me are partly true, told spectacularly to my face last month by one of the countless women who have chased me.
“Everyone knows you don’t fall for Rhys because you cannot fall for anyone.”
And for the record, “countless women” is not a humble brag. I’d trade quality over quantity in a heartbeat. Especially when, every other week, some Crazy sets her sights on me.
Feeling hollowed out and a little lost, I crash onto the sofa. I stare off into space, my hands clenched into fists before I even realize it. The wholeNo Man is an Islandthing suddenly hits hard.
I might have lost touch with reality while camped out on Corfu, keeping everything—family, the idea of love, my insecurities—at bay. That’s what hurt little boys do after a lifetime of searching for a father figure: they numb themselves by leaving home, talking to an inanimate object, and embracing the adoration of strangers because the alternative—being unwanted—sucks.
The trouble is, the more I realized fans always want something from me, the less I gave of myself, to the point where my inability to fall for someone is an actual thing.
Oh sure, you can drop me into any party, and I’ll light it up. Golden, sunny Rhys. Quick to make you laugh. Ready to pose in a selfie. I can be the guy you think I am. The truth is, I don’t even know who I am anymore. A façade? A fucking hologram?
Virtual reality Rhys.
There, but not real.
In the dense silence of my hot, airless villa, I replay everything in my mind from the minute I arrived here. Dani gave me the impression that she might be different. Or at least see beyond the veneer of a pretty boy influencer. Why I stubbornly cling to that notion after two days of knowing her is ludicrous, especially after she wielded those goddamned grapes like a temptress overjoyed to witness the fall of a feeble, weakened man.
That doesn’t change the weight of what happened. And her guilt-ridden aura during lunch speaks to a deeper, stormier motivation.
