Page 25 of Bad Decisions

I shouldn’t notice things like that, right? I shouldn’t be thinking about how lovely she was, inside and out. I shouldn’t be excited that she was living with me now and I had the opportunity to get to know her better.

She was Meredith’s fucking sister. I was being a creep. This was weird. It was wrong. I needed to stop.

Guilt twisted my stomach, making the rest of my hard-on disappear.

“Did you and Emma talk about Meredith earlier?” I asked. Reagan’s head tilted to the side, her long dark hair spilling over her shoulder.

“No,” she said slowly. “Why?”

“No reason.” I rubbed the back of my neck as I sighed. “She was just asking about her, that’s all.”

“And that’s unusual?” I blinked at her.

“Well…” Yeah, it was unusual, but the way she asked it made it seem like it should be normal. “She doesn’t bring her up much anymore.” She tilted her head to the other side, as if she was studying me under a microscope.

“Do you?”

“Do I, what?”

“Bring her up.”

My knee-jerk reaction was to tell her, of course, I talked about my dead wife to our daughter.Of courseI did. But then I thought about it and realized Meredith lived more in my head than she did in my words.

Was that why Emma stopped talking about her? Was it my fault? Seemed like everything was.

“Sure,” I said, shrugging my shoulder. Grabbing my glass, I downed the rest of it before pointing at hers in silent question. She pushed it toward me, and without another word, I drank the rest of hers, too. “Of course, I talk about her. She was my wife.”

Reagan rolled her lips between her teeth as she stared down at the hardwood floor. Her short nails tapped against the marble countertop before she glanced up at me, looking at me through her lashes.

“I don’t talk about her,” she admitted quietly. “Before I came back, I think the last time I said her name was at her funeral.”

My eyes searched hers, trying to find a lie. But there wasn’t one. And a part of me, maybe that super fucked up part that kept thinking about Reagan in wildly inappropriate ways, felt relieved. Relieved that I wasn’t alone in not wanting to talk about her.

“I don’t know how to bring her up,” I finally said. “I just want to move on. And I know that makes me an asshole—”

“It doesn’t.”

“No?” I took a step closer to her, the alcohol coursing through my body making me brave. “It’s only been six months. I shouldn’t even be thinking about moving on.” Her eyes searched mine as I moved another step closer. “I shouldn’t be thinking about anyone else but her.” My hand rested next to Reagan’s on the counter. “I shouldn’t want to move on. I shouldn’t want to touch another woman—”

Her breath hitched. Slowly, her fingers brushed against mine and my jaw tensed. I slid my hand completely over hers, ignoring whatever sober part of my brain was still working and yelling at me to stop.

“Don’t you think it’s wrong?” I whispered, and her lips parted on a silent breath.

“I don’t—I don’t know.” Her pulse fluttered on her neck, and I ached to run my tongue over it. “It’s not wrong to move on. But, Eli—” I lifted my gaze to hers. “But you have to move on with someone else.”

The moment crashed down around me, forcing me to realize whatever the fuck I was feeling was one-sided.

I took a giant step back, letting my hand slide off hers. “I didn’t mean you,” I said gruffly. Her face tightened, but I couldn’t take the words back. I didn’twantto take them back.

I’d walked up to that line, and nearly stepped over it, all but forgetting about it. But she reminded me it was there, and how incredibly fucked in the head I was for even thinking about toeing it.

“Goodnight, Reagan.” I skirted around her as I hauled ass from the kitchen. I checked on Emma before going to my room. As soon as I shut the door, I leaned against it, dropping my head back and squeezing my eyes shut.

Idiot.

Creepy fucking idiot.

I’d be lucky if she didn’t decide to leave tomorrow.

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