Pretending She's His: A Hard Feelings Novella (4 page)

Her hands reached his shoulders and she slipped up onto her toes in order to wind her hands around his neck.

Or maybe it was the champagne. Yes, it was definitely the champagne . . .

A soft, airy laugh left his lips in a quick breath and he pressed his hands harder along the dip in her spine—holding her weight against his body with only the palms of his hands. She felt like she was floating, gliding against Trevor to the sound of a slow melody that was vibrating in waves of air around them, weightless on her toes as he held her close.

“Now,” he said, leaning his head down closer to Eva’s, “you’re not nearly as drunk as you should be given your maid-of-honor status.”

Oh, Eva had had her fair share of champagne, so there was no denying the little buzz she had flowing through her veins, but given the weekend events and the company in the form of her ex—she needed something a little harder than champagne. Lifting her head, she cocked a perfectly sculpted brow at him. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

His head dipped down lower, and Eva stilled her body as his mouth came so close to the skin below her ear that she could feel the warm condensation left on her neck from his breath. Like breath on a cold window. “Do you know that you smell amazing? Like summer sweat and strawberries,” he whispered, his bottom lip grazing across her skin as his lips moved to form the words—words he said with sensual excess.

Still frozen, she tried to first figure out why in the hell her flesh erupted in goose bumps, and then pondered why in the hell she could feel Trevor’s hand snaking down lower on her back.

Without pulling away, and without raising her voice higher than a whisper, she bit her teeth together. “What the
fuck
are you doing?”

Another low chuckle unfurled over his lips, bouncing across Eva’s neck. He either didn’t pick up her subliminal threat or he didn’t give a shit, because his hands continued their descent toward her ass.

His eyes flitted over her lips, making her uncomfortable. “You’re being watched.”

Confused, she looked to her left, then her right. “What?”

Trevor shifted their bodies, casually moving a quarter turn, so the “watcher” was now in Eva’s view. Trevor cocked his head to the side, leaning his lips over her ear. From any other angle, it probably appeared as though he was dotting kisses along her neck, hell, he easily could be . . . but he whispered into her ear instead. “Move your eyes to your left, Red. Luke hasn’t taken his eyes off you.”

Careful to only glance quickly, her eyes fell on Luke who was sitting at one of the tables under the tent. His ankle was crossed over his knee, and he was leaning back, his arm draped on the table behind him. He was looking directly at her, not even attempting to be subtle. His jaw was set tight, but other than that he was stolid. He didn’t look jealous, or hurt, or pissed. He just watched—unashamed, like he wanted her to notice. And what was his motive? Why the hell was he sitting there acting all cool and mysterious? His behavior was starting to confuse her. First he was flirting, acting like a shit storm hadn’t poured on them the last time they talked, then he acted jealous and now he’s passively watching her?

She tried to ignore the feel of Luke’s eyes on her. “So Luke watching me is justification for you to grab my ass?” she sneered, needing to shift her mind away from the perplexing look in Luke’s eyes.

“I haven’t touched your ass once.”

Raising her chin, she cynically lifted her eyebrows. “I can feel your fingers dangerously close,” she accused.

His hand slid up a few inches and he straightened his body. “All right, all right,” he teased, and the light tone to his voice penetrated the stiff mood that had suddenly encased her. But Trevor was always good at that. He always seemed to know when to step in and play the hero—no matter what the situation. Even if she didn’t need to be rescued.

Eva dropped her hands from Trevor’s neck, letting them fall to her sides as she rolled her eyes at him. “I’ve gotta go pee. Grab me a drink?”

“What do you want?”

“Something strong.” She needed to get a little more tipsy—okay a lot more tipsy. She had looked forward to this wedding weekend for a long time and she’d secretly hoped, okay, maybe not so secretly hoped, to have a man in her bed after a drunken evening of dancing and celebrating. She just didn’t think that the man who would be spending the night in her bed would be Trevor, or that the man who dumped her would be looking at her like
he
wanted to sleep in her bed. Dammit, that was a cluster-fuck of confusing. At this point, maybe a lot tipsy needed to transform into downright trashed.

Turning, she headed toward the stone steps that led back up to the cabin. They were steep and narrow, built into the ground. The rock was uneven, with dips and bumps, but the surface felt smooth beneath her feet.

Holding onto the cedar log railing, she ran her hands along the aging wood as she made her way up to the back deck of the cabin. The summer Georgia heat was nice and thick, and that combined with the small hint of alcohol that was mixing with her blood, heating her body, made the clear pool look extremely tempting. Bending her knee, she skimmed the toes of her left foot across the water before continuing toward the cabin.

“How’s it feel?”

She knew that voice. That deep, smooth voice. Turning her head over her shoulder, she feigned a smile. Why in the hell had he followed her up here?

“Good,” she replied flatly.

He took slow, deliberate steps toward her. He looked almost unsure, or nervous, and she could see the edge of a storm brewing. Like heat lightning on the horizon. No powerful rain, no sounds of thunder. But you could see it . . .

She made sure to keep her eyes on his, not wanting to look away, not wanting to give that little subtle waver. She could handle this. A confrontation was knocking down her door and she would handle it like she did everything else. Like she didn’t give a shit.

“What do you want, Luke?” she demanded, hoping her words would form a barrier between their bodies, but he kept advancing toward her.

Stopping a few strides short from her, he shoved his hands back into his pockets. “That’s a pretty loaded question, don’t you think?”

“It shouldn’t be.”

He took another step. “I miss you,” he divulged, his voice almost a whisper. His head dropped between his shoulders as if he was ashamed of his admission. And as much as she gathered the little inclination that he harbored some sort of emotion toward her, she was still surprised by his words.

He missed her?

She sighed. She didn’t want to go there . . .

“You’re the one who ended things, Luke. Not me.” He may have said the words first, but she knew it was only a matter of time until she would’ve ended the relationship herself. She couldn’t tell him that though. The way he’d done it—the way he’d picked a fight and made her out to be the bad guy—that was just wrong. Trevor was right, she
was
bitter.

Looking back up at her, he scrubbed his hands over his face a few times. When he pulled his hands away, his mouth was pulled down and his eyebrows were gathered in—a flash of regret flickering in the specks of his eyes. “I know, and I made a mistake.”

For some reason his words ignited a spark in her chest, like a lighter running out of fluid—flickering—just begging to flame.

Her hands found their way to her hips and the thin fabric of her dress pressed even closer to her skin. “You were an asshole.” Which was an understatement. When he told her he thought he was falling in love with her, it was sweet—scary as hell—but sweet. She was flattered. No man she’d dated had ever told her that before. But she couldn’t say it back. She wasn’t going to lie . . .

Luke had been crushed, but understanding. He’d told her to take her time. But that was the thing, she didn’t think time would change anything.

He wasn’t too happy about that answer.

It was strange for a man to play the wounded-heart role. And what was even stranger was when Luke flipped his switch. She believed his exact words as he stood up and walked out of her apartment were, “I’m fucking done with this. I’m done with you.”

Really? Luke got his balls twisted because a woman didn’t drop to her knees and profess her undying love for him?

That little spark had caught a flame . . .

If she took herself out of the situation and looked from the outside in, sure, she got it. She could tell that his ego was shattered and he felt humiliated and hurt. She hated that she hurt him.

But he’d acted like a prick. And he had made sure to steer clear of her ever since that night. Sure, they would run into each other occasionally if they were with Meagan and Reed, but that was as far as their communication went. Now, here they were eight months later and he wanted to tell her he missed her?

“Eva—”

“Luke, don’t,” she pleaded. She’d had this conversation with him when they split up. He was in, and she wasn’t. It wasn’t a road they needed to travel down again.

He took another step. “Can we talk?” he lilted, the hopeful lift in his voice almost infuriating her.

“I don’t think there’s anything that needs to be said.”

“I fucked up. I know that. I should have just given you time, given you time to fall for me. Please, talk to me. I still care about you. I never stopped,” he said as he took another step. His head was angled toward the ground but his eyes honed in on hers, hard, piercing eyes, ringed with . . . what? Sadness? Seeing the depth of want—longing—in his eyes, sent every bit of venom she was forming in her mouth back down her throat to the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t tell him to fuck off. She couldn’t tell him that she didn’t care about him in that way—that she never would. She couldn’t pretend that she didn’t give a shit—because underneath all the bitterness, she did. Luke was a good guy. Just not the guy for her.

She tried to form words. She tried to summon up the nerve, the balls, to tell the man in front of her who was all but wearing his heart on his sleeve that she didn’t care about him. That whatever feelings he had for her, she couldn’t reciprocate.

But no words seemed to come. She wasn’t a break-it-to-’em-easy kind of girl. She was wading through new emotional territory.

“Give me another chance, give us another chance,” he pleaded.

“Luke, I’m with Trevor,” she blurted out before she had a chance to really weigh the repercussions of her words. It just seemed easier at the moment. She’d told him the truth the last time this conversation was unfolding. And that didn’t turn out too well.

His eyes fell from the penetrating hold he had on her and his head lowered between his shoulders—but only for a moment. When he looked back at her he lifted his lips into a smile. It wasn’t the type of smile that she was used to seeing pulled on his face. But before she could wade through the possibilities of the unfamiliar tilt of his lips, his smile faded.

“I’m happy for you.” There was a rough crack to his voice.

“Luke—” she started, almost ready to take it back and tell him the truth. She didn’t know what the hell she was doing at this point. Lying to make it easier on him or easier on her? Son-of-a-bitch.

“I really am happy for you, baby.” The endearment sent a blade through her stomach making the guilt of her lie sting and burn. “I mean, it fucking sucks ass for me because I care about you, a lot, and I would love nothing more than for you to give me another chance. But more than that, I want you to be happy.” He smiled that smile again, the one she couldn’t decipher.

Everything he was saying was making her feel more and more like complete shit. Not only was she lying, but now he was
happy
for her? Fuck, she felt like she was crawling down a rabbit hole, and there was no possible way she was going to be able to crawl out.

“I see the way he looks at you.”

The way Trevor looked at her? Everything he was seeing was just the way it was between her and Trevor. It was the same exact way he was with Meagan too. He was flirty and touchy and unfortunately adorable, but he was harmless. He didn’t mean anything by it when he would wrap his arms around her and hug her or kiss her forehead. That was just Trevor being Trevor. If he wanted her that way, he wouldn’t just be hugging and kissing foreheads. He would be laying on his Trevor charm, throwing out the one-liners and giving off his signature wink that seemed to have a panty-dropping quality that worked on almost every single woman he laid it on.

His eyes softened around the edges and he smiled that damn smile again and once more her words were lodged in her throat. She didn’t know what the fuck to say or how to say it. Her tongue had forgotten how to roll and move to form words. She was mute, looking at Luke like an idiot.

Fuck
. What in the hell had she gotten herself into?

Chapter Four

A hand clamped down on Trevor’s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “So, how’s your dad? I haven’t talked to him in a long time.” Mr. Mitchell, Meagan’s dad, asked as he stepped up to the drink table that acted as the bar.

Turning his head to look at him, Trevor smiled. “He’s doing better, thank you for asking, sir.”

“Ah, none of that ‘sir’ shit here, son. Do you see stars on my collar? You call me Don.” He gave Trevor another squeeze on the shoulder then reached down for the bottle of Jack and poured some in his glass.

Trevor nodded and smiled his acknowledgment. Don and Trevor’s dad went as far back as he and Meagan did. His dad was post commander at Fort Bragg when Meagan’s dad was stationed there. They were good friends.

“They’re living in Memphis, right?”

“Yes, sirrrr . . . Don. My mom grew up there.”

“How is your mother? She holding up?” he asked. His face had gone solemn, his own grief mixed in with the sorrow and sympathy he felt for Trevor’s family.

“She’s a strong woman—”

“Yeah, she’d have to be to be with your dad.” He laughed as though a memory was passing through his mind at that very moment, and knowing Trevor’s dad—it probably was a good one.

Trevor’s smiled extended a little more than it usually did when he thought about his parents, and he was grateful to Don for connecting that happy image in his mind. “She tells me she is doing great, that dad isn’t giving her any more trouble than he did when they first got married—but I know she’s exhausted. He’s in pain most days. Nights are the worst. And that’s what wears my mom down the most. Seeing him suffer night after night and not being able to do a goddamned thing—” He stopped, his words lodged in his chest as the shit he tried to keep buried in the back of his mind started rearing his ugly head.