“But—”
“Amy . . .” I pulled her into my arms. “Let’s just kiss.”
So we did.
For a half hour, on the couch, and then, on the floor, me on top of her, her legs wrapped around my waist.
I was into it.
Until I started thinking of Avery.
Amy must have felt my hesitation. “We don’t have to do this. I know I’m inexperienced, and—”
I silenced her with my mouth and slid my hand up her thigh. “I think I know how to get you to stop thinking.”
She fell apart in my arms within two minutes.
Her body was so responsive, starving for a man’s attention. And I felt good about it, good about giving her the release she needed, even though I was confused about why I didn’t really feel like sex.
Amy yawned.
I let out a low chuckle. “I’ll call you a car.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m just—” Another yawn. “Sleepy.”
“Orgasms do that to a woman who’s always had to be on top all her life.” I winked and pulled her to her feet. “I’ll pour you a glass of wine while you wait.”
She nodded, her eyes blurry, unfocused.
I pulled up Uber and grabbed her a nice black sedan that was only five minutes away, then poured her a glass of chilled wine.
When I returned to the living room, she was sitting in one of my favorite chairs, legs tucked beneath her, staring out at the Sound.
“Here.” I handed her the wine and waited for the inevitable, when she’d tell me that while I was really great, she just couldn’t do this.
“You’re wonderful.” She didn’t look at me. “And I’m so thankful that you’ve been patient with me, giving me weeks to decide what I want—and I think, I think I want something different . . . than this.” A tear slid down her cheek.
I caught it with my thumb and pressed a kiss to her neck. “Amy, you’re absolutely beautiful, and it’s okay to feel that way.”
She stared into my eyes. “I don’t get it.”
“Get what?”
“You.” She shook her head. “This, Lucas.”—Ah, the expected last-name drop!—“You’re better than this.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” I smiled sadly. “I’m not.”
“But—”
I stood. “Your car should be here in about one minute. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
“Thank you.” Standing up on her tiptoes, she placed a polite kiss against my cheek. “I hope you find your happy, Lucas—I really do.”
She walked away, and I stared as the door clicked shut. I gulped down the rest of her wine and continued staring at the door.
“What the hell is in the water?” I muttered, then reached for my cell and called my best friend, Thatch.
I wasn’t interested in any of the substitutes tonight.
Maybe I just needed a guys’ night, a night to clear my head of all things work and Avery.
I wanted to blame her.
So I did.
It was, after all, her moans I wanted to hear, not Amy’s, damn it, and when I’d tried to get in the mood, I couldn’t.
Because even though Avery was sometimes a judgmental psycho, all I could imagine was her standing over me with tears in her eyes—like her hero had fallen into the depths of hell, and she had no way of saving him.
“What?” Thatch barked by way of answering his cell. “I’m getting ready to go into the OR.”
“You work tonight?”
“Off after this last breast augmentation.”
Lucky bastard got to touch tits all day long and get paid for it. “Our spot at seven?”
“Done.”
He hung up. Thank God he was free, because for a half a second I had entertained the thought of calling Avery.
Shit.
Chapter Eight
AVERY
“I hate him.” I sucked my drink down, my lips clamping hard on the straw with a vengeance.
“Eh.” Austin arched an eyebrow and grinned. “You’ve said that like ten times—once on the way over here, twice when we walked in, and every time you take a sip. I’m pretty sure I got the memo.”
“Why are we friends?” I wondered aloud.
“You’ve been stuck with me since second grade. I’m not changing now, even though I’m so busy these days I can barely see straight.” She pouted her red-tinged lips and twirled her hair into a low bun, then slumped her shoulders. “I think I may actually decide to become a bum. You know, live off the land.”
“You were kicked out of Brownies,” I pointed out. “And last time your electricity went out, you asked if I knew how to light a match.”
“I was just making sure I was doing it right!” she yelled defensively, her pale skin going red.
I burst out laughing. “Because you’re afraid of fire, admit it.”
She lifted one shoulder. “It’s more of a healthy fear, like Oh, that shit’s hot—let’s not burn down the house or a finger off. Those things happen, you know, with stuff like firecrackers.”
“Okay, my little fire-fearing friend.” I patted her hand gently.
She scowled. “How much do you hate him again?”
“This much.” I held my hands wide, nearly taking out our waitress as she tried to squeeze by us. We were at the bar, drinking away our sorrows. The only reason I was there was because Austin had promised to buy me two drinks. Then again, her parents were rich, so I didn’t feel too guilty about saying yes.