Page 24 of The Ex Project (The Heartwood #3)

“I can’t exactly help that I have a body and a face,” I tease.

“I hate you.” She says it with an amused lilt in her voice, but the words hit me somewhere deep. I turn slightly towards her as we walk, and I study her with her dark crimped ponytail, the crimson lipstick starting to come off. Her face is set in a pensive scowl.

“You hate me?” I ask her. It wouldn’t have been a question in my mind a couple weeks ago. When Wren first arrived in Heartwood, I knew she hated me. Loathed me. But now … I’m hoping her answer might have changed. She thinks for a moment before heaving a sigh.

“Yeah. I hate that you broke my heart, and I hate that I never got over you.” Her voice wobbles now, and her tone shifts like she might be about to cry. Her drunken admission catches me off guard—whatever I thought she was going to say, I wasn’t expecting that.

I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing.

Truthfully, I don’t think we should be having this conversation now.

I’m buzzed, but not so buzzed that I don’t know when to put on the brakes.

Once we start, this is a train that won’t be stopped, and who knows what we might say under the influence. I’m not taking any chances.

“It’s true,” Wren keeps going. If she’s going to continue talking about this, then I have to keep quiet and not take anything she says to heart. “I don’t think I ever stopped loving you.”

Except that.

That I can’t ignore, because it’s the question plaguing me for the last ten years. Do I regret breaking up with Wren? No. I did it for her own good, because she was never going to be able to achieve her full potential attached to me.

Claire told me as much, and I’ll never forget our conversation. Because when Claire told me that I needed to support her dreams and help her do the things she needed to do, I heard her message loud and clear. It was a truth she had uncovered within me that I already knew in my soul.

I wasn’t good enough for Wren. She was leagues ahead of me in everything we did. I played along to try and show her I could keep up, but once we left high school and got out into the real world … it was clear I didn’t have what it took, didn’t have the means to keep chasing her.

I learned to be okay with that. I learned to be content with what I have, secure in who I am. But I never stopped questioning if Wren still thought about me.

“Miller …” It’s all I can manage right now, and my brain has lost the ability to form words. I tell myself that this might not be true, that Wren is drunk, and she could be saying anything. But tears have collected on her lower lashes, so at least some part of this is real.

“I’ve been so angry at you for so long. I blamed you for all the ways I failed.

I was lonely, and I blamed you for not being able to make friends because I was moping.

I’d start dating someone, and then I’d blame you when it ended because I couldn’t open my heart to another person.

Then I decided it was easier to hate you. It hurt less to hate you.”

There it is. Poppy was right. Wren hid behind anger and hating me so she didn’t have to feel, and I’m a complete idiot for not seeing it. I glance back over at Wren as we turn onto her street. Trails of tears mark her cheeks, mascara and that God-awful blue eyeshadow smudged under her eyes.

She’s so beautiful like this, vulnerable and raw. A state I’m fairly sure only I’ve been lucky enough to witness. An ache radiates from behind my sternum and urges me to wrap an arm around her shoulders as we walk .

We make our way past the couple of houses that precede hers, eventually arriving at her front door, and I take a risk I’ve been wanting to since I first saw her. I reach for her hand and twine my fingers through hers.

“I wish things could have been different. I do. I never wanted to hurt you.” My chest cracks as I say it, causing a burning sensation behind my eyes. “I would do anything to take it all back, anything to make this okay.”

“Kiss me,” she whispers, and now my heart shatters because I want to do it so badly, but not like this.

“Miller,” I say again. Where are my goddamned words tonight? “I can’t …”

Her throat bobs as she swallows and gives a small nod.

“I see.”

Fuck.

“I should go then.” She reaches for the door handle and sways, almost falling off the stoop into the garden beside us. I reach out for her and loop an arm around her waist to steady her.

“Let me get you into bed,” I murmur, our lips an inch away from kissing.

If I tilted my head slightly, they would make contact.

Instead, I take the key away from her with my other hand and set her on her feet.

Unlocking the door, I swing it wide so I can pick her up and carry her through.

I lift her under her knees and cradle her shoulders.

She doesn’t protest—her arms wrap around my neck, our faces so close I can feel the soft puff of breath she lets out.

I can smell it, too. It smells like tequila. What the fuck was she drinking tonight?

I carry her inside and shut the door behind us with a click before taking her upstairs.

My heart throbs when I step into her room.

It looks like it hasn’t even been touched since she left.

Everything is the way I remember it. Being back here with Wren brings up all kinds of memories, old feelings.

Like sneaking up the trellis on the side of her house and climbing in through her window so I didn’t have to be without her for one night.

I set her down on the twin bed in the corner. The soft, hand-sewn cotton quilt is so familiar and nostalgic as I peel the covers back. I’m about to tuck her in when she whispers into the dark.

“Can you get this stupid crunchy dress off of me?” Her voice is low, sleepy.

All I want to do is get that dress off of her, but I’m barely holding on to my self-control as it is …

and undressing her? Even monks don’t have that much self-restraint.

There are layers upon layers of tulle under the skirt.

It looks horribly uncomfortable, so I carefully unzip the back and slide it over her shoulder, down and down until, inch by inch, Wren’s black lace bra is on display.

She was almost asleep, but now she’s watching me, the air thick and heady between us. I slide the dress further, exposing the smooth tan skin of her abdomen, and I want to trail my mouth down it, following the dress.

Soon, she’s in nothing but her bra and a matching black lace thong as I slip the magenta polyester over her feet. I quickly cover her with a blanket, because if I stand here looking at her for much longer, I’m going to do something I regret.

As I stand, she mutters something else. One word that has my grip on control slipping .

“Stay.” She opens her eyes at me when she grabs my hand as I’m about to leave, like a responsible person would. “Please.”

My head tilts to one side, trying to gauge whether I’ll be able to do nothing but sleep with our bodies pressed up against each other in the tiny twin-sized bed.

My skin touching hers in that fucking sexy lingerie.

I won’t get undressed. I’ll keep my clothes on.

Wren can obviously tell I’m wavering, so she pleads with me again.

“I don’t want to sleep here alone tonight. Please stay.”

“Come on, Miller, you don’t have to beg,” I say, a teasing tone in my voice.

I climb in beside her, and she shifts over to make room for me.

Once I’m next to her and comfortable, she shifts again, coming closer to me.

She folds herself into the front of me, nuzzling her head into my chest, and all I can do is wrap my arms around her.

I breathe in the sweet smell of her hair, revelling in the feeling of her soft, silky strands against my cheek.

“Why don’t you want to kiss me?” Wren asks, her drunkenness making her bold and emotional.

God, I do . I’ve wanted to kiss Wren Miller for the last ten years.

My heart aches in my chest at the thought of leaving the question unanswered between us.

Now that I know how Wren feels about me, I don’t want to risk leaving anything unsaid.

I take her face in my hand and tilt her head back so we’re face to face in the dark.

The whites of her eyes glimmer in the moonlight streaming in through the window.

“We’re inebriated.” She moves her head to turn away like she did the other day when she was sitting on the counter in her kitchen.

This time I hold her firm. “I’ve waited ten years to be with you again, Miller.

When I kiss you, I want all your senses sharp.

I’m going to make damn sure you feel every single thing .

Every ounce of love I’ve been saving for you. ”

My answer must satisfy her because she nuzzles her face into my chest again, and I let her this time. A few minutes later, she’s asleep, snoring softly next to me. I stay awake for a while longer, breathing her in, not wanting to miss a single second of this.