Fake Friends - Saxon James Page 0,10

forgiven him. Immediately.

That’s why I kept trying to get in contact with him.

I wanted to forgive him. I know what his family’s like, and how he’s struggled with his sexuality—I’m not an idiot. And yeah, I was angry at what he did, but I knew we could have gotten past it. I wanted to. That’s why I never told anyone.

I was so far in love with him I was prepared to let him assault me and get away with it.

And that shit right there is not cool.

Which is why I told him he had to leave again.

I’ve always been weak when it comes to Rowan Harvey, and I refuse to give in again.

But isn’t that what you’re doing?

I tell the voice to fuck off.

Tires crunching the gravel on the outside of my house immediately set me on edge.

I guess he didn’t miss the turnoff, then.

And like that, I have no idea how to act.

Do I meet him out front or give him time to ring the doorbell and make him wait?

What am I saying? I can’t wait. This morning has been bad enough.

The whole way to the front door, I draw up my anger. I remind myself of how he left and how he broke my heart.

How he turned his back and I didn’t cross his mind again.

I throw the front door open and watch as Rowan gets out of his car. His mouth has hit the ground, and I pretend like I’m not studying him as he walks down the entrance.

“This is …”

“A house. Correct. Come inside.” The fewer words, the better.

“This is not a house. Where I live is a house. This is a stinking mansion.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” I step away from the doorway to let him past and push the door closed with a soft click.

The house is silent.

Rowan’s eyes are huge as he looks around the entry hall, and I try to see what he sees. Glass panels on either side of the door extend all the way up to the ten-foot ceiling, revealing the bamboo outside. The beamed ceiling is painted black, the floors are polished cement, and above the shoe stand is a painting that takes up the entire wall.

Okay, I might have gone a little overboard.

“Let me show you around.” I keep my tone dry, hiding the way his awe is sparking a little pride in my chest.

The far side of the house has the bedrooms, the middle is my studio, and on the right are the living areas.

“This is insane,” Rowan finally says. “How the hell doesn’t anyone know this is here?”

“Because I don’t run my mouth, and you won’t either.”

“You’re seriously telling me no one has stumbled on this place?”

I move to the fridge to get us both a water. “Never. The only people who come out this way are looking to go hiking, and the massive Keep Out sign on my drive deters people from taking the wrong turn.”

“You don’t get scared out here on your own?”

Not the way he’s thinking. Am I scared of someone lurking in the woods? Nope. Am I scared that the house will only ever be a lonely shell? Definitely. “No. You need to shower?”

“Unless you want me smelling like fries all day.”

There are so many quips I could throw back. So many flirty one-liners I would have spouted back in the day, when I was trying to break his resolve.

“Back down that hall to the right.”

He goes to step past me when I catch his shoulder. “Wait. Take off your shirt.”

“Umm, now?”

“Yes.”

He’s clearly confused, but he reaches down and peels off his T-shirt.

My hunch was correct.

Smooth muscle, tanned skin, minor blemishes that I like too much to touch up. The curve of his sculpted back … I shake my head. Umm, photos. It’ll all look perfect for the photos.

“Now your shorts.”

“What?”

“I need to know if there’s any manscaping to do.”

His confident smile takes over. “You volunteering?”

I keep my face blank. “The chance to cause you any kind of pain is definitely something I want in on.”

He shoves his shorts down in one go, revealing black boxer briefs that are stretched over the curve of his ass.

I clear my throat, ignoring how well Rowan’s filled out. And the tattoos … definite weakness for me.

“Yeah, you’re good.” Did I check? Not well. But he’s not overly hairy, and what he does have will look good.

I firmly turn my back as he walks away, determined not to let myself stare at his ass.

This is all business.