Page 103 of The Burbs and the Bees
The only man I truly want in my life and in my bed broke my heart, and I honestly never knew what real heartbreak was until him. Just saying his name in my head brings tears to my eyes and pain to my soul. He might have bet against me, but he was always there to lend a helping hand. Deep in my gut, I know that wasn’t to watch over me, to ensure I failed.
At least he gets to keep his farm. I couldn’t stand to see them lose everything because of me. I’d grown fond of them all during my stay, and no way would I see them displaced. I’d rather displace myself—right onto my friend’s couch. But my God, I miss them. My heart squeezes, and the tightness in my chest makes breathing a little more difficult.
Fighting tears, I push from my seat and walk into the kitchen, moving past Bradley, who is in a heated conversation with Janice. My gaze meets his, and I offer a polite smile that seems to enrage Janice. She roughly touches Bradley’s face and pulls his focus back to her.
No worries, girlfriend. I don’t want him.
The kitchen is empty, and I’m grateful for the reprieve. I need some alone time but have nowhere really to go. Maybe I should sneak upstairs to the spare bedroom. Although Lucy would have a fit if I bailed, and since I’m staying at her place, I don’t really want to piss her off. Why she thought she had to have a party for me is still a mystery. It’s not like she really missed me, but she insisted I needed to find myself a man so he could take care of me. Probably to get me out of her hair sooner rather than later.
But I don’t want a man to take care of me. I want to take care of myself. Yes, it’s nice to have someone there to catch me if I fall, but I want to be the one responsible for me and for my own happiness. I pour my drink down the drain and fill the cup with soda. I take a sip as Bradley comes into the kitchen. When I notice Janice isn’t behind him, I push off the counter, my entire body tightening. I’m really not interested in having a conversation with him.
“Hey,” he says, in that soft, familiar voice he used to use when he wanted something.
“Hi,” I return.
“Heard you were doing some farming in Nova Scotia.” His lips curl at the corner like my life is a big joke, like farming is a big joke.
“That’s right,” I say, the hairs on my neck standing up as I go on the defense. No way, no how will I let anyone belittle what goes on in farm country. Jay works harder than any man I know.
He looks the length of me, his gaze lingering on the wet spot on my blouse. “Whatever possessed you to think you were cut out for farming?”
My blood races faster, and I resist the urge to dump the contents of my cup over his head. In the other room, I hear a bit of a commotion, a few raised voices, but have no idea what’s going on. I set my cup on the counter and stand up straighter.
“What do you want, Bradley?”
“I might have made a mistake,” he says and runs the back of his fingers over my cheek. I flinch at the touch, and his head rears back, obviously surprised by my reaction.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I try to step around him, but he blocks me.
“I missed you.”
“Missed me? You left me, remember?”
“I think I made a mistake.”
“No, you didn’t. We don’t belong together.” I try to get around him again, but his grip on my arm tightens. “Now you’re making a mistake.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Back off. That’s your first and only warning.”
He moves closer, and breath that reeks of alcohol and sadness turns my stomach as he tries to press his crotch against me. “You don’t mean that.”
“I mean every word of it. Now back off,” I say.
“Or what?”
“Or this,” I say and knee him right in his giblets. He groans and drops to his knees, and when he does, I see who’s standing in the doorway behind him.
The air leaves my lungs in a whoosh. I grip the counter, blink once, twice, sure I’m hallucinating, but the image won’t go away. Maybe someone spiked my drink because no way in hell would Jay Andrews be here in New York, a place he hates, standing in my friend’s kitchen.
“Attagirl,” Jay says as Bradley rolls around on the floor. “I always knew you were tough.”
“Jay?” I say, my voice stammering as my knees wobble. I push off the counter and take a step toward him, needing to touch him, or poke him, some kind of sign to prove I’m not losing my mind and seeing things.
Bradley grabs my foot, and I let loose a yelp as I fall forward, but Jay is there, right there to catch me before I face-plant on the kitchen floor.
“I got you,” he says, and my stupid heart tumbles in my chest.
