The Fortunate Ones

  “I thought I had gotten to know the real you, but if you’re actually choosing to be with someone like Lacy, I don’t know what to believe.”

  He leans forward so there’s no chance I miss his next words. “You know what I don’t believe? I don’t believe you want to go to Spain half as badly as you say you do.”

  “Are you really with her?”

  “Are you really moving to Spain? The thing is, I don’t think this is about Lacy or Spain. I think you came here looking for a fight.” Then he goes one step further. “I think you like it.”

  “I don’t need you playing shrink,” I groan, turning away and breaking eye contact. It feels good to regain some composure, though it doesn’t last long.

  “You’re the one who came to my house,” he points out with a haughty tone.

  “To drop off the bike!”

  “Yeah, that’s done,” he tells me with a knowing gleam in his eyes. It’s like he sees right through my motives, which is infuriating considering I can hardly see them for myself. “So why are you still standing here?”

  “Because you’re pissing me off,” I reply without missing a beat.

  A slow-spreading smirk transforms his steely features.

  “Then it’s probably best that you go,” he says, rounding the side of the island toward me. “I’m sure you have a lot of packing to do.”

  HE’S KICKING ME OUT!

  I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin in self-preservation. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Looks like I’ll be going to Spain with a shitload of baggage.”

  “Good. I’ll walk you out,” he says, wrapping his hand around my elbow in an unyielding grip and all but dragging me down the hallway after him. I try to yank my arm away but he’s doesn’t budge.

  “I can walk out by myself!”

  And to think I actually once liked this man.

  At the door, he holds my handwritten note out for me. “Don’t forget this.”

  I snatch it out of his hand and crinkle it into a tiny ball. “I can’t stand you.”

  “Good.” My angry outburst bounces off him. “How are you getting home?”

  “I’ll walk,” I snap.

  “Right, well make sure to take main roads,” he says with a tone of bored disinterest.

  It’s the last straw. I curse under my breath and turn to perform a frustrated walk-run down his front path. I have visions of inflicting property damage on the way out, maybe dropkicking the mailbox or shredding a few of his precious hedges. I’m halfway to the road when he reaches me with his long strides. I’m not even aware he’s chasing after me until he spins me around and captures my wrists in a vice-like grip. With one hard tug, he draws me against him until our bodies are flush.

  My mouth is open to shout at him yet again, but his lips crash down against mine in a punishing kiss. I struggle against him and his mouth turns merciless. I’m angry—livid, in fact. Tears of exhaustion and rage slide down my cheeks. I want my freedom, and I’m prepared to get it by any means possible. I even try one well-placed stomp on his foot, but he evades my assault and I grow still, defeated, allowing his lips to move over mine with fierce tenderness. Eventually, sick of my games, he pulls back and cradles my face between his hands. I’m trembling, and his stormy eyes are seeking honesty in mine. I refuse to give it to him. My gaze narrows, focusing all the anger my mouth refuses to produce.

  His mouth descends toward mine again, and this time, he kisses me with such gentle affection that I can feel my heart breaking. My competing emotions riot inside of me at the precise moment he coaxes my lips apart. Wild sparks jolt through my body as his tongue slides over mine, forcing me into perfect compliance for fear that he’ll pull back and end the kiss at any moment.

  He doesn’t drag me back inside, but I wish he had, because when the front door closes behind me, I have no one to blame but myself.

  James takes my hand and leads me wordlessly through his house. We pass empty room after empty room, and then we step into his bedroom and he lets go of my hand to close the door behind us. It feels like a pointed move on his part, as if by shutting the door, he might be able to block out the problems of the past and future for just a little longer. In this room, it’s just him and me, just now.

  I’m shocked to see furniture in this room—well, just a bed, but it’s better than nothing. I wouldn’t put it past James to sleep on a mattress he tossed onto the ground in his palatial mansion.

  Sitting in the center of the large room, there’s a dark four-poster bed with a fluffy white duvet cover that sits slightly askew. I can’t help but laugh.

  “Another surprise—I would have pegged you as a bed-maker.”

  He strolls past to stand in front of me, blocking my view with his broad chest. I glance up to his face just as he reaches to skim his fingers up my arms. He caresses my forearms, biceps, shoulders, and then higher until he’s cradled my head so I can’t turn away. His fingers wind through my hair, and I’m reminded of how sticky and sweaty we both are. When I mention it, he doesn’t care.

  “It’s fitting. I’ll burn the sheets,” he promises before tugging my head back and giving himself better access to my soft lips. I smile as he bends low and hovers his mouth over mine. My breath catches in my throat. Outside, he kissed me passionately, forcefully, but it’s clear that in here, he’s not going to take anything I’m not willing to give. I reach up and wrap my hands around his forearms before tipping my head back just another inch. It’s a silent plea, a kiss me, you fool.

  He smiles and bends low, skimming his lips gently across mine. My eyes flutter closed and I let out a low moan as our lips slide open. Our tongues touch and desire builds low between my legs. He moves to grasp my waist and then he starts to work my t-shirt up. It’s gone, slipping down to the floor behind me. My sports bra is next, and then his big, masculine hand drags up from my navel to skim along the bottom of my ribcage, up to the underside of my left breast. His touch is sweet as he caresses my skin. He takes turns holding each breast in his palm, kneading the soft flesh. When I’m close to melting on the spot, he finally, finally skims his palm across my nipple. A thousand shockwaves move through me and I moan for more. He obliges, dipping down and replacing his hand with his mouth. His tongue is rough yet tender, a reminder of what he did to me back in that hotel room in Vegas.

  Just when I think I can’t take another second, his fingers skim down, dragging along the top of my shorts. He dips down beneath the elastic band, sliding lower until his fingers brush across my center. My head tips back on a moan. It’s a slow give and take. His finger pads tease me with gentle kisses until I’m so hungry for more that I reach down and hold his hand still, willing him to touch where I need it most.

  What are we doing? Why am I letting this happen? The rational part of my brain vies for the controls to my body, but the mutiny doesn’t last long.

  When he brushes across my tight bundle of nerves, I lose my footing. If he keeps it up, I won’t be able to stand at all. I blink my eyes open to find him staring down at me with undisguised emotion—in fact, he’s looking at me as if I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and it’s too much. I clamp my eyes shut again and swear to keep them closed until it’s over, until I can regain some semblance of my sanity.

  “Brooke,” he groans as his finger dips into me.

  I squeeze his shoulders in response, showing him how much I like his touch, the feel of him inside me. His mouth lifts back up to my neck and he presses a kiss there, whispering something against my skin. I ask him to repeat it, but he ignores me and backs us up to the bed instead. I know where we’re headed. In a few minutes, we’ll both be stripped down, our workout clothes tossed to the floor and forgotten. He’ll guide me backward until my bare thighs hit his cool sheets, the sheets that smell like his spiced cologne, the sheets he sleeps on every night. This is his private sanctuary, the place where he rests after a long day, and probably the last place we’ll ever see each other. He’s wrapping me up in his bed and
covering me with his body.

  “I accused you of wanting to fight, of liking it,” he whispers. “I guess I like it too.”

  …

  I’m grateful that James doesn’t ask me to stay the night. It’s 12:45 AM when I summon an Uber, and I have just enough time to rinse off in his shower before it arrives. He hands me a set of clean clothes when I step out and wrap a towel around myself. They’re his clothes: a white Caltech t-shirt I haven’t seen before and some workout shorts that hang loose around my hips. I make an empty promise about mailing them back, but I know I won’t. Unlike the bike, these clothes are a gift I won’t be returning. They’re a little piece of him I’m going to keep no matter what.

  He walks me to the street and opens the back door of the Uber for me. We forgot to kiss goodbye at the door, which means anything we do here is under the careful supervision of the woman in the driver’s seat.

  I turn to him and aim my focus somewhere near his heart.

  “When do you leave?” he asks, and I’m surprised to find that his tone is completely neutral, not hopeful or angry, just…curious.

  I shake my head and glance down his street. “I’m not sure. Soon.”

  I can’t give him any more details than that. I can’t tell him that as of this moment, I can’t imagine leaving at all, much less in a few days. I can’t tell him I’ve already agreed to take the job. Diego and Nicolás are counting on me, and if I pass up the opportunity, who knows when the agency will find another position for me. It’s not something I can dismiss lightly. I didn’t bust my butt through college to spend the rest of my 20s peddling Mai Tais around the pool at Twin Oaks.

  I think we both know that, and I think that’s why he doesn’t ask me to stay. He dips down and presses a kiss to my cheek. I inhale as long as I can, holding his scent with me even after the driver pulls away from his curb.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Diego and Nicolás had me sign and fax over a contract when I agreed to take the position, and though it’s non-binding, it feels like it is. I refuse to entertain the idea of staying behind. I’ve agreed to work for them, and I won’t give up the opportunity. The pay is insane, Barcelona is beautiful, and most importantly, I will never have to don this Twin Oaks uniform ever again. Every day brings me closer to freedom, and every day the polo shirt feels slightly more constricting than the day before, almost like it knows I’m trying to leave. I tug at the collar and try to adjust my skirt so it covers up a few more inches of my thighs.

  Brian is training my replacement in the cabana, some overeager UT student. In the five minutes I was around her, she kept going on and on about how Matthew McConaughey is a member here. Then she looked me dead in the eye and asked if I’d ever seen him. Once with Andy Roddick and Brooklyn Decker, I tell her, and yes, they’re all beautiful in real life.

  I think Brian could tell she was annoying me because he sent me back into the main clubhouse to roll silverware. They have the assembly line set up in the employee break room, where a small flat-screen plays daytime soaps. I tune it out and focus on the forks and knives in front of me. Maybe if I roll them fast enough, Brian will let me go early.

  “Knock knock,” Ellie says, tapping her knuckles on the doorframe.

  I glance up but don’t stop rolling. “What’s up? I thought you were on hostess duty.”

  “I am,” she says before nodding her head behind her and flashing me one of her trademark don’t hate me smiles. They’re usually reserved for when she admits she lost a piece of borrowed clothing. I mentally prepare myself to hear her tell me she ruined my favorite pair of Madewell jeans, and then James steps into the doorway behind her. My heart soars and my stomach tightens into a ball of anxiety. I don’t know what he’s doing here; we haven’t talked since I left his house the other night. I’ve actually appreciated the fact that we haven’t run into each other at the club, and it takes me a second to remember that he shouldn’t be back here. This area is employees only.

  Ellie turns and pats James’ shoulder.

  “Pay up, moneybags.”

  He casts an amused glance down at her as he pulls his wallet out and produces a crisp hundred-dollar bill. She pops it out of his hand with her thumb and forefinger and walks away, snapping it a few times for emphasis.

  “‘’Preciate ya!”

  I can’t help but smile. “Did you just bribe my sister?”

  He leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his broad chest. The employee break room is small to begin with, but with him looming there, surveying the space, it becomes stifling. “I offered a twenty, but she’s a good negotiator. I might hire her.”

  I shake my head, turning back to my silverware. “Good to know the value of a conversation with me. My normal rate is $600 an hour, so you have 10 minutes.” I snort.

  “Are you busy?” he asks, no hint of amusement in his tone. “Can you talk?”

  Talk.

  The most terrible word in the English language.

  I wave my hand across the mess of silverware spread out on the table before me. “As you can see, I have my hands full.”

  “Brooke,” he says with calm emphasis.

  His heavy tone is enough to convince me to take him seriously. If he wants to talk here, fine—it’s not like they’re going to fire me—but if he wants to come to the workers’ quarters, I’m going to put him to work.

  I push my current set of silverware toward him. “Get to rollin’.”

  He steps into the small room and closes the door behind him. The soap opera on the TV plays out in the background. A woman is shouting at a man about sleeping with her business partner. It’s all very dramatic compared to the atmosphere in here.

  I peer up at James from beneath my lashes, trying to get a sense of how he feels. Is he upset about what happened the other night? Terrified of losing me?

  He remains a few feet from me, studying my face in thoughtful silence. Apparently, we’re both at a loss for words, but I manage to speak first.

  “I want to clear the air once and for all,” I say, playing with a stray thread on the linen napkin in my hand. “I didn’t mean to shout at you the way I did the other night. That was…that’s not how I want to conduct myself in the future.”

  “You don’t have to apologize,” he replies with quiet solemnity.

  If he’s not here to demand an apology and he’s not here to fight, then there’s only one other option.

  I shoot to my feet. “James, I really need to—”

  He steps forward and cuts me off. “Should I ask you to stay?”

  His resolved tone hints that he already knows the answer.

  “Please don’t,” I beg with a pleading glance, desperate to end this conversation before it even starts. “I’ve already committed to this. It’s what I want.”

  “How long will you be gone?”

  I choose complete honesty in my response. “Indefinitely.”

  The word is a nail in our coffin. Indefinitely means there’s no point in waiting for me to come back.

  He drags his hand through his hair in a stressful tug then turns and paces back and forth in the small space. As the owner of a company, he’s probably used to solving problems and putting out fires. I know his brain is working overtime to come up with a solution for this, but there really isn’t one.

  “Foundations like ours don’t really lend themselves to a long-distance thing,” I joke sadly.

  “And that’s not what either of us wants,” he says.

  No, it’s not. It would be an ill-fated compromise that would only make things worse. How long would James put up with me being in Spain when what he really wants—really needs—is a partner here, now.

  “Maybe if…” My voice trails off.

  What, Brooke? What could you two be? Pen pals?

  “What?” he asks hopefully.

  His tone is enough to tear down my calm resolve, because while I can handle us fighting up until the day I leave, I can’t handle his kindness, his ability to
bring softness to a situation that really sucks.

  He rushes toward me to wipe my cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “Please don’t cry.”

  How can I not?

  “Why does this feel like our 100th breakup?” I ask with a pitiful little hiccup.

  “Because it is.”

  Sadness ripples through me and the tears start coming a little faster.

  His admission breaks the floodgates. I’m a blubbering mess thinking about him alone in his house, working long hours, wishing he had someone to come home to at the end of the day.

  “Do me a favor, okay? Just forget about me. Move on.”

  It’s not that I thought he would ever wait for me, but it bears saying just in case. The thought of him spending another day alone makes my stomach ache and tears burn the backs of my eyes. I want him to find happiness. I want to think of him with a wife and children, completely fulfilled.

  He turns his profile to me, narrowing his eyes at some point on the wall beside us. Maybe he’s collecting his thoughts or trying to keep his emotions at bay, but when he finally turns back to me, I can see he wasn’t successful. Big, sorrowful brown eyes implore me to change my mind, to stay for him, and for a moment, I cave.

  “This doesn’t feel right,” I whisper.

  “I agree.” He pulls me closer so my hips touch his and then he tips my chin up. From this angle, I can see every strand of his dark, sooty lashes, every shade of brown in his eyes. “You should stay.”

  “You said you weren’t going to ask me!” I cry.

  “Stay.”

  Tears cloud my eyes and I wipe at them, angry with myself for not keeping it together. “James.”

  His name is a plea. If he keeps asking me to stay, I just might, and I firmly believe it would be the wrong decision. I’d be staying on a sinking ship.

  A knock sounds on the break room door, and then Ellie’s voice cuts through our private moment. “Hey, Brooke. Sorry to interrupt, but Brian is looking for you. I think he wants to know where you want him to mail your final paycheck.”