Page 13 of Not That Guy

Brenner

Maybe Weston Lively could fool most people, but I wasn’t one of them.

Whatever he’d read on his phone had triggered him and sent him running.

For the first time, the mask was off—that arrogant, devil-may-care facade I’d always hated had slipped, revealing unexpected emotional turmoil living inside him.

But if he refused to talk about it, I wouldn’t push.

He wasn’t required to divulge his innermost feelings to me.

I copied him and stood in my shirtsleeves.

Other partners had already started, and I watched for a moment to see their techniques.

Some caught the other person almost right away, but most waited until they were off-balance.

“Ready?”

Weston peered over his shoulder. “When you are.” He winked. “Be prepared. I’m heavier than I look. All the weights I lift.” He flexed his biceps, and I rolled my eyes.

“More like the weight of your ego.”

He turned and began to tip toward me. I let him go a little past vertical, then caught him under his arms. Damn . He was right. He was pure solid muscle.

“ Oof .” I grasped him tighter. Heat poured off him, transferring to me. His hair tickled my nose, and the curve of his ass pressed into my hips. He wore a light cologne that shouldn’t have affected my breathing.

But it did.

We stood frozen for a second. Could he feel the rapid thump of my heart? I needed him off me and pushed him away.

“Nice catch,” he murmured, but he didn’t meet my eyes. “My turn.”

“Give me a second.”

“Take all the time you need.”

Other teams had finished, and I didn’t want to be the last one on display, with everyone watching.

“Okay.”

I stood and fell. I expected Weston to catch me almost immediately like I had with him, but he let me lean and lean.

I lost my balance and fell into his arms and chest with a loud grunt as he staggered several steps.

We ended up with his arms holding me, his face buried in my neck.

Again, like before, we remained rooted in place, only this time Weston’s lips on my neck elicited an unwanted reaction from us both.

His semi-hard dick pushed against my ass, and a throb of something unexpected curled low and deep in my belly.

Cold, then heat, rushed through me, and my vision swam.

“Jesus, West.” I sprang away from him. “What the hell was that about?” I snapped.

Looking almost as shaken as I felt, Weston pushed the hair off his brow. A flush stained his face. “I-I don’t know what you mean. I caught you.”

“You waited and almost let me fall on my ass. I should’ve known better than to trust you.”

Confusion clouded his eyes. “Wasn’t that the point? To let you know I’d catch you even if you tipped far past midpoint? If I did it right away, the exercise would prove nothing.”

I stormed away from him, heading for the bathroom. God knew, I needed a minute to get my shit together. I splashed cold water on my overheated face and braced my hands on the sink. The door slammed open.

“What’s wrong with you?” Weston approached me.

“Me? What’s wrong with me?” My stomach churned at how turned-on I’d gotten from West’s arms around me.

It kept happening, and I didn’t like it, didn’t want it, yet I couldn’t seem to stop it.

And since there was no way in hell I’d let him know, I deflected with anger.

“I’m the one who should be asking that question. You waited until the last second.”

“No, I didn’t. I was in complete control. I knew what I was doing.”

“That’s bullshit. Everyone else did it before their partner got too close to falling but you.”

“I was following the directive. It’s a trust exercise. I wanted you to feel like you could fall and be off-balance and I’d be there to catch you. Anything else you’re thinking is your imagination.”

“No, it’s not.” I wanted to say, And neither was that hard-on in your pants , but that would be starting something without knowing how to finish. “And while we’re at it, stop standing so close to me.” I scowled.

“I’m not. It’s all in your mind. Like everything else you think about me.”

“I don’t think about you at all. You mean nothing to me.”

He blinked, and I wondered if I’d gone too far. His lip curled, and he splayed his fingers over his chest. “I’m heartbroken.”

“Another lie. You have to have a heart to have it broken.”

He paled, and his lips tightened. “You know, Fleming? I used to think you were a nice guy. Now I see you’re just a bastard.”

Was that a slap in my face about where I came from? That I was a foster child with no idea who my parents were? Anger choked me, and I struck, wanting…needing to hurt him. Like he’d hurt me.

“I see nothing’s changed since we left law school. You’re still the same pretentious, spoiled brat you always were. Money can buy you an education and nice things, but it can’t buy you decency. Something you clearly lack. Now move.”

I pushed past him, and shaking, I stalked down the hall, but footsteps pounded after me. I quickened my pace, but he caught up with me.

“Brenner, wait.”

“Why?” I stood stiff, my body rigid, cold through and through. “So you can insult me further? Does that make you feel better about yourself?”

“I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean it.”

“Wasn’t that one of your strengths? I don’t lie, and I always say what I mean ?” I mimicked him. “Good for you, Mr. Truth-teller. You know what? It’s one of my strengths as well. So go to hell, Weston. And I mean it.”

I left him standing there and returned to my chair. Thank God these exercises were almost finished. I checked through the handout and saw there was only one more: the memory game.

Weston slid into his seat a few seconds before Sara took to the podium again. Neither of us looked at the other.

“You all did so well with that last exercise. We have one last task, and then the lunch break. For this, you’ll be required to sit with your partner and learn more about each other.”

Great. I sighed and shifted in my chair. Weston didn’t look to happy, either.

“This exercise is called The Memory Game. You and your partner will face each other and share at least two separate memories you feel have shaped you into the person you are today. It can be whatever you choose, but the premise behind it is that the more we discover about each other, the more we learn that we share more similarities than differences.”

“Jesus, could this get any worse?” I heard Weston mutter to himself.

“Don’t worry, I’m not jealous about your European vacations or the sports car you got for your high-school graduation.”

Red-faced, his jaw worked hard, but he remained silent.

“After lunch, we have one final team-builder that will take up a good portion of the afternoon. We will split into four teams, and you’ll have a scavenger hunt.

We’ve found that teamwork really does make the dreamwork, and this will help you forge good working relationships.

You won’t be with the same partner you’ve had for these exercises. ”

“Thank God.” It had only been a couple of hours, but it felt like an eternity.

“Oh, you’ll miss me when I’m gone,” Weston smirked.

Ignoring him, I pushed my chair away from the table.

“Let’s get this done with. Two memories that shaped my life.

” Defiant, I glared at him. “The first was hearing the stories about how when I was eighteen months old, I was taken from my mother in a drug raid and put in foster care.” There was so much more to that, but I’d choke rather than reveal my most intimate secrets.

Weston’s eyes blew wide with shock but, refusing to allow him to speak, I continued.

“The second was when my foster mother died in my first year of law school. It was just my father and me after that. I never knew what a family was until them.”

I couldn’t deny my curiosity and waited for Weston. He shrugged. “I mean, you already said. My European vacation where I got laid for the first time, and my car—a Mercedes coupe.” He winked. “Got all the hottest girls at school.” He rose to his feet. “I’ll be right back.”

Without waiting for me to answer, he left me sitting there, weighing the word salad he’d tossed at me.

“That was a load of crap,” I mused as a phone vibrated on the table.

Not mine—it was Weston’s. The screen lit up with a text message.

Was it wrong of me to read it? Absolutely.

But he’d left it face up and it wasn’t locked.

The text was from his father.

Listen, you ungrateful, worthless prick. I’m tired of putting up with your shit. You’d better show up primary night or we’re done.

“Is that my phone?”

I jerked around to see a furious Weston standing behind me. “Yes, I—”

“You what? Decided to read my personal messages because I said something shitty to you and hurt your feelings? Tit for tat?” Visibly shaking, he grabbed the phone out of my hands. “This is low even for you, Brenner. Fuck off. I’m done.” And he left.

It was lunchtime, and the group from my room joined the others for the lunch buffet the hotel had set up for us.

I waited a few moments to gather my racing thoughts.

Did that perfect life I’d imagined Weston sailing through, untouched by any nasty reality, actually not exist?

Maybe Weston had constructed a fairy tale because the truth was too ugly.

I might not have grown up in a typical family, but I did know that no loving father would ever talk that way to their child.

A quick search on my phone brought up all the pertinent information.