me what the rest do—a spoiled brat, a possessive jerk, a wild card. But she only lays her hand soft against my chest.
“Nash Wilde, you’re punishing me for not wanting you, but you’re the one pushing me away.”
Her hand stays on my chest a moment before she turns away and walks off toward the guest house, leaving me with words that shake me to my core.
The warm buzz of vodka running down my throat settles my nerves instantly. I’m sitting at the bar in the kitchen watching the sun set over the water and trying not to think about what Hanna said to me today or how it felt to see the two of them so happy together.
She’s wrong. I’m not pushing anyone away. I didn’t push Zara away. I poured my heart out for her. I told her I fucking loved her, those words to be exact too. And she still chose him. Fuck, even Preston’s girlfriend chose him, like he’s a goddamn pussy magnet or something. And he acts so innocent about it, like he had nothing to do with it. But he gave her his heart, willingly, and she took it. Meanwhile I’m over here torn between two people who would rather fuck each other.
There are footsteps down the hall. When he enters the kitchen, dressed in casual shorts and a T-shirt, my eyes refuse to drift away from the way his biceps fill the sleeves and the V-cut reveals a small patch of light hair. I hate the way he still has this effect on me.
We don’t speak as he walks to the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of whiskey he bought in the city and holds it up to me, as if he’s offering me a glass, noticing the vodka in mine is gone. I should refuse. I should walk away because I know what happens when Ellis and I start drinking together. I’ve had myself convinced for three years the only reason he liquored me up all those times in Amsterdam was to get me to do what we did, but I know goddamn well I was sober for the first time. The first time he touched my cock I was sober as a nun and I liked it. I wanted it again. The only time I drank after that was to give myself the courage to let him do more.
“Sure,” I reply.
“Did you get done what you needed to with the design team?” he asks calmly.
“Yeah. It was a pain in the ass, but we managed it.”
“Good.”
He hands me my drink, and we don’t talk for a moment. But he doesn’t leave either. Standing on the other side of the island, he keeps his eyes on me as he takes a sip, and I warm under his gaze and from the drink. I should apologize for what happened the other day. I should make it very clear right now it won’t happen again. But my mouth won’t form the words.
“This is delicious,” I say instead because it is. I’m not much of a whiskey guy, but it’s a lot more fucking smooth than vodka, and the flavor doesn’t assault my senses as it slides down my throat. I’m getting drunk tonight. Fuck, I’m already halfway there.
“It is,” he replies. “It’s the best stuff I can get stateside. Nothing like what we could score in Europe.”
Bringing up Amsterdam instantly raises the hairs on my arm, and we make sudden eye contact, but I glance away as fast as it came.
“I think I’ll go drink this on the patio. It’s nice out.” He takes his drink, letting his gaze linger on me for a long moment before he leaves through the patio door and sits at the table next to the pool.
That was definitely an invitation. I’m not a fucking idiot, but the question is whether or not I should take it. We’re not going back to the way things were in Amsterdam. I can’t.
I want Hanna, not him. Or at least, I should want Hanna more than him.
But I brought him out here for a reason, to mend the friendship we shared before things went overboard. And with that, I grab my glass and the bottle he left behind, following him to the patio.
The two of us sit in silence for a while, making small talk about work when I notice movement in the guest house. Part of me wonders if he wanted to sit out here because out here, we could be seen