Page 97 of Wild Eyes
I blow out a slow breath, as though I can feel the physical weight of what she just said to me. But words escape me. I settle on a nod, one she returns before spinning on her heel and marching away.
“But actually?—”
Keys in her hand, she waves at me over her shoulder. “Don’t bother denying it. He’s had a hard-on for you for years, dumped his hookup the minute you got to town, and has you living under his roof. I know my brother.”
When she puts it like that, I feel clueless.
And a little sick for avoiding him.
But even more sick over attending an event where I have to watch other women ogle him when I’ve done nothing but push him away.
“Where’s Ford?”
Rosie smirks. “This isn’t his scene, and I know better than to drag him here. Poor guy would be miserable, but he’d do it for me.” She smiles wistfully, staring over at the sparkling water. “I suspect he’s reading by the lake or swimming laps obsessively. He’ll write Doris an anonymous check or something equally billionaire-hermit-like.”
My chest constricts at the pure affection in her voice, so I pivot, asking someone a little less in love about where her roommate might be.
“Is Rhys in the auction?” I ask Tabitha, who is nursing a beer in a plastic cup beside me.
She scoffs. “No. He’s away for work.Again. And I don’t want to auction him off for a day. I want to auction him off forever. To a serial killer.”
“Dark,” Rosie snorts.
“What does he do for work?”
“I don’t know. I try not to talk to him. Something in the entertainment industry.”
Huh. That’s the most information she’s ever given about the guy, so I press further. “What are you guys to?—”
I practically watch a gate clamp down over her eyes. “Oh, look”—she points with her beer in hand—“they’re starting.”
Rosie and I exchange worried glances, but I don’t ask anything else. As much as my curiosity is killing me, I know how it feels to endure unwanted prying. And I may not know Tabby well, but she seems too fragile for that right now.
With our attention back on the stage, I focus on sipping my cider to cover for my nerves.Local apples,they told me, though I’m not sure I taste it at all. We’ve taken a walk around the grounds. There’s a chili competition, various food and drink trucks set up, and sparse rides. It’s not big by any means, but it is bustling. It smells like popcorn and cotton candy, and the sounds of squealing children bring a smile to my face.
Everyone is so busy enjoying themselves that they don’t bother staring at me, and I feel almost normal, wandering a fair with a couple of friends. If I wasn’t stressed about West and what we are or what we are not, I’d be enjoying myself.
Instead, I’m thinking about all the places he told me he was going to fuck me and wondering who is going to win a day with him and when they’ll cash it in. In my effort to fly under the radar, I’ve decided to be a spectator only. The last thing I want is for West to be splashed on some headline because my green-eyed monster came out to play.
Doris takes the stage, set up in the open, grassy space next to her pub, and my stomach flips. She stomps across it like she’s irritated by the mere presence of people here. She yanks the mic down, a loud rustling noise coming from the speakers. I clamp my lips together to cover the smile.
“Right, well. Thanks for coming. Again. Every year you all show up to help me fundraise for the food bank, and as irritated as I may seem by your presence, I appreciate it. As many of you know, I grew up relying on the food bank. And in small towns, sometimes those stores run dry. I’m fortunate to have ended up where I am, but your support today will keep cans of food in the storehouse and provide breakfast and lunch grab bags for thelocal schools. Our kids shouldn’t be hungry at school, I’m sure we can all agree.”
She swallows, looking out over the crowd. Her eyes shine with more emotion than I expected from the woman. And suddenly I feel it too, a stinging at the bridge of my nose as I blink rapidly to keep my tears at bay. I may have been through the wringer, but I never went hungry. At least not by necessity.
Doris clears her throat and swipes a hand under her nose. “And, well, after years of living in a world run by the patriarchy, I feel like men could use a little objectification.”
That earns her a chorus of groans and barked laughter. “So bid carelessly and enjoy the show.”
She literally drops the mic, its loud bang echoing through the outdoor space, and stomps back off the stage while I laugh silently behind my hand.
Beyond the stage, fair sounds rage on, and behind us is the stillness of the pub. Farther back is a parking lot and…well, forest. One I feel I’d like to run and hide in right now.
But as an older man takes the stage and everyone presses closer, I’m caught in the crowd, wondering why the hell I’m doing this to myself.
To prove I don’t care. To keep my image in check.
The man picks up the mic and talks about the rules and what you get if you win and where to make your donation. And then the event starts.
