Page 40 of Tied Up in Riches

“Thai Brooke can’t exist anywhere else?”

“Not in a place where my mother also exists.”

Goddamn, maybe this woman actually is Satan. There’s no avoiding finding out first-hand now.

“Your dad is cool,” I tell Brooke as we make it back to the room after a two-hour dinner in the hotel restaurant.

“He’s the best.” She digs through her suitcase for a toiletry bag before walking to the bathroom. “I would have lost my mind growing up if it wasn’t for him.”

“When did your parents get divorced?” I ask through the door she’s left barely cracked.

“Not until right before I left for Thailand, unfortunately.” She turns on the faucet, and I lean against the wall outside the bathroom. “It should have been way sooner than that, but it’s hard to leave sometimes, ya know? There can still be comfort in things that are wrong.”

“It’s safe and not as scary as putting yourself out there.” I surprise myself with the admission.

Brooke opens the door enough to stick her head out, purple toothbrush pulled to her lips. “Yeah, that.” She gives me a sad smile before stepping back in front of the sink, the cracked door still between us. “I’m proud of my dad for leaving. Better late than never. And it’s what gave me the confidence to leave Beau.”

“Are you worried about seeing him this week?” I instantly regret the curiosity when she doesn’t reply, standing outside the door awkwardly.

I’m about to take it back and admit to it being none of my business when her toothpaste spit hits the ceramic sink. A moment later, a soft, “Not as much as I am about seeing my mom, but yeah,” comes from the other side of the door. “He wasn’t all bad.” Her words are so quiet that I barely hear them–like maybe she’s trying to convince herself more than me.

Still leaning against the wall outside the bathroom, I resist the urge to both walk away from this conversation and from joining her in the bathroom. “Oh yeah?”

She sighs. “When we were in college, he was different. Fun. Into me. Like I meant something to him.”

I can’t wrap my head around why anyone would be in a relationship with someone who didn’t mean everything to them. Her silence brings me back to the present. “You don’t think you did?”

It’s a moment before she answers, like she was lost in thought. “I think that once he became a lawyer, his need to succeed and be the best took priority over loving me. When you ignore someone long enough, anything good just fades away, you know?”

I have an idea–it’s why I refuse to waste anyone’s time if I’m not interested enough to make them a priority.

“Have you ever been in a serious relationship?” she asks.

Now I’m really ready to exit this conversation. “I dated some in college. It didn’t stick.” The second the words leave my mouth, I regret them. She probably thinks it didn’t work out because work is my priority too. I guess you could argue that, but it was always them, not me. They weren’t the right fit.

“Well, at least then you can avoid situations like this.”

I have no idea how to respond, and she takes the hint, pushing the door closed and cutting off our conversation.

Fucking hell. This girl is making me nervous about tomorrow. As I dig through my bag for athletic shorts for me and a T-shirt for Brooke, it hits me that I have to sleep in bed with her first. I debate seeing if there’s bourbon in the mini-fridge even though there’s likely not. I know I can handle whatever comes my way tomorrow if it means helping Brooke. It should be easy enough. I know how to mold myself to any situation as needed. But it’s been a long ass time since I’ve been in bed with a girl I’m sexually attracted to and can’t touch. If ever. And she’s made it very clear that touching will not be something that happens.

I’m tugging my shorts over my hips as Brooke exits the bathroom. She glances my way but quickly shifts gears toward the mini-fridge. She pulls out two shooters before turning around. “There’s no bourbon, but whiskey?” Didn’t she just brush her teeth? She must be really stressed. Or maybe not as much of a control freak as I am.

“Sure. Thanks. I left you a T-shirt on the bed.” I nod toward the black fabric as if it doesn’t stand out on its own against the white sheets and leave to take my turn in the bathroom, skipping brushing my teeth for now.

When I return, Brooke is sitting cross-legged in the middle of the king-sized bed in nothing but my shirt. Her blonde hair spills over her shoulders, and the shirt is just long enough to make me wonder what type of underwear is barely out of reach.

She glances up, her hazel eyes glossed over. There’s no drink in her hand, but even if she took it as a shot, it wouldn’t have hit her that fast. “Oh, hey,” she whispers like she already forgot I was here too.

I’m tempted to reach for the whiskey on ice she’s made for me and set on the nightstand, but I’m frozen in place. She’s so goddamn sexy, but she’s also really fucking sad, and I’m really fucking uncomfortable. Just turn on the TV and drink your whiskey and don’t get deeper into her problems than you already are. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She brushes me off with a wave of her hand and pulls back the covers, flashing me a view of a strip of purple lace perfectly hugging her ass before she crawls under the sheets and reaches for the TV remote. Fuck me.

I join her on the bed but sit on top of the covers, back against the headboard, and reach for my whiskey. The cold amber liquid hits my tongue and before I can stop myself, I down the entire glass as if it were a shot. “It’s not nothing,” I say, setting the empty glass–aside from melting ice–on the nightstand.

“It’s just . . . What if no one believes we’re together and my mom . . . I don’t know. Forces me alone with Beau or something?”

“They’ll believe it. I’ll make sure of it. And I won’t let you be alone with that douche for even a second.”

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