The Fear of Letting Go Read online

  “You're going to church with your parents?” Jenna asks. “I don't see how you can be so nice to them after the way they've treated you.”

  Leigh Anne gives a sad smile. “I know, but they're trying. That's got to count for something, right?”

  My heart aches for her, and I hate that I've been a part of her sadness. Leigh Anne and I dated all through high school. We were one of those perfect golden couples everyone expected to get married and have babies. Long story short, I cheated with Bailey, one of Leigh Anne's best friends, and Leigh Anne left for Boston the following fall.

  Just goes to show she's one of the nicest, most forgiving people in the world for not hating me still, after what I did to her.

  If I could take it back, I'd do it in a heartbeat.

  “Girl, you are a way better person than I could ever be,” Jenna says. “You're such a marshmallow. If I were you, I would have told my mother what I thought of her a long damned time ago.”

  Leigh Anne turns her head to the side. “Come on, it's my mom,” she says. “Yes, she's a bitch, but she's blood, you know? You can't turn your back on family.”

  Knox pulls Leigh Anne into a kiss, but I notice a strange expression on Jenna's face as she turns away. I want to ask her about it, but it scares me a little. I've never seen her look that sad before. Her eyes fill with tears and she looks away for a moment.

  “I'm going to head out. I'll talk to you guys later.” Leigh Anne gives Jenna a quick hug. “Don't drive home, okay? Get a cab or have Knox or Preston take you home.”

  “Yes, ma'am.” Jenna raises her beer in a salute, all signs of sadness quickly wiped away. “Maybe I should get going, too. There's not a single guy in here worth sleeping with.”

  “I beg to differ,” Leigh Anne says as she gives Knox a wink and heads for the door.

  Jenna rolls her eyes. “Save it for your private time,” she says, with a laugh. She starts to stand, but I put my hand on hers and her eyes widen.

  “Don't go,” I say. “Come on, have one more drink with me. I'll call my driver to come take us both home later.”

  “Your driver? What? He's just going to drop everything on a Saturday night to come pick you up and drive you home from the bar?” she says. She sounds amused, and she sits back down.

  “That's his job,” I say.

  “Exciting life,” she says. “Can you imagine what it must be like for him? I mean, let's fast forward a couple of hours and say it's midnight on a Saturday night. What do you think he's doing?”

  I shrug. “I guess I never thought about it.”

  “Do you think he's just sitting around his house with his uniform on, waiting by the phone? Hoping you'll call? No. He's probably been sitting in his recliner, watching some TV, snacking on some chips or whatever,” she says. “Then, just when he's sure no one's going to need him, he strips down to his t-shirt and boxers and climbs into bed, all snuggly and warm. And then, dammit, the phone rings. Or maybe it's a text? The young master summons him to the bar downtown for a ride home. He has to get his ass up out of bed, throw on his work clothes and try to look presentable, all because the rich boy couldn't bring himself to pay for a cab.”

  “Hey, that's not really fair,” I say, hurt. “It's not like he's a slave. He gets paid good money to get out of bed and drive me around.”

  The moment the words leave my mouth, I realize how incredibly snobby I sound. How childish and annoyingly privileged.

  “Your dad pays him to drive him to work and important business meetings,” she says. “You're just taking advantage of the situation.”

  “He really doesn't mind.”

  “How do you know?” she says. “Did you ever ask him?”

  “No,” I say.

  “Then you don't know,” she says. “Hell, I don't know, either. Maybe he loves getting out of bed to be at your beck and call. If it were me, though, I would hate it. I'd show up and smile and take you where you needed to go. But I would hate it.”

  I love the way she's not afraid to tell me what she really thinks. She's never scared to speak her mind or bring me down a peg if I deserve it. To be honest, I never really thought about Jameson's feelings on the matter. And lately, I've been calling him a lot later than midnight.

  “Well, damn, now I felt like an asshole for the second time tonight.”

  “Don't look so beat up,” Jenna says. “I'm not trying to bring you down. I'm just saying I have some experience with this, and maybe you shouldn't be so casual about waking someone out of their beds in the middle of the night to drive you all around Fairhope.”

  “You do?” I ask. This is new. “What kind of experience?”

  She looks away, like I've caught on to some secret information she didn't mean for me to have. “Oh, that? It's nothing, really. Just that my momma used to work for a rich family back where I grew up,” she says.

  “And where's that?” I know almost nothing about where Jenna comes from or who her family is. She doesn't talk about them much. Or at all.

  “Nowhere you want to be,” she says. She takes another long sip of her beer and sets the empty bottle down on the bar. “Okay, if we're going to stick around for a little while, you're going to dance with me.”

  My jaw drops open, and I hold my hands up. “No way,” I say. “I am not a dancer.”

  “Everyone's a dancer,” she says. “Now stop being a pussy and come show me your moves.”

  The moment her hand closes over mine, my heart begins to race. I let her lead me toward the dance floor and pRob like hell for a slow song.

  Chapter Three

  Jenna

  Dancing with Preston is exactly the opposite of what I should be doing. I should be staying as far away from this rich boy as I can, but God, there's just something about him that I cannot seem to resist. And resisting someone this hot is not my strong point. Especially when I've been drinking.

  Typical Jenna.

  Whatever is going to get me in the most trouble at any given moment is what I usually end up doing.

  And Preston Wright is trouble with a capital T.

  Not only is he my best friend's ex—and a cheater at that—but he's the son of the wealthiest, most influential couple in Fairhope, if not the entire state of Georgia. What business does a girl like me have with a guy like that?

  But as the music plays on, I dare to move a little bit closer.

  His eyes are locked on my face, and when my hips grind against his, he moves his hands up to the waist of my jeans. My entire body lights up like a Christmas tree. One that's on fire.

  I am terrified to raise my eyes to his, because I have a feeling I know what I'm going to see there. Desire. Something more dangerous than fire or volcanoes or diving head-first into a pot of boiling water. To a guy like him, I am forbidden fruit. I'm exactly the kind of girl his parents will hate, because I'm exactly the opposite of all those other girls he's been going out with.

  It's the only reason he wants me.

  I know full well that the most there would ever be between us would be a month or two of hot, sweaty sex. The kind that leaves your knees weak and your heart thumping, simply because you know it won't last.

  Usually, I'm ready to sign up for that kind of action from a handsome guy. No strings attached and all that. But Preston is different. He's part of my social circle, no matter how hard I've tried to avoid being mixed up with the rich kids. I still don't understand how the hell that happened, but here I am, friends with the elite crowd in Fairhope.

  Friends to lovers might work out in the movies, but my life has never been a fairytale. I'm all too aware of the realities of what it means to get in bed with a guy who has money. Lord knows, I watched my momma fall for that dream, and I'm not about to start repeating her mistakes.

  I'd end up with a heart full of sorrow and he'd go on his merry way, feeling good about his month in the slums, like he'd been on some grand rebellious adventure. Then, of course, he'd go right back to those rich girls with their fancy clothes and fancy ta
stes.

  Aruba? I wouldn't even know what to do with myself at a five-star resort in Aruba. My whole life, I've never once stepped foot out of the state of Georgia.

  I turn around, wiggling out of his hold on me, but after a few moments, he pulls me in again, his fingertips dancing dangerously along the edge of my waistband, brushing against bare skin. He presses his body close to mine, and I can feel the warmth of his breath on my neck and shoulder. I tell myself not to lean in to him, but I can't help it. He feels so damned good.

  My heart races and I'm so aware of my lips and my tingling skin, the heat of his body against mine, that I can hardly breathe.

  I turn to face him and as my eyes meet his, it's electric. Magnetic.

  Trouble.

  I swallow, and put my hands on top of his, scared to touch him anywhere more intimate. Afraid I won't be able to stop myself.

  “You're going to get a bad reputation,” I say.

  A smile slides across his lips slowly, like a secret. “Why is that?”

  “You ditched your pretty date early and now you're dancing with me like you want something,” I say. “Small town. People talk.”

  He doesn't take his eyes off mine for an instant, and the energy between us sizzles. “Let them talk.”

  The song changes and slows. Preston slides his hands from my hips to my back and my arms naturally rise to circle his neck. I force my eyes away from his and lean against his chest instead. Why did I think that was somehow safer?

  My cheek rests against the solid muscle of his chest. I listen to the pounding of his heart, feel the warm grip of his hands.

  Over the past few months, I've noticed the long looks that last a beat too long, and the way he comes to sit by me any time there's a spot free. I've found my thoughts drifting to him when I least expect it, and my pulse racing the moment he walks into a room. But until this moment, we've never touched or come so close to making a mistake we'll both regret.

  I close my eyes and imagine his bare chest, slicked with sweat, his hands finding their way to the most secret parts of my body. I bet he knows just how to use those hands. And I bet I could teach this sheltered boy a trick or two of my own.

  I practically groan at the possibilities, knowing this can't happen. Even one night would be too much.

  I take a deep breath and pull away, forcing a laugh. “Come on, cowboy, let's grab one last drink,” I say. “This song is too slow.”

  He frowns, but follows me back to our seats at the bar.

  I know I have to lighten the mood or we'll be goners.

  “Knox, can we get another couple of drinks down here, please?” I shout, leaning over against the worn wooden bar.

  “Sure thing,” he calls back.

  I scoot my stool back and sit down, putting a little breathing room between Preston and me. He still has that hooded look to his eyes, sizing me up like I am piece of fruit he's ready to devour. I ignore the heat that zings through my body.

  “I am so glad it's almost spring break,” I say. “It's been nice on the beach now that the weather's warmed up a little.”

  “Are you planning on going anywhere?” he asks. “Back home?”

  I make a face. “Definitely not,” I say. “Never again, if I can avoid it.”

  “Where is home, by the way? I don't think you've ever really talked about it much.”

  “I don't ever really think about it much,” I say. A big lie, if there ever was one. “I'm sticking around here. Probably going to pull some extra shifts at Brantley's and try to spend as much of my free time on the beach as possible. You? Aruba, I presume?”

  He rolls his eyes and laughs. “I'm staying here, too. Dad has some things lined up for me at the office. Meetings and paperwork. Saturday I'm throwing my annual spring break bash on the yacht, though, if you want to swing by.”

  “I think I'll pass on that,” I say. “I'm surprised you aren't getting away. I thought all the rich guys spent their vacations at luxury resorts getting drunk and sexing the ladies.”

  “As nice as that sounds, I'm not going anywhere until Penny's baby comes,” he says. “I would die if I missed holding that little girl the day she was born.”

  Another rush of warmth flows through me. Is there anything sweeter than a man who can't wait to hold a baby for the first time?

  “Hard to believe it's almost time,” I say. “Won't be long now. I got a pretty fancy schmancy invite to her baby shower in a couple of weeks. Much to your mother's delight, I'm sure.”

  Preston's mother hates me, which is understandable after that tiny little matter of me helping Penny pawn a priceless diamond tennis bracelet last Fall. She'll probably never forgive me for introducing her precious little girl to the world of pawn shops. I hate to think what she'd do if she knew Preston was up here drinking with me right now.

  “Yeah, Mom is going all out, as usual,” he says. “Penny protested, saying she'd much rather everyone make donations to the local children's hospital, instead of buying her gifts, but I guess women just love buying little bows and ribbons and pretty pink girly things.”

  “It's in our genetic code to want to buy things for babies,” I say. “Besides, it's your mother's first grandchild. She's going to spoil that child, whether Penny likes it or not.”

  He laughs. “You've got a point there,” he says. “I'm just glad they're taking it so well, especially since Penny and Mason decided not to get married until after the baby comes.”

  “I'm sure that's killing your mother.”

  “You have no idea,” Preston mutters. “And you changed the subject, by the way. I really would love it if you'd come by the party Saturday.”

  “It's not exactly my scene, Preston,” I say.

  “Why not?”

  I stare at him. Is he honestly that clueless? “Where do I even start?” I lean back against the bar. “Frat boys taking turns doing cannonballs off the side of the boat? Half-naked girls in the hot tub? Caviar and champagne flowing like water? No thank you.”

  He shakes his head. “It's really not like that. We have a good time at those parties. It's more down-to-earth than that.”

  “I bet,” I say, wondering if he thinks that's what down-to-earth looks like. A party on a five million dollar boat? “I'm sure there will be no shortage of babes lined up to meet the handsome single billionaire, accidentally pressing their fake boobs against your bare arm, hoping for a tour of your private cabin.”

  I take a sip of my beer. I know I'm not being fair to him. I'm about to admit I've had one beer too many when my butt begins to vibrate. I hop up from the stool and pull my cell phone out of my back pocket, hoping maybe it's Leigh Anne telling me she changed her mind and wants to watch a movie.

  Instead, it's my brother's name flashing across the screen. My smile fades, and my stomach lurches. This is the fifth time he's tried to call in the past week. I hit ‘ignore' and stuff the phone back into my pocket.

  “Who was that?” Preston asks.

  “Nobody,” I mumble, unable to keep the sadness and regret out of my voice. Definitely one too many if I can't even mask that ancient pain.

  His eyes narrow. “Everything all right?”

  “Yep,” I say, tearing the label off my beer bottle and avoiding his gaze. I begin folding the paper into the shape of a tiny frog. “I think maybe I should head home, though. It's getting late and I have to work tomorrow.”

  “It's not even midnight,” he says. “You want to come back to my place and hang out for a while? We could grab some donuts and play some video games.”

  I can't help but smile. Someone's been paying attention to my weakness for donuts after a night of drinking. “Thanks, but I think you and I both know that's a bad idea.”

  “We do?” He raises an eyebrow.

  “You may not be smart enough to realize it yet, but I've got us both covered on this one,” I say with a laugh. I lift a hand toward Knox and he turns my way. “Would you mind calling me a cab?”

  “Wait,” Preston says
. “Don't do that. Just stay for one more dance.”

  I shake my head, my smile gone. He needs to understand that this cannot go where he's hoping it will go. “One slow dance is too many for me.”

  He clears his throat and runs a finger along the rim of his still-full glass. “You sure? Because I was thinking it was nowhere near enough.”

  My heart tightens in my chest and my mouth goes dry. Damn, I would love to just grab him right now and kiss the hell out of him. Take him home and see what kind of trouble we could really get into when the lights were out.

  “I'm sure,” I say, a little too breathless to make it believable. I force myself to look away and nod at Knox. He reaches for the bar's phone and starts dialing. “You don't want to get mixed up with a girl like me,” I tell Preston before I down the last of my beer. I stand and lean in close, my cheek brushing against his. “Besides, I would wreck you.”

  He groans as I step around him and head for the door. I don't look back, but I have a feeling his mouth is hanging wide open.

  As I step out into the warm spring air, I wonder if he has any idea it's really the other way around.

  Chapter Four

  Preston

  “There's my precious boy.”

  My mother rises from the table and walks over to plant a kiss on my cheek. She still talks to me like I'm ten years old.

  “Hi, Mom,” I say. I give her a hug and walk over to my seat by the pool. “Sorry I'm late.”

  I was barely able to drag my tired ass out of bed this morning. After I left the bar last night, I couldn't get Jenna out of my mind. I tossed and turned for hours before I finally got up and watched a movie. I passed out on the couch around five in the morning.

  But Sunday brunch is a tradition for my family, and my mother would have my head if I missed it.

  “How was your date last night?” Penny asks. She's got a plate full of healthy food in front of her. Egg-white omelets and fresh fruit. She's been obsessive about taking care of herself these past few months with the baby on the way.