“Are we back on nickname basis, Little Red?”
She rises to her tiptoes, leaning in to whisper in my ear, “For now. Until you do something to royally piss me off again, like when you assumed I’d only fucked you as revenge because I had daddy issues.”
Fuck me. Hearing her talk about our night together gives me mixed feelings. On one hand, I’m riddled with guilt for assuming she knew who I was. On the other, my mind is filled with lustful memories from our night together. Memories that I’ve recalled in vivid detail while I’m alone.
Not the kind of thoughts I should be having right now.
She pulls away, and the smirk she gives has my cock twitching beneath my zipper. She knows exactly what she’s doing—the effect she has on me.
I’ve already come to terms with the fact that I’m completely fucked when it comes to this woman. Distractions be damned. Scarlett Carlisle can consume my every waking thought for all I care.
6
September
We’re running late this morning—shocking, I know. By the time I dropped off Gemma and Gunner, I was nearly twenty minutes late to my coffee date with Spencer.
My coffee date which was a complete disaster, might I add. And that doesn’t bode well for me considering the news my grandfather shared with me less than a month ago. News that I still haven’t come to terms with. A stipulation I can’t even fathom.
“Knock, knock.” Looking up, I lock eyes with Bennett’s captivating hazels. He’s the picture of relaxed with his shoulder resting against the doorframe, one ankle crossed over the other, and his hands in the pockets of his dress slacks.
“Bennett. What can I do for you?”
“Nothing, I was just meeting with your grandfather.”
“I wasn’t aware we had a meeting this morning, my apologies for missing it.”
“Joseph called me in to discuss a possible fundraiser for the local dog rescue—a players and puppies calendar. He also wanted to go over the first regular season away stretch; it’s one of our longer ones this season. Thankfully that isn’t until next month. But I hear you’ll be flying with us to Chicago next week.”
My world comes to a screeching halt—my heart stops beating and panic seizes my lungs. Bennett is still talking about the details of the trip, but I can’t focus on anything he’s saying as my mind replays one word. Flying.
In the past five years, I have not traveled anywhere that I can’t drive to. Getting on a plane has been completely out of the question after what happened to my dad and Angela.
When the ringing in my ears finally subsides to a dull buzzing, I hear Bennett ask, “Scarlett? Are you okay?”
No. Nothing about this is okay. I’m twenty-seven and have spent thousands of dollars on therapy over the past five years, only for each one of the coping mechanisms I’ve learned to fly out the window simply because of one word.
How could my grandfather do this to me? He knows I haven’t flown, that I’ve refused to since their accident.
“Scarlett,” Bennett says, gently tilting my chin up to look at him. I hadn’t even noticed he moved across my office to where I sit at my desk. “Did I say something to upset you?”
Clearing the raw emotion from my throat, I shake my head. “No. It’s not you. It’s just, I haven’t—” I close my eyes, afraid he’ll see the panic in them. “Not since—” Biting my lip until I feel a sting of pain, I blink back the tears trying to make their escape.
“You haven’t flown since your father’s accident?”
My head shoots up so quickly, it’s dizzying. “How did you—”
Instead of replying, he places his hand over the one I have gripping the arm of my desk chair and squeezes it. The gesture is so delicate, so sincere, it takes me by surprise.
“I can’t imagine the devastation you, Gemma, and Gunner have gone through due to their loss.”
The tears welling in my eyes make their escape and I stand abruptly, turning my back to Bennett because this moment is entirely too much for me—especially at eleven in the morning. Grabbing a tissue from my desk, I dab my eyes, careful not to smudge my winged liner.
I take a calming breath and turn back to face him, offering him a soft smile. “It seems I’m full of apologies this morning. I’m sorry about that. Now, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
Bennett doesn’t say anything, moments tick by as he stares at me expectantly. I square my shoulders in anticipation for, what, I don’t know.
“May I have a seat?” he asks.
