Chapter 5: Considerations

John's POV

John laid in bed and listened to his alarm go off. He had a call in an hour, he needed to get up and get moving.

David's daughter. He was so stupid. He should have recognized her. Even with the tattoos, the darker hair, and the fact she was all grown up, he should have recognized her. He couldn't walk back into that bar and face her. He could barely face Rich as they were leaving last night.

And yet.

He drug himself out of bed and headed for the bathroom. He started the shower.

And yet he couldn't get her out of his head. He couldn't stop thinking about those green eyes. Couldn't stop thinking about that split in her full bottom lip.

As the bathroom started to fill with steam, he stepped into the shower. The water streamed down his tanned skin, pooling in the floor of the shower and swirling down the drain. He watched a tendril of steam drift over the shower door.

And yet she had agreed to dinner on Friday night.

He smiled a little to himself. Oh, the boys at the bank would drop their jaws at her.

He imagined strolling into the office with her on his arm. Imagined telling them he was just dropping by to grab something. Imagined strolling back out, holding the door open for her, and turning back to see the looks on their faces. The jealousy he would see. He had truly made it now, a rare jewel plucked from beneath the earth, ready to shine brilliantly. All his.

It was dumb. He shook the thought from his head. He'd just be thrilled to be seen with her on Friday. She wouldn't agree to another date, and he would simply add another name to the endless list of women he promenaded about. It would be a first to be turned down. That could be nice.

It wasn't nice. His gut twisted. He didn't want to be turned down by her. He wanted her to want to be with him. Wanted her to talk to her friends about him. Wanted her to look forward to seeing him.

He wanted to take care of her, wanted to make sure she never wanted for anything again. He had the world at his fingertips, he could make it all hers. He thought about what it would feel like to lay with her in his arms, a lazy Saturday morning. He thought about her in nothing but his shirt, dancing in his kitchen while he made her breakfast. He thought about taking her face in his hands and kissing her, really kissing her...

John ran a hand over his face and started washing his hair. This was going too far. He would go down to the bar at some point this week and ask her why she let him make a fool of himself like that. Test the waters. Maybe she didn't even actually want that dinner.

But he did.

Rhiannon's POV

Rhiannon had been unsure whether or not she should be surprised that John wasn't at the bar on Monday. She had expected him to come give her an earful.

Men loved that self righteous stuff about how leading people on like that was wrong, about the deception, about whatever he wanted to lecture her about. She smirked thinking about it.

She finished putting the last of the dishes away and moved to unpack the next box. She would simply tell him if he stopped objectifying women for one minute and started seeing women as human, he might recognize the ones he already knows.

Maybe he was actually pissed. She didn't care. Maybe that's why he hadn't had the balls to show his face, he was just too mad at being played like that. No, she definitely didn't care. She didn't care if she never saw him again. What difference did it make to her?

If she was truly being honest with herself, she did want to see him again. She wanted to watch the lust burn through him. She hadn't been looked at like that in so long. She had buried herself in books and writing and trying to start a career. It was nice to be noticed by someone.

No, it was nice to be noticed by him.

She started emptying a box of wall decor. She pulled a little toolbox out from under the kitchen sink and started hanging things.

She'd been sixteen when Reid Lake had broken her heart. He had dumped her at the homecoming dance and immediately asked Ashlyn Brooks to dance. She drove herself home and burst in the door crying. Her dad had been livid, ready to beat the boy himself. Those were the few bittersweet years between her mother dying and Martha entering the picture. In those years, John and Rich had been a constant presence, they had been like uncles or big brothers to her. She had gone to bed, assured by her father he would make it all better.

It was one o'clock in the morning when John had burst into her bedroom, two cartons of eggs in hand. "Get up," he had commanded. She had swiped at her eyes and gotten to her feet, following him out to where her dad was waiting in his old red Chevy pickup. John had helped her into the bed of the truck and then climbed in with her. Her dad had driven straight to Reid's house, pulling the truck up into the yard. John had instructed her on how to lob the eggs at the house, instructing her to aim for anywhere there was paint. He lobbed them with her, one after another, hitting the door, the shutters, and eventually anywhere that wasn't already victim to their onslaught. When they ran out of ammo, John slapped his hand against the side of the truck and her dad had driven like a madman back to their house. She had giggled the whole way home, the earlier tears already forgotten.

She hadn't known until years later that John had gone back later and left a gift card to Sherwin Williams in their mailbox. It wasn't Reid's parents' fault that he dumped her.

She smiled at the memory. Somewhere deep inside of him was a thoughtful, considerate man. What would it be like to be with someone like that? She wouldn't find out, at least not with John, he wasn't interested in being in a real relationship with her. Her hammer missed and slammed into the wall.

Her eyes widened. Whoops. She moved the nail she was attempting to hammer into the wall. She tapped it in carefully and hung the little painting of two frogs picnicking under a mushroom umbrella. There. All covered up.