Page 61 of Light My Fire

Okay, thesethreeare driving me nuts.

Brooke is abso-fucking-lutely a part of this, but it’s Wyatt and Jackson that I want to punch in the face.

They’re sitting in the living room, across from each other, acting like the other doesn’t exist.

Like brothers who got into a fight and are now giving each other the silent treatment.

And they think I won’t notice.

They’re such idiots.

And it’s all about the beautiful girl stuck with us in this fucking cabin by this fucking snowstorm.

I told Brooke she didn’t ruin my weekend. I told her the truth about being attracted to her and that it’s just really fucking difficult to ignore it. I told her my whole story, thinking that would push her away.

It didn’t.

She’s too goddamned sweet for that. She wants to fix me. And hell if I’m not starting to wonder if maybe she could.

I’ve been living like I’m allergic to warmth and light for years now. I’ve been telling myself that I’m fine. I’ve got my job which I love. I’ve got the guys, who I also love. I’ve got women whenever I need them.

I’ve done the marriage thing. I gave the love and trust and forever thing a try.

It’s not for me.

But Brooke Wilder is… something else.

She could make me believe again.

And that is the stupidest, most delusional, clearly lust-fueled thing I’ve ever thought.

I want her, but that’s simply because I’m a straight man who loves sex and she’s gorgeous andhereand I know she just had sex for the first time last night and I cannotstop thinking about that.

But she’s innocent and young and trusting. Definitely not my type. At all.

I’m used to women who know the score, can read the signs, who want exactly what I’m willing to give and nothing more.

I just need to last a few more hours and get the fuck away from Brooke and her curves and her smile and her… everything… and I’ll be fine. I’ll go back to Chicago, call one of my regular hook-ups, or head to one of my favorite bars, and I’ll get over this.

But until then, I need some help.

And it needs to come from the two guys I think of like younger brothers, who currently aren’t talking to one another because they’re just as messed up over her.

“Okay, you both need to knock this shit off,” I say over the basketball game that’s on TV that none of us care about. “Jackson needs to sleep with her.”

Wyatt looks away from the TV, and Jackson looks up from his phone.

Neither of them demand to know what the fuck I’m talking about. Neither of them seem surprised at all.

I sigh from my position in the armchair I’ve been claiming all weekend to keep myself from sitting on the couch where Brooke always curls up.

“You two are being jackasses. You can’t stop talking to one another because of what happened with Brooke and Wyatt. We all agreed that’s what was best.” I level a look at Jackson. “You toldhershe should go upstairs with Wyatt.”

Jackson nods. “I did. I’d do it again, too.”

I look at Wyatt. “Hear that? No one’s upset about last night.”

He looks at Jackson. “Okay. Good.”

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