Page 140 of My Fiancé's Brother
He pulled at his collar. “I did leave you. I left you in that fucking mess that you had to deal with by yourself.”
He swore and walked away from me for a few moments. His hands were on his hips, and he looked upward.
When he turned back to me, his face was contrite. “I’ve been a complete dick, and I’m sorry. I should’ve been there for you.”
My mouth dropped open. This man deserved an award for the number of times he had been there for me. He was my rock. You couldn’t ask someone to be there more.
“This wasn’t your mess in the first place. I didn’t expect you to be there for me.”
“It was the sex.”
I felt all the blood drain from my face. Didn’t men usually stick around because of the sex? And yet he was telling me he left because of the sex? Had I been that bad at it? I felt compelled to apologise. “Sorry.”
“For what?”
Now my face was burning hot. “Nothing.”
“What are you apologising for?”
Was he going to make me say it? My silence was stubborn but had no impact on this trained SEAL who stood there with that look on his face that said he'd stand there all day and night until I told him exactly what I was apologising for.
“You said you left because of the sex.”
Understanding dawned on his expression. “You think I left because the sex wasn’t good?”
I looked around the park. I was reaching the point of no return on the issue of needing to empty my bladder. And in this dress that was no joking matter.
“I need to leave,” I said.
He blinked. “Right now?”
“I have to go to the bathroom.”
He looked around like it was an option for someone in 20 pounds of lace and satin to squat behind a bush. “Okay.”
CHAPTER TWO
We started to drive. I fretted every time someone slowed in front of us. Every time we stopped at a set of lights, I thought I might die.
“Please get me home,” I sounded miserable.
He looked at me. “Why don’t we stop somewhere?”
There was no way that I’d be able to negotiate a public bathroom stall by myself. It was logistically impossible. “My dress is too big. I don’t have my bridesmaid here.”
Car horns blared as he did a California lane change, drove over a meridian and pulled a dramatic U-turn to park in a no-parking zone in front of a small Italian bistro. “I’ll help you.”
My eyes were wide with horror. “Jackson, no.”
“Come on, let’s go.”
This man was fearless. If I weren’t so scared that I was going to pee myself, I'd refuse. He grabbed my hand as we walked into the bistro.
The place bustled with the Saturday brunch crowd and we stopped everyone in their tracks with our entrance. Jackson towered with a broken lip and a scowl on his face, tugging behind him the young runaway bride with a desperate look on her face. Blasting past the startled hostess, he weaved through the tables. At the back, he pushed open a door and shoved me into the small bathroom before locking the door behind him.
I decided I would rather pee on my dress than have this man help me with my skirt.
“So, do we take this off first or what?” he was a matter of fact, as he studied my dress.
