Page 38 of Fumbling for Perfection

“Honestly?”

“Don’t ever question my honesty to you, Riles.” He leans forward and raises his brow at me. “You’re telling me you snagged a fifty K donation? That’s fucking huge!”

Jackson jumps off the couch and leans over me, smacking a loud kiss on my lips. “You did it, honey. All on your own. Swear on my Tom Ford and Tag Heuer collection, I had nothing to do with it.”

“And you didn’t tell any of your rich friends to make a pity donation?”

“A. No. And B, it shouldn’t matter where the donation comes from. It’s for the kids.”

True. And I haven’t minded him donating to the events that raise money for the kids, but he’s never given fifty thousand dollars. I’m sure if I asked Jackson for that much, he’d give it to me without question. That’s not how I roll though.

“You had banged-hard-against-the-wall-sex and got a fifty K donation. The only thing that would make this better is if you got knocked up and had quadruplets like you’ve always wanted.”

“I’ve never wanted quadruplets. I wanted four kids.”

“I’ll be a terrible father, but a kick ass uncle. Did you and hung-like-a horse use protection or did you let him ride you bareback?”

“I never said he was hung like a horse.” I don’t mention we had sex without protection. It was only for a minute, and Walker pulled out. The evidence of him doing so in time was smeared all over my stomach.

My cheeks burn at the memory.

“Those purty cheeks of yours say he is. Good for you.” He polishes off his wine and kisses the top of my head. “Speaking of stallions, I’ve got mine waiting at home. Enjoy yourself guilt free, Riles. You’ve sheltered yourself for too long. Be wild and reckless. It looks good on you.”

My cell lights up on the coffee table and Jackson glances over at it.

“Oh God?” He picks up my phone and tries to open the text but doesn’t know my passcode.

“Give that to me.” I snag my phone from his hands.

He gives me a shit eating grin. “Tell me that’s him.” I glare at him and he bends over laughing.

“I’m second guessing my best friend status as well. You and Kendall are not good influences.”

He stands and wipes the tears from his eyes. “Is that what you call him when you—”

“Shut it.” I chuck a pillow at him.

“So you did exchange numbers,” he says with a grin.

“The other day. I haven’t talked with him since.” I promised myself I wouldn’t call or text him. It would only send mixed signals.

I tried not to be upset that he hadn’t messaged me. Until now. Why is our timing always off? The right thing to do is ignore him. It’s not right to pursue a relationship, even a long distance one, when I’m going to be married in a month. Even if my future husband approves, I don’t think Walker will.

Jackson shrugs on his coat. “Love ya, babe. Four weeks until you're my Mrs. Keep sowing those oats and make me proud.”

After he leaves, I crawl into bed with my book and charge my phone, setting it on my bedside table. I’m two paragraphs into my book when my phone vibrates. There’s no way I can focus on the storyline or the characters when I have Walker’s name lighting up my screen.

Or rather, God’s.

I put my book down and pick up my phone, reading the two messages he sent.

OH, GOD: The bruises on my hips have gone away. I’m a little sad about it.

OH GOD: That’s a lie. I’m a lot sad about it.

I should pretend to be asleep, it is almost midnight, and return his text in the morning when he’ll be asleep. I don’t often have my phone on me at work and can use that as an excuse as to why I don’t respond right away.

Unfortunately, the champagne from the party and the glass of Chablis I had on my couch have me tapping the keypad on my phone.

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