Page 98 of The Tryst

I drop my head in my hand. “Where do I even start?” I mutter.

“Maybe at the ink spot you had on your palm the other day? I’m guessing that’s a clue as to why you’re here.”

I raise my face, drag a hand down it. Then I just nod. I practiced the words to say during my swim when I got home, then in the shower, then on the walk to the office, espresso-soaked cake in hand.

But the dress rehearsal doesn’t make this confession performance any easier. I lick my lips, trying to find a better way to start thanI fell for my son’s ex-girlfriend.

“So there’s a woman,” Finn says, taking the conversational reins. He stares pointedly at me, like he’s saying he started it, now it’s my turn.

I jump off the cliff. “Yes, there’s a woman,” I say, though that hardly covers the magnitude of my feelings for Layla Mayweather. But this ought to cover the problem. “And she’s my son’s ex.”

Finn flinches. “Fuuuuuck.”

I laugh mirthlessly. “I know.”

“Fuckity fuck, Nick.”

I laugh again, for real this time, and at Finn. “Yup. It’s a whole lot of fuckity fuck.”

“With a side of tiramisu.” He blows out a long stream of air then cracks his knuckles. “All right, let’s do this. How? When? And does David know?”

“Miami. A few times. And fuck no.”

Another big breath. “And the payola,” he says, gesturing to the treat on his desk, “is because you need my help breaking it off with her, telling him, or borrowing my Miami home to sneak off for another tryst with her?”

That’s the thing—I don’t want just a tryst with her. “I don’t know what to do, Finn.”

My older brother takes a beat, studying me with wise eyes. “You have feelings for her,” he says, simply.

It’s a statement of the obvious. But sometimes you need to know what you’re dealing with. “Big ones,” I say.

Last night was the tipping point. I was already crazy for her. Then, she opened her heart and her past, and all I want to do is take care of her, adore her, and treat her like the goddess she is to me. But how the hellcanI do that? “She’s his good friend now too. She’s a huge part of his life. And I can’t stop thinking about her. I can’t stop seeing her. I can’t stop wanting her,” I say.

Finn clears his throat. “Actually, youcanstop seeing her. Sounds like you’rechoosingnot to.”

Chastened, I lower my eyes. “Fine,” I grumble.

“I’m just saying,” Finn adds, pulling no punches.

But that’s why I came here—for the unmitigated truth. I meet his eyes. “Are you saying I should stop?”

I’d rather eat metal.

He sighs heavily but doesn’t give an answer. “She used to date David, right?”

“Yes, but in college,” I say quickly, like that covers up my sin, the distance in years.

“You’re trying to make a silk purse, man,” he says.

Punch to the gut. Just what I need. I rake my hand through my hair in frustration. “Fine, okay? He went out with her in college, they stayed friends, and they’re still friends. There you go.”

“And she’s helping him plan his charity fundraiser, right? He mentioned her to me when I was chatting with him the other day about our social media. She’s hosting the auction with him tomorrow night, isn’t she?” he says, refusing to let me get away with anything.

“Yes,” I bite out, hating that he’s making me sound like such a schmuck. But this is why I came here. For an icy dose of reality, and Finn sure as hell is dumping the freezing cold bucket of water on my head.

“And how long have you been sneaking around with her?”

“Jesus, Finn. Why the hell didn’t you go to law school?”

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