Page 29 of Most Eligible
I duck my chin, my face heating. It’s all I’ve wanted for the past year. But…
“It’s too late,” I whisper. Maybe he was wrong, maybe we were real, but I can’t let him speak that into existence. Ithasto be too late, because I have a job to do. “I’m here for Roland. I’m here to fall inlovewith Roland.” I wish I sounded just a tenth less like I’m trying to convince myself.
“And have you?” he asks. His pupils are blown, no green peeking through the gloom. “Have you fallen in love?”
My mouth opens in a littleO, and I stare at him. It’s the same question Lainey asked, but with Rhett, I’m not sure how to answer.
“I keep second-guessing myself,” I say, sidestepping the question. “I keep thinking maybe I’m not here for the right reasons, maybe I’m a terrible person for trying to find love like this. Maybe it’s all a mistake.” The words gush out and I bite my lip. It’s not the complete truth, but it’s true enough that it hurts.
Rhett barks a laugh and shakes his head. “No one’s ‘here for the right reasons.’ Not me, not you, not any of the other women. Not even Lainey.”
“Why isn’t Lainey here for the right reasons?”
He hesitates, then says, “Be careful with Lainey.”
“Why?”
He shakes his head. “Just… be careful. She’ll find your weak spot, and once she sinks her teeth in, she doesn’t let go.”
My face flushes, and I duck my head. She already locked on to my weak spot, but I have a feeling that next time, she won’t let go so easily. And if she knew about my other weak spot—the one sitting right next to me—I’d be a goner.
Up here, with him, I can almost forget the nervous hum running through my veins. I can almost forget that everything about being a hundred feet in the air makes me feel like the world is ending. But for that very reason, he’s dangerous. I can’t lose sight of real life. Not like last time.
“It’s…” I fidget my fingers. “She was asking about my parents. I didn’t think it’d be so hard to talk about. It wasn’t even a huge thing when it happened,” I continue. “My dad lived with us one day and the next he didn’t.” I shrug, but it’s forced. “Half of America is divorced, but here it has to be some sort of sob story?”
He nods carefully, brows raised like he knows I’m stretching the truth. He might not have known about my fear of heights, but I let other things slip last year.
I cross my ankles and try to adopt a more confident pose. “If you’re so sure about Lainey’s tactics, what’syourweak spot?”
He tilts his head toward me, as if deciding whether to lie. “My family,” he says finally. He doesn’t expand on that, just lets it hang in the air between us.
Rhett may take a while to trust—to know something’s real—but I have a feeling that when he loves, he loves hard.
“Your parents?”
He nods, and the shadows in his eyes loosen something within me.
“Are they still together?” I ask.
“My dad passed,” he says. “But they were together until the end.”
I roll my lips in, nodding. “I’m so sorry. But at least they were together—at least you have that.”
He makes a face and crosses his ankles to mirror me. “Some people aren’t meant to be married,” he says. “Sometimes divorce is the kinder thing.”
I stare at him, but he’s still preoccupied with the horizon. It’s embarrassing how badly I want him to be wrong, to not be a product of something that was destined to crash and burn. But deep down, I know he’s right. Sometimes ending a relationship can be an act of mercy. I wonder if it felt like that when he and Cassidy divorced.
He runs a hand through his hair, then starts to undo the cuff links on his left sleeve—slowly, carefully. Just as carefully as he once undid me.
He unbuttons both sleeves and folds them up to his elbows. I don’t know if it’s the dusting of red-brown hair on his forearms, or his easy lean back on the roof tiles, or the way he tilts his head back and parts his lips like he wants to drink in the night, but it’s all so fucking sexy. It makes me wish his lips were parting for me. To kiss me, to savor me, or to ask me a question like he did that night.
“How’d you get into music?” he’d asked.
Maybe he’d just been searching for conversation, a little nervous to get down to business now that we were within striking distance of my bed. But to me, it wasn’t a casual question. It wasn’t something you’d ask any person with a Spotify account. It was clear from my shelves that music wasn’t a casual interest,something to fill my ears on a long drive. It was an obsession. A lifeline.
“My parents,” I said.
He cocked his head to the side. “They’re big into music?”
