job and at least once a day, I rub one out to his brother’s IG workout when I’m alone in my office.” She adds conspiratorially.
I grimace, and wrinkle my nose. “I could have lived my whole life without knowing that and never felt like I missed a thing.”
She laughs and waggles her eyebrows. “But clearly I’ve been lusting after the wrong brother. He’s smoking hot – so male and sexy and brooding and fuckable.”
I ignore the pang of possessive annoyance I feel at her words. I have no right to that feeling.
“I wonder why he’s back,” I say.
“Oh he’s been in all sorts of trouble lately. Drinking and shit. Made a spectacle of himself on his brother’s show. Stormed off, quit everything and disappeared. He picked the perfect place. I bet no one here knows who he is.”
I look down at my lap and recall the look in his eyes when he saw me that day. And how he looked just now. “His dad died, Dina. People should cut him some slack.”
“Yeah, but you know how people love to kick a guy like that when he’s down. Maybe you could make him feel better.” I look up and find a wicked and lascivious grin on her face. I groan.
“Dina, I’m not single.”
“You’re dating a guy you should abhor. And the guy you’re clearly crazy for walked back into your life at just the right time. If that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is.“
4
FUCKING MS. AMERICA
CARTER
The entire week I’ve been here has been a nightmare.
A pipe burst in the house I rented in East Winsome and I had to move into a much more expensive bed and breakfast the night I arrived.
Trying to get someone to talk to me about the Kendicotts has been like pulling teeth.
Seeing Beth has turned my mood fucking dark.
I thought I was prepared for the moment our paths would cross.
But, I was wrong. I’ll never get used to the sway her eyes hold over me. And the hurt them… it had been real. I haven’t been able to stop seeing it.
But, I got that text from her phone. And she’s fucking engaged. Those things are real, too.
But for someone reason, now, I feel like I’m the one who did something wrong. Like I’m the one who let her down.
That night at Corks was a disaster. I don’t know why I sang with her in the room. I only went there because I knew no one would know me. Her friend practically harpooned me over to their table, I thought she was a fan, and I know better than to be rude. But when she’d walked over, even though her make up looked undisturbed, I could tell that she’d been crying. Her eyes…God. I’ve been tempted to abandon my mission and go back to New York. But I didn’t come here for her and I need answers.
It’s for the best that there’s this…wedge between us. This whole thing is hard enough without throwing a love triangle in the mix.
I can’t pretend anymore that I don’t have unresolved feelings for her. When we were standing inches apart from each other, I wanted to pull her close and kiss her until the hurt in her eyes turned to heat.
But that kind of trouble, I don’t need.
So, I’ve thrown myself, headfirst into my research so that I can get what I came for and leave.
This morning, finding the deed for the house my parents—my birth parents lived in – is at the top of my list.
I’ve been at the county clerk’s office twice this week requesting documents I thought were public record – birth records and marriage records. But, when I mention the Kendicotts, friendly smiles disappear, eyes shutter and whatever I’ve just asked for isn’t available.
Desperate for progress, I broke down and called my realtor for help. I figured she’d be able to walk into the clerk’s office and ask for records without raising suspicion.
I thought maybe they just didn’t like an outsider coming into town and asking questions.
I was wrong.
“Now, Etta, I’m a public official. You can’t talk to me like that.” I The man puffs his chest out, but I can see the sweat beading on his balding pate from where I’m standing.
And Etta can smell the blood in the water. I can hear his balls shrinking when she doubles down and leans so close to the glass divider that the tip of her nose touches it.
“Look, here. Working part time as a receptionist doesn’t