Then it hit her.
He had hoped she would find out. It had been his plan all along. She was his in-between.
“Oh, my God, Dante. You are such a fuckin’ dick. Seriously? Where the fuck are your balls?” JJ seethed. “Are they in her goddamn purse? You couldn’t just text me to say you’ve changed your mind? That this assistant was the love of your life?”
“JJ—”
“No, fuck you. I’m done, Dante. Go fuck your assistant. I don’t care. I’ve never cared. You’re the one who wants this to be somethin’ it’s not.”
“I never meant to hurt you.”
“And that’s a load of bullshit. We both know it. That’s exactly what you meant to do. You want me to hurt, Dante.”
“Fine,” he hissed. “You’re right. I do. I want you to act like you give a damn, JJ. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“And what better way to do it than to flaunt all your women in my face. You’re tryin’ to make me jealous.”
“Did it work?”
JJ stopped pacing, stared up at the blinds on her window. “No, Dante. It doesn’t make me jealous.”
And that much was true. It pissed her off that he could disrespect her that way, but beneath it all, JJ simply didn’t care about Dante the way he wanted her to. She wished she could love him because he was familiar to her, he was a security from her past, but she didn’t love him.
“I didn’t think so.”
“We’re done, Dante,” she said, her voice level once more. “Don’t call me for a date, don’t hit me up for a hookup. Don’t ask me to help with a job. It’s over between us.”
“What about friends?”
“No.” JJ shook her head although he couldn’t see her. “No, I don’t think we can be friends, either. My friends wouldn’t disrespect me like this.”
“JJ, I’m sorry.”
“Save it,” she said easily, then disconnected the call.
JJ figured she should’ve still been upset about it all. Oddly enough, it actually felt as though a weight had been lifted. She didn’t love Dante, doubted she ever had. Granted, her safety net was now gone, but was that really a problem?
Perhaps she could find the answer in a pint of Ben and Jerry’s.
***
Reese was up hours early for work on Tuesday.
Rather than go straight over to Brantley’s and risk running into the man, he sat on his couch in the dark, staring at nothing. He didn’t get up to get coffee, to take a leak, to shower. He simply sat there, his head pounding because he couldn’t fucking sleep, he couldn’t fucking eat. His heart actually ached—which he knew wasn’t even possible—and it was all his own damn fault.
He was an idiot.
On a positive note, this was the first time in his thirty years that he’d felt true heartbreak.
And the first time ever he’d felt anything for a man.
Why? Why was that such a problem for him? Reese didn’t understand it. So Brantley was a man. He was also a human. A very smart, sexy, funny human. Never had he been so comfortable around someone, so interested in them, and never had anyone made Reese feel the way Brantley could. And he wasn’t only referring to the sexual chemistry although they had that in spades.
It was in the way Brantley looked at him, the way he smiled. The gruff tone of his voice that reminded him of melted chocolate, smooth and warm. His touch, desperate but gentle, so sure of himself, yet hesitant at the same time. His laugh, rare, but so open when he let himself.
What he enjoyed most, missed the most? Sleeping beside Brantley.
Reese ran a hand over his face.
Fucking idiot.
Was he seriously willing to give it up because of what other people might possibly think? So what if they knew him, knew he’d dated dozens of women, slept with just as many? Did it fucking matter that they might question why he’d switched teams at this point in his life?
Did it really. Fucking. Matter?
Reese groaned, pushing to his feet and heading for the shower.
Half an hour later, after grabbing scones from the bakery and a cup of coffee, he was strolling into the barn. It was still too damn early for anyone to be there, and Reese was glad for it.
After setting the box of pastries on JJ’s desk, he started back to his own but paused when he noticed a piece of paper stapled to one of the walls. He recognized Brantley’s neat handwriting, the measurements noted beside the rather impressive sketch of a set of stairs.
Glancing up, Reese checked out the loft, looked back at the paper.
Brantley was going to install stairs to the second floor. He hadn’t mentioned it, but it made sense. A lot of space being wasted.
Hmm.
He snagged the paper from the wall, headed for his desk, set his coffee cup down.
Roughly twenty minutes later, he’d added the true dimensions necessary to install the stairs, taking into account the required width, depth, and height of the risers according to building code. He took out another sheet of paper, jotted down the building materials needed to make it happen.
