Exposed (VIP 4)

“I don’t think you’d hurt me intentionally,” I say, weakening. Damn it, his proximity is messing with my head.

He’s a foot away now. Close enough that his body heat buffets mine and the sheer physicality of his big strong frame makes me a little light-headed. Yet he doesn’t loom. He’s just there, watching, assessing. “There’s always a chance someone might unintentionally hurt you. That isn’t enough reason to back away. I never took you for a coward, Bren.”

My body snaps to cold attention. “Oh, hell no, Rye. You do not get to play that card.” He starts to speak, but I roll over his words with my own. “Do you have any clue in that thick head of yours how many times you’ve tried to shame me for my sex life?”

His brows practically hit his hairline. “Shame you?”

“Exactly.” I poke the air between us for emphasis. “Making snide remarks about me having sex, pointing out how much I have it, when I have it.”

“I…” His mouth works as words fail him, and his color drains.

“You weaponized sex against me, and suddenly I’m the coward for not wanting to have sex with you?” I laugh without humor. “That takes the cake. Truly.”

Rye’s skin is the color of old milk. He swallows thickly. “Shit, Bren. I didn’t realize—”

“Don’t you dare say you didn’t know you said those things.”

“I’m not going to…” He runs a hand raggedly through his hair. “I just didn’t think of it that way. I was giving you shit like I do all the guys.”

My snort is long and eloquent.

“I’m serious, Bren.” Rye’s expression is wide open and earnest. “We all give one another shit for things we know will be a direct hit. Just like you imply I’m a flake because you know it’s a sore spot for me.”

It’s my turn to flinch, because he’s right. I do it too. Rye is likely the smartest person I know, but his carefree nature hides a lot of it. Somewhere along the way, the guys started to joke about him being clueless, and it stuck. This is the price we paid for growing up together as a group—we often revert to our most childish selves around one another.

Rye’s deep voice cuts through my silent thoughts. “I know it wasn’t mature, but I thought it was our thing, trading verbal hits. It never occurred to me that you’d take it as shaming. I always admired your sexuality, and I thought you knew that.”

“Oh, please…”

“It’s true.” His voice grows strong. “You know what you want and go after it. I admire the hell out of that.” He winces, rubbing his hair again. “Shit, I feel like a total asshole now that I know it hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” I mutter. “You pissed me off.”

His smile is tentative and lopsided. “Fair enough.” The smile dies. “I’m sorry for that, Brenna. Believe that if nothing else.”

I stare at him for a long moment. There’s no hint of teasing in his steady gaze. He means it. I find myself nodding. “Okay.”

He releases a breath. “Okay.”

Guilt presses like a heavy hand against my heart. “I don’t think you’re stupid. You’re the smartest one out of all of us.”

Rye gives a jerky nod as though he’s surprised but doesn’t want to show it. “Don’t know about that, but thank you.”

“It was a horrible thing for me to imply. I’m sorry.”

He nods again, and we stare at each other helplessly, neither one of us knowing what to do with this new frontier of mutual apologies.

“Okay. Well, now that we’ve got that straightened out.” I smooth a strand of hair back. “Let’s just agree never to speak of this again.”

“Hold on a second.” Rye lifts his hands, amusement lighting his eyes. “We agreed that I was a dickhead and am sorry for it.”

“And I was a…what’s the female equivalent of a dickhead?”

“You don’t really expect me to answer that, do you?” He’s smiling now. “Because that’s bait.”

God, I want to smile back. But I hold it together. “We agreed that we were horrible to each other, which merely proves your proposal is ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” he repeats with a laughing huff. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I would.” Damn it, I will not get flustered by the heat that’s returned to his gaze. “Clearing the air doesn’t create instant trust.”

“But you just said you know I’d never hurt you and that I respect you.” His expression is so genuinely confused, I have to believe he truly doesn’t get it.

I shake my head in exasperation. “Maybe you can easily flip the switch. But I can’t. One apology doesn’t erase the years of acrimony between us.”

“Acrimony is a bit harsh. It was more like light bickering.”

My lips purse to keep from laughing. Because he’s utterly shameless and annoyingly irresistible. “It doesn’t make up for the countless times you let me down over the years. The way you’d brush off interviews I set up—”