Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
“It was really good to see you,” I say slowly, resisting the urge to reach out and brush back that loose lock of hair that’s starting to curl around her forehead. “You look…good. Really good.”
“Even wet?” she asks and then closes her eyes, realizing she’s said something awkward yet again. “You know what I mean.”
I laugh, mind—again—going to her being a different kind of wet. “I do, and yeah, even after you’ve been caught in the rain.”
She blushes and unbuckles her seatbelt. “You look good too, though you always have. It’s not fair.” Her lips pull into a smile. “I’m glad I got caught in the rain when I did.”
“Me too.” The car is in park yet we’re still sitting here, hearts racing. “Do you want to go out and catch up?”
“I’m having dinner with my dad and Wendy tonight or, um…yeah.” She leans toward me, just a bit, and the curl falls into her eyes. I can’t help it this time. I reach out and tuck it behind her ear. I sweep my fingers down along her jaw, and Chloe shivers again. Part of me wants to kiss her right here and now, just to see what would happen.
If it would feel as good as I’ve imagined.
Her phone dings with another text, startling her. She tenses, and I jerk my hand back. “How…how long are you in town?” she asks.
“Until Tuesday,” I say, though I’d only planned on the weekend. If she’s here, I want to be here, trying to make up for all the lost time. “Come over sometime if you can take some time away from your book.”
Her lips curve into a smile again, and the rain starts to come down harder. My heart is hammering in my chest, and I’m feeling entirely too vulnerable right now. She gets another text message, and when I shift my eyes down to the phone in her hand, I see someone named Charles is texting her. It has to be her ex. Are they back together? Maybe they—fuck—I need to give it up.
“Rory would really love if you came over. She’ll be here for a few more days and she has her baby with her, of course. You were always like a sister to her…to all of us.”
“Oh.” The smile disappears from Chloe’s face. “Yeah…a sister.” She lets out a sigh. “Thanks again, Sam. Tell everyone I said hi.”
Without another word, she gets out and walks away.
Chapter Nine
Chloe
Like a sister.
I close the door to Sam’s BMW with a little more force than necessary, fingers slipping from the handle due to the rain. Focusing my attention on the front door of the house, I walk up the driveway, each step squishing beneath my feet.
I’m so stupid. Naive. I guess I’ll never change.
Sam is still in the driveway when I get onto the porch, and I make it a point not to turn around and look at him. Really, I shouldn’t be mad. Not at him. He did nothing wrong, and offering to take me home so I don’t have to walk in the rain was nice of him, and I’m quite thankful because thunder is rumbling overhead again. The storm is getting its second wind—literally. It would have taken me a while to walk back from the picnic shelter. I’m already cold, and there’s no promise a tree wouldn’t have fallen on me. If the impact alone didn’t kill me, I could very easily become hypothermic and die a slow, painful death.
Okay, probably not since it’s still seventy-five degrees out, but the dirt is cold, and I’d at least be chewed to near death from bugs. Sighing, I swing my backpack over my shoulder and get the house key, though I don’t need it. Dad left the house unlocked, like so many others do in this small town. Yeah, Silver Ridge has a low crime rate, but walking into an empty house that’s been left unlocked freaks me out a bit.
Balloon comes running, barking his little head off. At least I’d know if a stranger was hiding inside the house…unless they’ve secretly worked on slowly building trust and this little yorkie-mix sees them as a friend. Dammit, I overthink things way too much, but that’s what makes me a good writer, I hope at least.
“Hey, buddy,” I tell Balloon, peeling my wet clothes off in the foyer. I ball them up and bring them into the laundry room. I turn my boots upside down on a towel and make a mental note to put them out in the sun when the storm finally passes so they can dry.
I go right upstairs and get into the shower, grumbling to myself the whole time about how pathetic and stupid I am. It’s easier to focus on being angry, to mentally kick myself over and over than it is to admit just how much it hurt—how much it still fucking hurt—to hear Sam refer to me as a sister again.