Autumn Night Whiskey (Tequila Rose 2)

“Torn.” He repeats that word, his gaze penetrating mine, holding me hostage.

“Yes,” I answer softly.

“Because you love him?” he questions and I nod.

“I love him but in a way where I want him to be happy. I want him to be loved. I just know I’m not that person.”

“Cause he broke your heart?”

“No. It’s not that. It’s just ... I don’t see myself with him for always. I don’t see myself growing old with him. But I still want that for him.”

“But you also … feel something for me too?” he asks and there’s a hopeful spark in his eyes. It threatens to give me relief.

Again, I nod and whisper my answer.

“What are you and Robert?” he asks carefully and then reaches for his champagne. I didn’t give him a moment to toast in celebration. His gaze drops for a moment, but rises with more hunger and seriousness than it had before. His fingers play at the rim of the champagne glass.

“We’ve always been good friends,” I start, then pause to take in a deep, steadying breath.

“Could that be all you two will be?”

“Just friends?” I clarify and as he nods, he swallows, the cords of his neck tightening. There’s a heated tension between us as I pick up my champagne glass too and take a sip before answering honestly, “Yes.”

“What happened last night?”

“It’s complicated.” I wish I could tell him everything, but no one in this town knows what Robert’s mother is going through. “It’s not all my story to tell,” I add.

“You could let me in, you know?”

“I want to,” I admit to him and a wave of longing meets something else inside of me. This deep-seated fear that I’m already in too deep with Brody. It’s hot and burns me from the inside out. I’m ready to give my love, all of it, to one man and the truth is, I trust Brody to take my heart fully, but once I give it to him, I don’t know what will become of it if he were ever to give it back.

“So you slept with him?” Brody asks like it’s a casual conversation and not our hearts on the line.

My throat’s tight as I nod.

“And he knows … he knows we …?” He leaves the bit about the two of us being intimate unspoken.

“He does, yes.” I’m quick to apologize. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. It wasn’t about us and—”

“I want to call you Rose so bad right now,” he says, cutting me off and then huffs a small laugh, repositioning on the blanket next to me so he’s closer and leans against the wall.

“Rose?”

“Because there’s so much about you that’s the same since that night I met you.” His nostalgic comment is warm and calms me slightly. “We weren’t in a committed, monogamous relationship. I didn’t put a label on it, as you pointed out.”

“You don’t hate me?”

“I could never hate you. And it’s easy to see you have feelings for him, since you two have history … but he knows I want you, and you know I want you. I don’t give a damn who you’ve been with before tonight, but I want you all to myself.” A vulnerability shines in his doe eyes. “Are you good with that? That you’re my girlfriend. And mine alone.”

I nearly tell him I love him. I catch the words on their way up my throat and nearly choke on them. My smile hides behind the champagne glass as I take a gulp, but he must see it because he smiles broadly at the sight of me.

“I take it that’s a yes?” he says, toying with me.

“Yes. I’d like to be your girlfriend,” I answer him and my shoulders relax, my heart seems to dance in my chest and everything feels lighter at the thought. It feels right.

“How many men have you been with?” he asks me and I know I must turn fire-engine red given the heat that floods my cheeks.

“Two.” I don’t expect the shock that widens his eyes. “I’m a bit sheltered.”

“A bit?” he jokes and I have to laugh at his expression before leaning into him. He takes a sip of champagne and then wraps his arm around my waist, bringing me in closer to him. He’s warm and I lay my cheek on his shoulder.

“So let’s just take it easy and slow then,” he suggests.

My comment has more to do with what I have to tell Robert than it does with Brody, but it comes nonetheless, “None of this feels easy.”

“It feels easy for me when I’m with you,” he says and his admission is accompanied by a warmth that flows through my chest. “I think when you let me kiss you … it’s easy for you, isn’t it?”

With my hand resting against his knee, my thumb rubbing back and forth along his jeans, I confess, “Yes. It’s all easy when you kiss me.”