If it wasn’t for his dark messy hair hanging over his brow, and the wide, bright hazel eyes peeking out in a glare—eyes I remember so well staring daggers back at me the last time I saw him—I probably wouldn’t have even recognized the gorgeous fucking guy in front of me.

And when he smiled—

Jesus Christ, when he smiled...

Sure, it was a vicious, spiteful thing—nothing like I remembered, even from way back in the beginning days of our friendship, when he was still all scowls and wary glances. But it was his smile. The smile that always tugged painfully at my chest, as if pulled by an invisible string, one connected to each dimple sinking deeply into his cheeks.

I was always a sucker for those things.

I’m also pretty sure I spotted a tongue ring winking out when he was spewing all that venom at me. Call me a fucking masochist, but that only heightened his sex appeal.

There’s no denying Waylon grew up to be hot as sin. Too bad he hates my guts, or I’d see just how far I could push him before I had him on his knees. Melting under my touch.

“He’s done with Ivy’s car,” Mason says, yanking me out of my thoughts with the effectiveness of an ice-cold shower. “Follow me over?”

Clearing my throat, I turn to face him. There’s no longer any evidence of our earlier talk, only a rueful, knowing grin and sparkling eyes.

“It’s like you planned this.”

He shrugs. “Or it’s just meant to be.”

My mouth thins into a hard line. Reaching into my pocket, I dig out the scratch-off ticket I stuffed in there, back at the gas station before we left.

Mason’s brows lift in amusement as he watches me use my key to scratch off the yellow film.

Snorting, I flip it toward him. “Ten bucks.” I shove it back in my pocket and wave a hand. “I guess I’m staying.”

Laughing, he shakes his head and turns to head back outside. “Come on, Foster. Let’s get you settled in.”

At the door, I pause, turning to spare the beaded curtain one last, lingering look. Waylon’s parting words filter through my head. “It’s him I don’t.”

Trust.

He doesn’t trust me.

Then again, why would he? Why should he?

It hurts something fierce—more than I expected—but I can’t exactly blame him. I can’t be mad. I shouldn’t even be hurt.

I let him down.

I broke my promise.

I ruined us.

But here’s the kicker—

He ruined me first.

Maybe, just maybe, this is my chance to fix that.

4

4

Waylon McAllister

“So are you finally going to tell me what that was about?”

Five hours. I’ve managed to put off this conversation for five hours.