Worth the Wait (Picking up the Pieces #4) (8 page)

Not a word was spoken as I drove us the five minutes from my house to the bar parking lot, but from the corner of my eye, I could see her glance in my direction every other minute. When I pulled my Jeep up next to her car, I threw it in park and sat there staring out the windshield as the passenger door opened. She paused briefly and looked back as if she wanted to say something, but remained quiet, one leg in, one leg out. When I finally met her gaze, she looked almost regretful.

“Brett…” she started, but then stopped.

It might have been a mistake; I might have let my anger get the best of me, but I needed her to know where I stood.

“Rest assured, beauty, if you’re lucky enough to get me back between those luscious thighs, no way in fuckin’ hell will you be running out on me again.”

I threw the jeep in gear and took off for home, leaving her looking slack jawed and shocked in the parking lot of Colt’s.

What the hell was I thinking?

That was just the problem. I
hadn’t
been thinking. I’d let my damn hormones take control of the whole situation, and a night that started out wonderfully crashed and burned in a fiery ball.

Brett’s words played on a constant loop in my head the whole next day.

Rest assured, beauty, if you’re lucky enough to get me back between those luscious thighs, no way in fuckin’ hell will you be running out on me again.

I had an angel on one shoulder telling me it was for the best, that I didn’t need to get tangled up in something messy while I was still trying to get my footing and build a healthy life for Cameron and Callie. But the horny little devil on my other shoulder was telling me that luck wouldn’t even begin to cover it if I were to get Brett back between my thighs, that it would be no less than a friggin’ miracle.

Damn it. At times like this, I really hated my stupid subconscious. That bitch was making a mess out of my carefully planned-out life. A life I was determined would contain
no
men.

By the time Brett had pulled into the parking lot the night before, I was already beating myself up for my overreaction at his house. It seemed I was prone to overreactions where he was involved.

Yes, calling me a bitch was definitely wrong, and I wouldn’t excuse that. But I couldn’t help but feel like I’d intentionally led him to that point. I
was
acting like a bitch, and I’d been doing it on purpose because I couldn’t handle what I was feeling. Gut instinct told me to flee and to burn that bridge as soon as I crossed it. I’d opened my mouth to apologize, but his words had struck me mute. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that they’d turned me on at the same time.

Good Lord, there was something seriously wrong with me.

“MOM! I want panacakes!” Cameron shouted as he and Callie came barreling into the kitchen.

Luckily, by the time I arrived home it was so late that I was able to feign exhaustion and brush off Lizzy’s curious stare before pushing her through the door. I knew that there was no getting away from her third degree the next day—the whisker burn on my cheeks and neck and just-fucked hair were pretty telling signs that something had happened—but thankfully, I had a full day to come up with some sort of plausible story for my unkempt appearance Friday night.

“I want cereal!” Callie shouted, pushing her brother from behind.

“Panacakes!” Cameron demanded with a shove back. “And you’re a butt toot!”

“Hey, no pushing,” I scolded, pulling my twins off of each other before blood shed ensued. “And don’t call people butt toots, Cam,” I told him sternly.

Butt toots, seriously? Where do kids pick this shit up?

“But sissy’s stinky and smells like the stuff that comes out of my booty,” he giggled hysterically.

“I do not!” Callie wailed as tears rushed down her cheeks. “
Mooommmy!
Bubby’s being a meanie!”

My eyelid twitched and that telltale stabbing pain shot through my skull. That asshole who wrote
What to Expect When You’re Expecting
never covered how gross tiny four year olds could be. That would’ve been a really friggin’ helpful chapter.

“Enough,” I told them both. “Go in the living room and play nice, or so help me, I’ll make you both eat asparagus for breakfast.”

That threat worked like a charm every time.

I still remember the first time I’d put it on their plates for dinner.

“Mommy, these gween beans taste like crap.” Callie told me as she hesitantly licked the vegetable hanging from her fork. I’d made a special dinner for mine and Lance’s anniversary, but as usual, he’d been stuck late at the office. He didn’t even bother to bring the day up when he called to curtly inform me not to wait up. That’s when I knew he’d forgotten.

“Don’t say crap. And they aren’t green beans. They’re asparagus.”

“This tastes like dog poop,” Cameron told me with a scrunched-up face.

And thus began the stage where my kids viewed everything healthy as tasting like poop.

At the threat of the dreaded asparagus, my kids ran screaming from the kitchen like the boogey man had just jumped out of the pantry. Five seconds later, the sound of the TV coming on echoed into the kitchen and that damn
Yo Gabba Gabba
song played.

That was another thing those stupid parenting books never taught you. Kiddie shows were the devil. Those damn songs would get stuck in your head forever. I let out a sigh of defeat and turned back to the stove making breakfast. I’d decided on a compromise. No pancakes or cereal.

They were getting French toast and they’d better damn well like it.

When I arrived at work the next morning, Brett and his men were already at the salon working on the new rooms Trevor was having built for Lizzy. Our eyes met briefly when I walked through the door, but he turned and continued hammering without so much as acknowledging my existence.

I understood that he was still mad, and part of me was too. We’d both said some pretty shitty things to each other, but I couldn’t stop thinking that I needed to apologize for my part in the whole mess. Just because we’d had a night of naked debauchery before everything went south, didn’t mean we needed to be enemies. We’d made a mistake by hooking up, but I desperately wanted to put it behind us in the hopes of salvaging some sort of friendship. Brett was a nice guy and I was already starting to form relationships with the people in his tightknit circle. It didn’t need to be messy. I mean, guys did this kind of thing all the time. One-night stands were practically invented by the male species. Just because we’d had sex didn’t mean we couldn’t be friends, right?

Right?

I’d spent hours surreptitiously watching Brett every chance I got and preparing my speech for when I was finally able to get him alone. My window of opportunity finally opened when I saw him walking down the hall to use the restroom. Deciding that was the perfect time to take a quick break between appointments, I waited a minute then headed to the break room down the same hall to grab a much needed soda from the fridge. I’d timed it perfectly. Just as I was walking back out of the room, Brett was exiting the restroom.

“Hey,” I started, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“Hey.” His tone was brusque and it was obvious he had no plans to stick around seeing as he was already turning to head back down the hall. My window was quickly slamming shut.

“Can I talk to you for a second?”

He faced me and leaned one massive shoulder against the wall, effectively blocking the way from the hall back into the main part of the salon. His arms crossed over his chest accentuated his bulging biceps and flashes of being wrapped up in them a few nights before as he thrust into me flooded my system. I had to shake my head to clear it of the erotic memories and concentrate on the here and now.

“I…uh,” I began to stutter, having to clear my throat and start again. “I wanted to apologize for…you know…the other night.”

One of his brows quirked up as he asked, “You want to apologize for having sex?”

“What? No! No, not that part…” Gah! I was losing my mind. Why couldn’t I sound like a smart, confident woman when I was in his presence? I was turning into a bumbling idiot.

I rolled my eyes at him as his lips tipped up in a smirk. “What I’m trying to say is I know I was acting like a bitch the other night, and you weren’t
completely
wrong for pointing that out. But let me just add, it’s never cool for a guy to call a woman a bitch. Even if she’s being one. Just saying,” I rambled nervously. “Anyway…my point is I had no right to treat you that way. I was wrong for how I reacted and I just want you to know that I really am sorry,” I ended softly.

His frosty demeanor changed, his face softening as he took a step toward me and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

“It’s okay, beauty,” he spoke quietly. “All’s forgiven.”

A weight lifted off my chest and I let out a relieved sigh. “I was so worried this was going to be awkward. I’m glad we can be friends.”

“Yeah, we can be…wait. What?” His hand paused mid-stroke on my cheek as his entire body grew rigid. “You want to be friends,” he stated dryly.

Unease crept through me as the tension in the hallway grew palpable.

“Well…yeah. Or at least I’d hoped that we could. I mean, we hang out with some of the same people. It’d just make things so much easier if we got along, you know?”

He dropped his hand to his side and took a step back, his anger practically radiating off him.

“So what happened the other night doesn’t matter for shit, then? Are you serious right now, Kenzie?”

“Brett,” I sighed. “What happened the other night was a one-time thing. We can’t get involved.”

“Why the fuck not!”

“Because! I have two kids I’m raising all on my own and a life I’m trying to build for us!” My temper turned up a notch at having to explain myself and as I shouted at him, the words just started pouring out without any thought, revealing things I’d have preferred to stay locked up. “I’ve made some bad choices in the past. I fucked up a lot, and I’ll be damned if I do that again. I’m not putting a man before the welfare of my children, Brett. Why can’t you understand that?”

He stood quietly for several seconds before responding. His voice came out so low and filled with concern that it nearly brought tears to my eyes. “What happened to you, beauty?”

He tried to touch my face again, but I wouldn’t let him. “That’s none of your business,” I said bitingly.

“Kenzie, I can’t help you if—”

“I’m not asking for your help!” I yelled. “All I was asking for was your friendship, but if you can’t give me that, then I guess there’s nothing left to discuss.”

Without another word, I shoved past Brett and made my way to my station to prepare for my next appointment. So much for keeping things from getting messy.

As I walked away from Brett, sadness formed a knot in my stomach. I told myself I was doing the right thing. So why didn’t it feel that way?