Elle hadn’t seen Lane since the night they’d finished his paper. She’d gotten a text from him on Monday letting her know that he’d turned it in and would meet her at ten on Friday morning to head to New Orleans. She’d also seen the money she’d originally deposited into his account reappear in hers. But other than that, there’d been no communication. She hadn’t even seen him at work except from a distance in the cafeteria, where he’d been sitting with Dr. Rush and laughing at something she’d said. That full, hearty sound had traveled across the cavernous room and hit Elle in the gut like a flaming spear. He wasn’t going to grace her with that laugh anymore. Access had been revoked.
Elle sighed, and as she sat on her porch swing with her roller bag by her feet, she considered taking off on her own to the city. She could save herself the awkwardness of spending a weekend with Lane, relieve him of that obligation, but the thought had a fist tightening around her windpipe. Facing her ex-husband and sister alone was too daunting of a specter to ignore. Lane had been right. She could handle herself but having an ally would make it more bearable—even if it was a fake ally.
Gravel crunched in the distance and Lane turned into her driveway, his sleek black Corvette feeling like an omen instead of a welcome wagon. No more delays. She was really going to this wedding. She would have to face the people who’d ripped her life down the middle and try to show them how fabulously fantastic she was doing. Put on a show.
She hated that her first instinct at seeing Lane’s sports car was to wonder what Henry would think of it. He’d probably dismiss it as immature and impractical. He was a luxury car guy. The manufacturer had to be foreign and the price tag unfathomable or it didn’t warrant his respect.
Ugh. She shook the thought away. She wasn’t trying to prove anything to him. She didn’t need to impress anyone. She didn’t need Lane to fit into some kind of mold.
Lane climbed out of the car, his blond hair styled in that messy-on-purpose way he used on the weekends and his clothes casual but sharp—pale blue polo shirt and dark jeans that made him look downright edible. The man didn’t just know how to dress, he knew how to wear his clothes like they’d been made for him, like he was one-hundred percent comfortable in his own skin. She wanted to drag him into the house and take him out of those clothes, touch that skin.
She curled her nails into her palms, trying to use the sting to shut down her rogue libido. Not yours.
Anymore.
Or ever, really.
Lane sauntered up the drive, a surprisingly pleasant expression on his face. “All ready to go?”
She stood, smoothing her dove-gray slacks on the way up, and grabbed the handle of her roller bag. “I’m packed, but I’ll probably never be ready. You sure you want to do this?”
“Yep. I told you I keep my word. Plus, I owe you.” He reached behind his back and pulled something from his pocket—a paper. He turned it around and showed her the front. It was the title page of his research paper. A bright red A was scrawled on the front.
A gust of pride swept over her. “You got an A?”
“A-minus. Not too bad.” He shrugged but the curl of his lips betrayed him.
She had the sudden urge to hug him, which was weird in and of itself. She wasn’t a hugger. But she didn’t know where the boundaries were with him right now. They weren’t at her mom’s house yet. They didn’t need to perform for an audience. She lifted her hand in a high-five motion instead, feeling like a complete dork. “Lane, that’s great. You did it.”
He tapped her hand with his but then curled his fingers around her palm to give it a squeeze. “We did it. I owe you a big thank you. Not just for typing but for forcing me to get tested so I could get an extension. This grade feels good.”
The heat of his palm against hers and the appreciation in his eyes made her stomach hurt. She wished she could rewind time and never invite him into her office, never have Ori catch them. Right now, they’d be in full celebration mode. He’d kiss her. She’d tease him. She wouldn’t feel as if there were an ocean of complications between them. She slipped her hand from his. “You’re welcome. But you deserve the credit. It’s your words in that paper.”
“They are, but you got them on that paper for me and made sure I put them in the right order. So”—he tucked the paper under his arm and took her bag from her—“you deserve a thank you.”
“Your thank you is you being here. I can’t believe you’re still going through with this.” She grabbed her purse from the porch swing and looped the strap over her shoulder. “You have a masochistic streak hidden in there?”
“No. I’m keeping my promise and paying you back. But believe me, this is going to feed the sadist in me far more than anything else.”
The statement and his accompanying smirk made her spine go stiff. She cleared her throat and walked down the steps past him, keeping her shoulders back even though she wanted to fold in on herself. “Yeah, I guess there’s no better way to get back at me for insulting you than to spend a weekend watching me get humiliated by my family and ex. Good plan.”
“What?”
She kept walking down the driveway to the car, hating the way her eyes burned. She would not let him see how he was affecting her. She’d been fielding barbs from him since the beginning. This should be no different.
Lane grasped her elbow, halting her brisk march to the car.
“Hey.” He stepped in front of her, his eyes searching hers. “You honestly think that’s what I meant? That I’d enjoy seeing you get hurt?”
Her teeth clenched and she inhaled a deep breath through her nose, trying to maintain her I-don’t-give-a-shit face. “What else could you mean?”
His mouth sank into a frown. “Jesus, Elle. I meant I was going to enjoy irritating your ex-husband because the guy deserves it. I can’t believe you’d think—” He exhaled loudly and ran a hand over the back of his head. “Look, I’m not happy with how things went down with us, but I don’t wish bad things on you. I’m not cruel. I wouldn’t be here unless I was here to help.”
She blinked, his words making her stomach fizz and her anxiety about this whole weekend bubble over. She looked down, trying to hide her face from him. “I’m sorry. I just—I guess I was thinking what I’d do in your place. If someone hurts me, I want to hurt them worse.”
“Well, that’s you. I’m a way nicer person than you are.”
She snorted, the laugh surprising her and getting caught in her nose. She peered up to find him grinning. “Asshole.”