Wild about Weston (The English Brothers Book 5) by Katy Regnery Page B

split the job of stage manager. I’ve spent a lot of time with her in the dark,” said Daisy, chuckling, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “She’s better than great. She’s terrific, Wes.”
    Weston quickly processed the thought that he wouldn’t mind spending a lot of time in the dark with her too, then shifted uncomfortably in his chair as his body heated up at the thought. When he finally looked back up at Daisy, she was staring at him meaningfully and he easily read the message in her eyes: Molly deserves better than the jerk who just dumped her . He nodded at her. He couldn’t agree more.
    “Well, dating Molly, whoever she is, has got to be better than dating an Atwell sister,” said Stratton bluntly, while Barrett and Alex muttered “Amen, brother” in unison.
    “Sorry things didn’t work out with Connie,” said Fitz, realizing that someone should offer condolences.
    Weston shrugged, picking up his fork as the servers finished delivering the salad course. “It wasn’t meant to be.”
    “Thank God,” murmured Alex, sighing with relief.
    “You have to admit, Christmases would have been awkward,” noted Barrett, as they all eschewed conversation for dinner.
    They weren’t meant to be, him and Connie, and it startled him how much the realization didn’t sting—how right it felt in his heart to be finished with her.
    Knowing his possessive nature, Connie had still made it her goal in life—every time they went out together—to arouse his jealousy. If they were at a dance club, she’d say yes, then rub up against the random man who asked her to dance. If she accompanied Weston to a horse show, she’d disappear for thirty minutes only to reappear plucking a piece of straw from her hair with a cat-that-got-the-cream smirk. When her phone buzzed with a text, she’d giggle coyly, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth as she quickly typed a response, then sighing as she waited for an answer. She was always playing these little games with him—making him think one thing, then making him apologize when it turned out to be untrue. Connie liked his jealousy. She goaded it. She encouraged it. Hell, half the time she probably engineered it. Why? Why did she want him to be jealous? Did she like the arguments? Did she like fighting with him?
    And then it occurred to him…this morning, he’d referenced their fights, saying that they’d let “stupid shit” come between them, but Connie hadn’t addressed those concerns. All Connie had asked about, several times, were his feelings for her: what did he feel for her and did he love her. Was that it, then? Was she just goading him into jealousy to try and figure out his feelings for her?
    In his heart, Weston suddenly knew—with absolute certainty—that it was true. He’d never loved Connie, but she had loved him, and making him jealous was her way of trying to nail down his feelings. But, the truth was that Weston had never crossed over from jealousy to love. He’d see her or imagine her with someone else, and it would make him angry. They’d throw insults at each other and have a big fight. One of them would leave. A few weeks or months later, they’d run into each other and fall into bed again.
    But love? No. Love had never been a part of the equation at all because Weston’s jealousy wasn’t about loving Connie. It was about proving something that had nothing to do with her. It was Weston, the youngest English brother, trying to prove he was just as good as any other man. It was Weston longing to be first when he’d always be fifth.
    With startling clarity he realized that until he made a clean break from his brothers and his family in some real way, he’d always be jealous and longing. Jealous of something he longed for, but by virtue of birth order could never, ever have. If he wanted a fallow field, he was going to need to find it himself. He was going to have to make it happen on his own.
    Turning in his seat, he looked across the room,