“Well,” Jenni says expansively. “That was…something.”

“That’s Libby and Sophie for you. The encounter only needed Stella to make it a complete ‘embarrass Rye’ show.”

“I can’t believe I met Libby Bell.” She’s wide-eyed now. “God, she’s so talented. I mean, you’re all so talented. I’d love to meet the rest of the guys.”

Normally, that would be my cue to steer someone away from my guys. But I’m not feeling charitable right now.

“Good thing they’re over there.” I nod toward the corner of the terrace where Stella and Jax are cuddled up on a big round lounger. They’re talking to Killian and Whip. I don’t need to make eye contact to know those fuckers are watching me too. I’m being set up big time, and I’m not amused. “Let me introduce you.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean you had to…”

I gently take her elbow and guide her to my nosy-ass friends. “No, no, it’s my pleasure.”

They all do a terrible job at pretending they don’t see me coming. I fall into expansive, carefree, good ol’ Rye mode.

“Hey, guys. Having fun?” I ask, as Libby, having left Sophie in Scottie’s care, returns and sits on Killian’s lap.

Killian leans back in his chair, his hand on Libby’s hip, and grins. “Sophie told us all of Scottie’s favorite intimate positions. In detail. So maybe not fun. But entertained, yeah.”

“I’m so giving him shit later,” Jax says.

“Oh, hush.” Stella pinches his side. “You will not!”

“Yes, he will,” Whip, Jax, and I all answer in unison.

“You’ll embarrass him,” Stella says.

I laugh. “Kind of the point, Stells.”

Libby shakes her head. “Yeah, and then we’ll all have to deal with extra-evil Scottie. And suddenly we’ll be doing a guest appearance on some weird Japanese game show where they throw us in a vat of udon to fight it out for points.”

“That’s…scarily specific,” Jax says.

Libby gives him a speaking look. “Exactly.”

Sadly, we’re all properly spooked. Because she’s not wrong.

“You guys are a trip,” Jenni says at my side.

It’s my cue to introduce her. Stella is all grace and kindness. Killian and Jax are annoyingly smug. Whip gives me a quick look of sympathy. Couples, man. They lose their damn minds when they fall for someone. Suddenly, they want to pair up the world.

“Jenni works at NYU. Music department…” A movement at the corner of my eye catches my attention. Brenna and Marshall are walking away from the bar. They’re swallowed up by the crowd. The conversation around me dissolves into an indistinct buzz.

Jenni’s warm arm brushes mine. Beautiful, intelligent, into music, and can hold her own with my friends. She should be perfect for me. But I feel absolutely nothing for this woman. Ordinarily, that wouldn’t matter. I’m more than able to have sex without emotion. Truth is, I don’t know it any other way.

It’s kind of a shock to realize I’m tired of using soulless sex as a quick fix to forget the world. Which is hilarious, given that Brenna wants to use sex to forget her problems and I can’t stop thinking about giving it to her.

Damn it. My head is done in. Life was easier when I didn’t think too much. But I can’t stop thinking.

“I’m sorry.” I take a step back. Then another. “I forgot there’s something I have to do.”

My friends and Jenni all pause. Silence falls over our small circle as they gape at me. I don’t give a damn. I keep backing away. “Nice to meet you, Jenni.”

I don’t turn around and head for the living room. But when I get there, Brenna is gone. And so is Marshall.

Chapter Six

Brenna

 

Curled up on my big, soft couch before the TV in my den, I finish up the second French braid in my hair then stretch out and wiggle my sock-covered feet. This is more like it. I love my couch. Nice and deep, squishy down-filled and upholstered in pale pink velvet—it’s the kind of thing my parents would have called frivolous and, yes, it cost more than a month’s rent on my first apartment. But I worked my ass off to get where I am, and I like my luxuries.

I like being home, frankly. I don’t get to be here or by myself enough as it is. After I finally escaped the party, I gave myself a mini spa, taking a nice long shower while wearing a detoxifying clay mask, shaving the essential bits, then slathering on a rich body moisturizer that smells of cookies. It’s late as hell, and I should be sleeping. But sleep eludes me these days. Instead, I’m watching old movies and eating my way through a can of Pringles. What can I say? They’re my weakness.

I’m happily munching when the bell rings. Given that I have a doorman to keep unwanted visitors away, my hackles rise. Everyone who knows where I live and would visit me at this hour is still at Stella’s birthday party. I’m guessing it’s one of my neighbors, needing help or maybe wanting to borrow an egg…at two in the morning. Shit.

The bell rings again, and I make my way to the door, remote clutched in my hand like a bat.

A peek through my peephole has me cursing wildly. Rye glares back at me, obviously aware that I’m peeping. I jerk back from the door then wrench it open. “What are you doing here?”

“You gonna club me with that remote?” He nods toward my hand where I still clutch it tight.

“I just might. It’s two in the morning.”

A long-suffering sigh leaves him. “Bren, I’ve spent the past decade staying up till all hours.” He raises a brow. “And so have you. It’s early for us.”

“That might have been true a couple of years ago. The thrill is officially gone now.”

His smile is barely there and weary. “Yeah, it is. Can I come in?” The smile dies, and he attempts to peer past my shoulder. “Or do you have company?”

“You thought I might have company, and yet you still showed up?”

That lopsided smile of his turns into a grimace. “No?”

I will not fall for that helpless hound dog look of his. It is not cute. “No, you didn’t think? Or no, you’re not actually here, and I’m hallucinating?”

“As much as I like the idea of you hallucinating about me, I meant no, I didn’t know if you had company, but I wanted to make sure anyway.”

When I gape back at him, he shifts his feet and eyes my foyer. “Well? Are you going to let me in?”

The petty girl in me really wants to close the door in his face. She’d gain a lot of satisfaction out of that—checking to see if I had a date in here, indeed. But I act like a grown-up and open the door wider, stepping aside to give him room. “All right then.”

With a nod and a grim set to his mouth, Rye walks past me and waits in the living room while I close the front door. He takes a long look at my pink pajama bottoms and black tank top, swallows audibly, then blinks, but his expression remains blank. The Rye I know would have commented on the pj’s. And while he would never point out that I am not wearing a bra, because though he is an ass, he isn’t a pig, he keeps his gaze on my face.