Still the One

“Like a dagger,” he said, and mimed being stabbed, but then he squeezed her fingers affectionately.

“And anyway,” she said, squeezing him back, “you don’t really want me.”

Now he let his gaze meander down her body and his eyes heated. “Wanna bet?”

She smiled. “I’m talking about the me on the inside. I’m still a bitch, Xander. I mean I’m working on it, but I’m not going there with anyone right now, not until I’m ready.”

At that, he brought their entwined fingers up to his mouth and brushed a kiss over her knuckles. “You are a bitch,” he said with great fondness. “But I love that about you. And I’m a patient man. I can wait. Now lie down and suck it up. I’m on the clock.”

She settled back on the table, relieved at the lack of awkwardness between them. She knew most women would say she was nuts. Being with Xander would be good. And easy.

And once upon a time that had been all she needed. Good and easy.

But it no longer felt like enough. His friendship meant too much to her. And she might be reckless, or at least have a reputation for it, but she was no longer stupid or thoughtless.

“Damn,” she gasped as the sting of the tat gun hit her again. “Damn, shit, hell—”

“Deep breaths,” he told her. “That’s it, just keep breathing for me.”

“Hey, man, you busy?”

At the sound of his brother Tyson on the other side of the privacy curtain, Xander lifted the tat gun off Darcy’s skin. “In the middle of a tat for Darcy,” he said.

Silence.

For whatever reason, Tyson had instantly decided way back when that he didn’t like her, and it had stuck.

Xander sighed. “What do you need, Ty?”

A pause, and then a gruff, “Nothing.”

Darcy’s and Xander’s eyes met. Nothing her ass. He needed something—money, a ride, whatever—and he didn’t want to ask for it in front of her because he knew she hated how he used Xander.

“There’s cash in my wallet in the right-hand drawer of my desk in the office,” Xander said.

He got no response, no thank-you, nothing, just the sound of Tyson’s wheelchair squeaking as he rolled off.

“Dammit, Xander,” she whispered. “He’s—”

“My brother,” Xander said firmly.

“You’re his enabler.”

Xander pulled back, his face closed off, which she knew was to mask his hurt and worry about Tyson. The two of them were all each other had.

Darcy got that and softened. “I’m sorry,” she said, reaching for his hand. “Ignore me, I shouldn’t talk. After all, I drained both my brother and sister dry all year.”

“Love is love,” he said, and she knew he absolutely believed that.

What she didn’t know was if believing it made it true.

Four

Early the next morning, AJ was at the gym with Wyatt at his side, both of them lifting weights.

“You ask Darcy about this weekend?” Wyatt asked, setting his weights down. “Let her know you needed her?”

“I told her, yeah.”

Wyatt choked out a laugh and rolled his eyes, for a beat looking very much like his ’tude-ridden sister.

“What?” he asked.

“What, are you an amateur? You can’t tell a woman what to do. You have to finesse it. You ask. You cajole or coax, or whatever you’ve got to do. And if all that fails, you have to make them think that whatever it is you need them to do is their idea.”

AJ laughed. “That’s … ridiculous. Not to mention manipulative.”

“It works,” Wyatt said. “You need to trust me on this, as I’m the only one of the two of us currently sharing a pillow with a female. And a bathroom. And since we’re going there, why is it that guys get the bad bathroom rap when women use all the counter space? I mean, what do they need twenty-five different lotions for? How much skin do they have anyway?”

“You share a pillow?” AJ asked.

“You’re missing my point,” Wyatt said.

“That’s because you have too damn many of them.” AJ paused. “But for the record, I did ask Darcy.” He paused. “I’m pretty sure.”

“And … ?”

“And she’s thinking about it.”

“She’ll do it,” Wyatt said, sounding certain.

“Yeah? What makes you think so? We all know she’s not exactly crazy about me.”

Wyatt dismissed this. “You can’t take that personally.”

It felt pretty fucking personal.

“She’s not crazy about anyone right now,” Wyatt said. “But going with you is right and she knows it. Like I said, she just needs it to be her idea.”

“And what makes you the leading expert on women?” AJ asked.

“Are you kidding? I’ve been through three generations of women—my grandma, my mother, two sisters, and now a live-in girlfriend.” He looked smug. “I should teach a crash course in female. I’d make a fortune.”

AJ didn’t have sisters. Or a mother. Or a grandmother, at least not anymore. And though he’d had plenty of women in his life, none had been live-in.

“Think of it this way,” Wyatt said. “I’m paving the way for you. My knowledge is your knowledge.”

“Thanks,” AJ said dryly. “And does this knowledge extend to how to coax your sister into behaving this weekend if she comes with me?”