Page 10 of Heart Sick Hate

“Rhett?”

He never comes here. Rhett is too clean-cut to be caught at Twisted Roses. And even if he’s outwardly supportive, he still thinks my tattooing is a hobby he’ll convince me to drop once I’m a preacher’s wife.

Which is why, every time he says shit like that, I get more ink.

My future might be decided, but my body is mine.

“Barely believed it myself.” Jude shrugs.

The guys don’t understand my relationship with Rhett, which means we need to get better at faking it. Trouble is, the longer Rhett and I do this dance, and the more real it gets, the more I’m instinctively pulling away.

Resisting.

Needing something more.

I force a smile and try to bury my hesitations.

“I’ll take you up front,” I tell Claudia, before turning back to Jude. “Tell Rhett I’ll be there in a minute, please?”

If I had to guess, he’s here for damage control after forgetting he was supposed to attend Jude and Fel’s wedding with me last night. I don’t actually care. But I can’t say that because I’m supposed to.

After leaving Claudia with the new girl working the front counter, I make my way to the office.

The hallway closes in on all sides as I try not to suffocate with every step.

I pop a piece of gum in my mouth like it’s enough to calm my nerves when I should have smoked a joint instead.

My stress has me smoking more lately. I probably should find some healthier coping mechanisms.

Sure enough, Rhett is in the office with his ass propped on the desk and arms crossed over his chest. His polo and khakis look pretentious and out of place in this part of LA. I’ll be surprised if his BMW still has tires when he leaves.

Rhett smiles when he sees me, and I remind myself that at least we don’t hate each other. This could be worse. We’re just two people in the same fucked up predicament, doing what we have to for our families.

I stop in front of him, and his gaze runs over my exposed skin, which is a lot in my short shorts and tank top. I’m pretty sure if it were up to Rhett, I’d wear a turtleneck twenty-four-seven to cover up my sprinkling of tattoos.

A preacher’s girl should be understated and appropriate. She should choose one color for her hair and not lace her skin with ink. I’m still not sure how I’m supposed to fit that mold.

“Sorry about last night,” he says as I stop in front of him.

At some point, he must have realized where I was, and that he promised to go. I should be thankful it didn’t completely slip his mind.

“It’s fine, I know you were busy. You would have hated it anyway.”

We don’t share mutual friends or interests. And even if he likes me as a person, our only commonality is my father. I’m his own personal path to his holy calling.

“You’re not mad?”

“Why would I be?” Rhett and I don’t have the kind of relationship where I get angry or jealous.

That’s me and his brother.

“We’re good,” I tell him, dropping my hands to my sides. “Promise.”

Rhett smiles, offering a blinding grin.

He’s the clean-cut Kingsley. The star child with obviously handsome features and a welcoming smile that draws people to him. Dark hair and striking blue eyes. Tall with solid muscle. Perfectly put together and every girl’s dream husband.

If only my favorite flavor was vanilla.

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