As the desert breeze smacked me square in the face, I came to a conclusion . . .
Aston Prescott was never meant to be mine. He was a dream I should have let die a long time ago, right along with my right to forever happiness.
He was married and had a family with another woman. In fact, he was probably sitting with them at some fancy-ass brunch at this very moment, at his fancy-pants country club with his snotty friends and his pain-in-the-ass controlling father.
In a world where I didn’t belong.
Bexley
Back then
Three days after my eighteenth birthday, I met the guy.
You know . . . the one.
Not to disappoint, but it was your typical girl meets boy, insta-lust, I’m going to wither away and die if I don’t date him type of thing. The kind of meet-cute story straight out of the movies. The second I saw him, all the mushy feelings swept over me like a sandstorm in the desert.
That particular day was no different from any other, the sun burning hot as hell in Nevada, where I lived and was spending my last few months before college. In a last-ditch effort, I was trying to make some major moolah before school loans knocked me on my ass. Lord knew I needed it.
This was meant to be my last hurrah in this desert oasis before I got the hell out of Dodge, and then I met him.
The very moment he laid eyes on me, I knew one thing for certain—he was the gold standard I’d compare every man to moving forward.
That summer, I’d gotten a job working as a sandwich girl at a fancy golf club in our small town outside Reno. My good friend, Milly, and I had been put in charge of making close to 250 sandwiches on any given day for the pickiest, most obnoxious bitches in Reno.
Look, I know, you shouldn’t call women bitches. But damn if they weren’t to us poor, less fortunate girls.
“One Cunty Tuna and two Bitchy Bacon, Lettuce, and Tomato, hold the mayo, Bexley . . . on whole wheat, of course,” Milly called to me from the counter.
I was in the cold locker grabbing some more turkey bacon, the kind we referred to as Bitchy Bacon, and without even looking up, I knew she was rolling her eyes. The women who ate this ridiculous bacon substitute were even bitchier due to caloric deprivation.
“God, don’t these women ever have fun? I’m going to dab a little mayo on her damn dry tuna and see if she notices,” I muttered to myself, slapping the bacon on my prep counter.
It was stifling in the small kitchen, and I swept a few stray damp hairs off my face with my forearm and set about making the sandwiches. Milly was busy taking an order. She was way better than me at the face-to-face thing, which was why she was stationed at the counter.
“Bex, double that order, but make the last Bitchy open-faced on rye.”
I rolled my eyes and yelled, “Okay.”
My lackluster dark blond hair was braided to the side, and I could feel it curling in the desert heat. It would be one hell of a mess to comb out later. Sweat dripped down my back and into my thong under my ridiculous polyester uniform.
After Marcus, the waiter, ran our latest sandwich rush out to the tables shaded by a sea of red-and-white-striped umbrellas, I called out to Milly, “I need a breather.” Blowing out a breath, I untied my apron and looked to see if she heard me.
Of course, Milly was hanging out of the window flirting with Mike Richards, so I didn’t wait for her to answer.
By the way, Mike was a major asshole, and I hated him for her.
“Yeah, go,” she finally hollered back as I elbowed the back door open.
I stepped out and took a long swig of my iced green tea before holding my face up to the sun. I let the vitamin D rain down on me and took slow breaths, thinking of how much money I was saving between tips and the cushy salary I was being paid. I was pretty sure the club didn’t want us going around and spilling their dirty little secrets, so they overcompensated in our paychecks.
What happened at Sun Rock Golf Club, stayed at Sun Rock Golf Club.
I was occupied with running the chilled bottle down my neck, allowing the condensation to drip down my clavicle into my cleavage, when a deep voice interrupted my moment of solitude.
“You cool?”
I opened my eyes and moved my face out of the sun. “Um, yeah, I’m cool. Can I help you? Milly’s around front taking orders,” I said, squinting in the bright sunlight.
When I finally took in the person behind the voice, my legs went weak—literally. Conflicted and embarrassed by the jolt I felt from looking at this dude, I swallowed my impure thoughts.
Yes, he was a pompous ass, but his eyes were perfectly blue (like the sky, of course), his skin golden from spending time in the sun, and his face was complemented by a mane of light blond waves.
“Nah, I’m not hungry. I saw you sneaking around back, and I came to introduce myself. Aston . . . Aston Prescott.” He said it with authority like he was a senator or something, his voice deep and confident as he arrogantly extended his hand toward me.
“Oh,” was all I could croak out. Immediately, I cursed myself like in the movie Dirty Dancing, when she carried a watermelon.
“And you are?” Aston asked, staring me down with his heavenly blues.
For the briefest of moments, I felt naked, laid bare in a way I’d never experienced before. I’d never understood what the expression meant, but I did now as I came undone under his gaze.
Feeling my heart in my throat, I swallowed it back down. “Bexley,” I said, practically whispering.
“Nice to meet you, Bexley . . . ?” His voice rose at the end as he stuck out his hand again.
I wasn’t
