The Talisman by Walter Scott (best novels of all time txt) 📕

a fancy hand towel and head for the massive shower. It takes me a few seconds to figure out how to turn it on. What the hell happened to a dial you turn? This thing has buttons and jets and more technology than a microwave.

When I finally have it on and the water temp set as hot as I can stand, I shove my boxers down to my ankles and step inside. The steam instantly starts to soothe my aching body and clear my head. I let the near-scalding water beat against my skin from all four angles, thanks to the fancy jets, propping my forearms against the cold tile and inhaling a few deep breaths. My mind automatically goes to Kyla and those swollen pink lips.

And just like that, my cock’s getting hard.

I ignore it, though. Technically, she’s not mine to be getting all excited about.

Instead, I reach for my brother’s too-expensive shampoo and body wash and finish up my shower. By the time I shut off the water and reach for the towel, I’m feeling dramatically better than before. My headache is nearly gone, and my stomach has settled enough to remind me it’s time to eat something.

After wrapping the towel around my waist, I head for the mirror and use the same fancy hand towel to wipe away the steam. I give myself a good once-over. Stubble a few days old, bags under my eyes, and the wariness of the unknown reflected under them. I ignore it all though and reach for my toothbrush.

When my teeth are clean and my hair finger combed, I head back to the bedroom to get dressed. Since I’m heading to the shelter today, I opt for a pair of blue jeans and another flannel shirt. Both items I’m assuming I won’t find in my brother’s massive closet anywhere. I throw on my worn boots and grab my wallet and keys before heading off to the kitchen in search of food.

Unfortunately, I come up practically empty. Not even coffee grounds for the fancy single-cup machine sitting on the counter.

“Well, since I’m pretending to be you, Matthew, it looks like you’re buying me breakfast. Hope there’s someplace close I can charge your card for breakfast,” I mumble, making my way to the front door.

Gratefully, the elevator ride is solo, but my reprieve is short lived. I follow behind as a small group of three men in suits heads through the front door and makes a right on the sidewalk. I follow behind, but not too close, knowing there has to be a place to get breakfast nearby. I’m in luck. There is a fancy little restaurant two doors down with a lighted open sign in the window. The three men head inside in front of me, but I make sure to hang back just enough to not be confused as a member of their group.

The moment I step into the restaurant, I find two dozen men sitting around, eating various breakfast options, drinking Bloody Marys, and talking to whoever is at the table beside them.

I hold back my groan, but barely. I could easily slip out of here, find a nearby overpriced coffee shop, and grab some breakfast, but instead, I make my way to the back corner of the restaurant and keep my eyes down. Settling on a table for two, a cup of coffee is delivered almost immediately by a young, energetic brunette. “Good morning, Mr. Wilder,” she coos, sliding a small menu in front of me, proving that my brother has been here a time or two. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

After a quick scan of the menu, I settle on a hearty breakfast of eggs and biscuits with gravy, something I’m sure my brother wouldn’t approve of. But in my line of work, I’d burn those calories off by noon.

My mind goes back to my ranch, to the cattle in the field and the outbuildings falling down. In my head, I’ve already spent most of the money my brother is paying me to cover the back mortgage and taxes owed and will use the rest around the property. Once the beef market goes back up, I’ll be able to recoup my recent losses and hopefully make the ranch profitable again.

I have to.

It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do with my life.

“Did you make a decision?” the server asks, offering me a flirty grin.

“Biscuits and gravy skillet, eggs over easy, gravy on the hash browns, and wheat toast.”

She seems startled by my order and doesn’t immediately write it down. Matthew probably orders eggs benedict or yogurt and granola. “Coming right up, sir.”

I don’t even notice when she scurries off to place my order because I’m already focusing on my cell phone. I mean to shoot my former farmhand, Anthony, a quick text to check on things, but don’t get very far. Instead, I find a message sent an hour ago from an unknown number and quickly discover it’s from Kyla.

Kyla: Sorry to hear about your phone troubles. Looking forward to seeing you at ten.

Me:Me too. See you then.

And I realize I am. Sure, I’m anxious to see the Belgian she mentioned, but it’s more than that. I’m excited to see Kyla again, to get to know her a little better. I’ve never been so damn eager to see someone before, which should probably be a little alarming, but it’s not. Well, not as bad as I thought it’d be.

Guilt sweeps in almost immediately. I hate lying to her. I hate the deception of leading her to believe I’m someone else, especially for money. I hate that my brother is so callous when it comes to her, treating her like some nameless, meaningless business transaction he can walk all over at his whim.

Most of all, I hate the sound of my brother’s name on her sweet lips.

The server returns with my food. It’s a massive plate full of comfort food. “Thank you,” I mumble before she slips