“I would’ve, if I had your number.” He gives me a confused look. “I asked Jase for it, but he told me if you wanted me to have it, you would’ve given it to me, so I figured I would just come over and say what I needed to say in person.”
This doesn’t make any sense. “I texted you my number Saturday night when I was on my way to the club…and Sunday.” Grabbing my cell off the coffee table, I pull our message thread up and show him. “You never responded to my text Saturday night, and you made it clear on Sunday you didn’t want to talk.”
“Quinn,” Lachlan says slowly, taking the phone from my hand. “I didn’t text you that. I never got a single message from you.” He clicks around on my phone, then I hear it ringing. A few seconds later, someone answers.
“Hello.” We both look at each other, confused.
“Who’s this?” Lachlan asks.
The person on the other line giggles, clearly a child, and then there’s shuffling. “Hello?” an older voice comes on the line. “Who’s this?”
“My name is Lachlan. Who answered your phone?”
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” the woman asks.
“No, I think I called the wrong number,” he says before he hangs up. I look over his shoulder as he pulls up his name on my contact list and curses under his breath. “I gave you the wrong number.” He backspaces the last digit which was a nine and inputs a six. He hits call, and less than a second later, his phone is ringing in his pocket.
“I thought you changed your mind about us,” he says, handing me back my phone.
“I thought the same thing,” I admit. “When you…well, the fake you…responded like that, I thought maybe you didn’t want me anymore. I thought about asking you why, but…” I take a deep breath, preparing myself to give him more truth. “I used to beg Rick to be with me. To stop putting me down and to love me.” Tears fill my eyes before I can stop them. “I thought maybe after everything…and with Shea being back…” I release a harsh sigh.
“Fuck, Q.” Lachlan pulls me into his arms, and for the first time in a week, I finally relax. “I didn’t know.” Stepping back, he picks me up and carries me over to the couch, setting me down into his lap. “Shea is staying at a hotel. I haven’t spoken to, or seen, her since the club. What did I tell you Saturday night?”
“I know what you said,” I say, willing the tears to stop, “but I figured maybe once you stepped back, you realized you didn’t want me after all. People can change their minds. I mean, she’s really freaking pretty and skinny and all girly, and I’m, well, I’m…” I wince as I say the words, not able to even finish my sentence. Even though I’ve been thinking them, saying them out loud makes me sound so ridiculously jealous and insecure.
“Finish your sentence,” Lachlan demands.
“You know what I’m saying.”
“I want to hear the words,” he pushes. “Say them. Finish the damn sentence.”
“Fine! I’m fat. Shea is skinny, and I’m fat! Why would you want me, when you could have her?”
Lachlan takes a calming breath, and then says, while looking me in the eyes, “This has to stop. I hate what that fucker did to you, and I’m sure it was worse than what you’ve said. But I’m not him, and you aren’t overweight or ugly. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with an overweight woman, but you are so far from fat, it’s ridiculous.”
He cups my cheeks with his hands. “You. Are. Gorgeous. No more comparing yourself to my ex. She doesn’t exist in what we have going on here. Got it?”
Before I can verbally answer him, Lachlan presses his lips to mine, and I sigh into his mouth, completely content at being in his arms and kissing him.
When the kiss ends, Lachlan glances over at the laptop and leans over to grab it. “Did you take these pictures?” On the screen are photos of a newlywed couple standing in the garden where they were married. She’s dressed in an elegant, white gown, and he’s in a tux. The image is of them laughing together.
“I took it without them realizing,” I tell him. “She had just tripped in the grass over her high heel and he caught her.”
“It’s a really good picture,” Lachlan says, clicking from image to image. “It’s like you can feel every emotion through their expressions.” He stops at one where the husband is looking at his wife, but she’s looking down at her dress, fixing it.
“It’s easy when two people are in love.”
“Still, it takes someone who knows what they’re doing to capture it.”
“It’s like you and tattoos,” I point out. “You take an idea, sometimes a crappy drawing, and turn it into a masterpiece.”