The Rider List: An Erotic Romance (15 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

Audrey

“Thanks for covering for me. I’m sorry it was on such short notice.”

“No problem,” Jeanine says. “My son is at his dad’s all week so it worked out fine. Everything okay?”

This is the part I hate about having made up the family emergency story. The questions. Maybe she won’t press me for more information. “Yes, thank you.” I leave it at that.

We’re in the resort office. I’ve just arrived for the night shift. Jim has left for the day and Jeanine is sitting at the reception desk doing something on the computer. “I’m so wired even though I haven’t had any sleep. Maybe I should stay and give you the night off.” I take her seriously for a second, until she laughs.

“Go home and relax,” I say. “Maybe I should stay all day tomorrow so we can get back on schedule.” I actually wouldn’t mind it. I’d rather get back to my day shift as quickly as possible.

She yawns. “Guess I’m tired after all. We’ll figure out how to get back to normal.”

She leaves moments later and I’m all alone in the office. It’s been a while since I worked the overnight shift. I hated it then, but I hate it even more now, considering all that’s going on.

I didn’t get any sleep all day, so it’s going to be a long night.

The night shift can be very tedious—making sure our order forms are up to date, answering email questions from prospective guests, going through surveys filled out by guests who have stayed with us, but mostly it’s just boring.

There’s a TV in the clubhouse, but as usual there’s nothing good on. I wish I had brought my iPad so I could at least stream something. I don’t want to do it on the work computer.

Stepping outside to sit on the deck, I see the edges of the tent whip in the strong sea breeze and I wonder if it was wise to have put it up a day ahead of the event. But it’s not my job, it’s already up, and I have other things to worry about.

Stacy was probably right—I should listen to Evan’s explanation. If nothing else, it will satisfy my curiosity about his reasons for keeping the truth from me for several weeks. But it’s so soon. I’m not sure I’m ready to listen and be civil with him.

He has no idea how easily I lose it when I find out people have lied to me. Especially men who I let get close to me. I know it’s something I need to deal with, but I don’t beat myself up about harboring this kind of inclination toward distrust. After all, it seems justified, especially after the truth about Evan came to light.

I could easily lock up the clubhouse office and go over to Bungalow A. I’m sure Evan is there. I could confront him, see what he’s willing to tell me. That’s what I want to do, but the rational side of me is saying:
Don’t do it yet. Calm down a little more.

So instead, I stay in the clubhouse and lock the door. I’m flipping through the channels, finding nothing of interest, just a whole bunch of reality TV, news, and shows I haven’t watched before so I have no idea who the characters are or what’s going on.

My boredom ends when there’s a knock at the door. It’s not unusual. Sometimes guests have requests, or questions, and rather than call, they walk down here to the office.

Rounding the corner into the entranceway, I see Evan standing there on the other side of the glass door.

There’s an expression on his face, one that I haven’t seen on him before. It looks like pleading. It looks guilty.

I stand there for a moment, frozen, not sure if I want to open the door. I’m maybe ten feet away. Behind him, there’s a palmetto tree illuminated by a streetlight and it’s swaying in the breeze.

“If you won’t let me in, at least come out.” His voice is muffled but I still make out the words.

Walking toward the door, I’m undecided about what I’ll do when I unlock and open it. It doesn’t matter, though, because when I open it, Evan steps through the doorway and into the building.

“You can’t be here,” I say, closing and locking the door.

He’s wearing a blue baseball cap with a white shark fin insignia on it, khaki shorts, and a white t-shirt that fits him so snugly I can make out the hard lines of his chest.
Jesus, Audrey. Lust, now? Get a hold of yourself.

“Why not? I paid for access to this place.”

I just look at him.

He says, “Come on. I’m kidding. But I’m not going anywhere until you listen to what I have to say.”

“I don’t think so—”

“Why not?” He looks around the place.

“Because I’m not ready to listen yet.”

He nods. I even detect a light upturn on one side of his mouth, the beginning of a smile. “Yet is good. I can handle ‘yet.’ That means you haven’t decided not to let me explain.”

“Just not right now.” I want to, I do, but not here and not now. There are two security cameras in this office and so far, it’s looking like Evan is just stopping by like a normal guest. It’s not like he can stay here and have what is sure to be a long conversation.

He looks around the place again, this time up at the ceiling. Again, like he’s done a few times since we met, it’s like he’s reading my mind. “Is it the cameras?”

“Sort of.”

He lowers his voice. “Then come to my place.”

I’m tempted. I want to. And then I don’t want to. The temptation stops. “Maybe tomorrow.”

He walks toward me, but deliberately doesn’t get too close. I’m grateful. Not only because it would look more than a little suspicious on camera, but also because if he got any closer than he did, I might just follow him right out the door.

I’m so torn. I hate this.

“Come see me tomorrow,” he says as he walks past me. “No expectations, no pressure. Just let me have my say.”

I nod, even though he can’t see it because he’s stepping outside. And then he’s gone. I lock the door and go back to the sitting area, collapsing on the couch.

The television is on and the longer I stay on the couch, the more tired I feel. The next thing I know, I’m waking up to knocking on the door. The clock on my phone shows 12:30 a.m.

Sitting up, I’m suddenly wide awake, deciding quickly whether to let Evan in again. As I’m walking down the hallway to the front door, I decide that I do want to have this talk after all. We can go into the room where the pool table is. It’s out of the way, no cameras.

As I turn the corner and face the glass door, my stomach seizes into a tight knot. It’s not Evan. It’s Wyatt. I’m shocked. I feel the blood drain from my face and it’s like no muscles in my body will work. I’m frozen.

He’s standing there with his hand up to his forehead, his face up close to the glass, and he’s peering inside. He sees me and smiles.

I just stand there.

He puts his hands out, palms up, as if saying:
Well, are you gonna let me in?

Walking to the door, I see Wyatt smiling as I get closer.

I can’t believe I’m standing here looking at him after all this time. It’s been almost eight months since I’ve seen him in person, seven since that last time we spoke on FaceTime. He’s let his hair grow out a little—he used to wear it cut close to his scalp—and he’s wearing glasses.

“Can I come in?” he says, through the glass.

“I can’t let anyone in,” I lie.

His expression changes instantly to one of dejection. “It’s me.”

I guess that’s supposed to convince me to let him in, but the fact that it’s him is the very reason I’m not. I unlock the door and barely open it, stepping out onto the front steps.

Wyatt reaches for me. I back up.

“Don’t,” I say. “What are you doing here?”

“I stopped by to talk.”

“No, I mean, what are you doing back in town? When did you get here?”

“This afternoon.”

“For how long?”

He shrugs. “Can we talk?”

“How did you know I was here?” I’m thinking he called the house earlier and either Mom or Sophie told him I was working, thinking that would keep him away but he showed up here anyway.

“I drove by your house and your car wasn’t there, so I checked here.”

I feel my eyes squint. “You drove by my house. When?”

“Just now.”

“Driving by my house after midnight. Really, Wyatt?” I want to go back inside and lock him out. Worse, I want to hit him. I don’t like that urge at all. He’s making me feel things I don’t want to feel and I resent him even more now, when all along I didn’t think that was possible.

“What’s the big deal?” he says.

I want to use the word “stalker” right now, but the last thing I need to do is make this situation worse than it’s already set up to be.

“You should have called me and at least let me know you were in town.”

“I wanted to surprise you.” He moves closer to me. “Can I at least have a hug?”

I shouldn’t do this, but I let him hug me. I return his hug with one that’s cold, insincere, and makes me wish I hadn’t let him do this.

“I’m working,” I say. “This isn’t a good time.”

An Isle Of Palms police car rolls by slowly. The officer looks at us and waves. I wave back but Wyatt doesn’t. He’s still focused on me.

“You can’t be busy this late.” He looks inside, through the glass door. “Or if you’re doing something, I can still come in. We need to talk.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “About what?”

“About everything. About us.”

“There is no us.” I shake my head, not really believing I’m having to do this again. “You know this.”

“Things happened. I was stupid. I said some stupid things. I’m sorry.”

It’s way too late for that, but I don’t say anything. I shouldn’t have to. He knows it. So I change the subject instead. “When did you start wearing glasses?”

He breaks a smile and laughs a little as he pulls them off. “I barely need them. A little more at night, I guess, but it’s not like I can’t see without them. I just like the way they look. What do you think?” He slips them back on.

“They look good.”

“You look incredible,” he says. His eyes move from my face to my chest and down my body. If I had even the slightest notion that things could be resolved between us—and I don’t—it would be obliterated by the way I feel when he looks at me this way. It makes me uncomfortable. I don’t say anything in response to his complimentary comment.

“Got plans for the Fourth?” he asks. “Let’s do something.”

What the hell? He thinks we’re going to hang out? “I’m working the overnight shift again.”

“So let’s talk now,” he says.

“No.”

He ignores my reply. “We always talked about everything, you know? Let’s talk about this. I miss you. I miss us.”

Jesus, he’s putting me in an extremely awkward situation. Worse, he knows it.

“Remember how we used to be?” he says.

“Used to, Wyatt.” I let the words come out softly, not argumentative. I don’t want to argue. I want him to be clear on my wishes and go away. I can’t do this.

“I love you, Audrey. I always have. Don’t you know that?”

“Wyatt…” I can’t finish the sentence because I have nothing to say.

“Don’t you?” he repeats, more of a demand in his tone this time.

I take a step toward the door. He moves one foot in front of me, almost blocking my way, but not completely. Just enough to piss me off.

“You need to leave. Like right now.”

He backs off, physically but not emotionally. “How can you just stop loving someone?”

There it is again. The guilt. He’s damn good at it, but I was expecting some form of it so it doesn’t affect me.

Reaching for the door handle, I open it and step inside. “I have to get back to work.”

He says nothing. Just stands there. I look back at him before closing the door and locking it.

It feels awkward turning my back on him to go back into the office area, but that’s what I do and it sends a shiver down my back. It’s just Wyatt, a guy I was with for a long time, but he’s different now, so it’s like having a near stranger looking at me as I walk away. Late at night. In the dark.

I turn all the lights on and it reduces the creep factor a little.

Jesus, what a night.

. . . . .

I don’t sleep all night. Not because I’m scared or worried, but because my mind won’t slow down. And none of it has anything to do with Wyatt. It’s all about Evan.

It’s been a while since I last pulled an all-nighter. That was back in my senior year of college. Spring semester exams. It was stressful, but it was nothing like the night that’s just ending now.

Jim shows up first, followed by Jeanine just moments later. Jeanine and I work out a plan. I’ll work later tonight, have the next day off, then we’ll get back to normal.

I get my things, ready to leave. “Sorry about messing up the schedule this week.”

“Not a problem,” Jim says as he takes a seat behind his desk and puts his coffee down. It makes me think of Bean Co., and how badly I would love a coffee from there right now. “Things happen. All working out okay?”