Page 8 of Sins and Secrets

God, I forgot how beautiful his eyes are.

I nod and slide off the table before I do something stupid, reaching down calmly to grab my purse from the floor. Righting myself just as slowly, I shift from side to side. I’ve never known how to say goodbye to Lukas. Not even when we were kids.

“Yeah, well, guess I won't be able to go a couple of years between Lukas encounters.”

His lips part, but he shuts them quickly. That line shows up between his brows and I realize I confused him.

I scramble for an explanation. “Because I'll see you in a few weeks and at the wedding. By the time this is over, you'll be sick of me.” I stop myself from rambling before I shove my foot in my mouth any further. It’s truly a Herculean effort. I half expect him to say something, but, once again, he's silent.

Of course, he is. I shouldn’t have even bothered. I don't know what else I was expecting from the man who unapologetically shattered my heart five years ago.

ChapterThree

Lukas

Waverly Fucking Mcleod.Fuck.

The heels of my hands dig into my eyes and twist, yet the motion doesn’t relieve any of my frustration. I guess, logically, I should've been preparing to see her. But Angie’s wedding isn't for another two months. I thought I had more time.

This is what I get for not asking my half sister follow-up questions. “Oh, you have a friend who needs a cover-up? What is the tattoo of? Where is it? And who is this friend I have to put my hands all over? Ohhh, it's the girl who ghosted me five years ago? The one I’ve been pining over ever since? No thanks, sis. Kindly tell her to go fuck herself and her hideous tattoo.” Well, not really, but …

Now I’m forced to be near her again, with my hand torturously close to her ass, for three freaking hours. And, I can’t even call it a tattoo. I should hunt down whatever hack defiled her body out of principle alone.

Nothing about Waverly makes my life easy.

Every summer from the age of twelve to twenty-three, she hovered around me like a bumble bee.

Waverly spent most of her time with Angie—all four seasons. I was the one who would show up in the summer and invade their space. She was more a part of the family than I ever was.

My first few summers on the East Coast, I didn't mind hanging around her and Angie. Adam was away at baseball camp most of the time, so I was left with the girls. I remember being worried they’d only want to do girl things, whatever the hell that meant.

It should’ve been easier as she got older. But, no. Every time I looked, there she was, hovering. Over the years, Waverly changed. And when I started to realize she was perfect for me, I opted to stay away from her.

Fuck.

I plop into my desk chair, sitting back, letting the momentum spin me a little. I exhale long and hard. I’ve got to do this. I'm a grown-ass man with a successful business. It’s one more session and a wedding. Then she'll be gone and life will make sense again.I need to stay away from her. Easy. Maybe I should bring a date to the wedding? Perfect. Problem solved.

The alarm chimes on my phone and a sigh escapes me. If I don't get moving, I’ll be late. Payroll is done. I've got a few things to restock waiting in my Amazon cart. A quick tap of the check-out button and I can leave for the day without boss guilt.

I push my hands against my desk, sending the executive chair rolling back. Neither of them fit the overall vibe of the shop. Big, classic, and carved from cherrywood, something right out of a movie. I wouldn’t change them for anything in the world. They belonged to my grandfather and then my dad. They're the only true family heirlooms I have left.

Ten minutes later, I walk into the bar. Sticky floor, shit music, and the stink of stale beer. This place used to be cool. I can’t tell if it got lame or if it’s me. There are bodies, not people, in my way. In the back corner, at a high-top table, Darren’s head hangs low, engrossed in his cellphone. I consider it a success, I only brush against three bodies on my mission to get to the table. Darren looks up from his phone and gives me a fist bump. “Hey, man.”

“Hey.”

“Kyle texted. He'll be here in five.”

There’s no point in looking at the paper menu, I get heartburn every time I eat here. Another piece of evidence I'm getting old.

A waitress in a tight black shirt bounces over for my order. “Whatever beer’s on tap.” I don't care.

She leaves a little less enthusiastic. I’ll have to give her a decent tip. It’ll be my “sorry I’m a douche” fee.

Darren snorts. “What's got you all pissy?”

I would say nothing, but he’ll see right through it. “Work.” It’s not a lie.

He doesn't ask any follow up questions because Kyle arrives to take the empty seat. If Darren’s quiet and introspective, Kyle’s the polar opposite—loud, outgoing, and sort of terrible at reading the room. He's bouncing, his foot kicking the table a testament to too much pent-up energy. “Thanks for coming, Lukas,” he says.

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