Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“Just needed a change of scenery,” he says.
“Where did you move here from?”
“Indiana.”
I wait for him to expand on his answer and elaborate a bit. But he remains unflinching.
Okay . . . He’s not giving me much to work with, but he’s not clamming up. Maybe if I push a tiny bit, he’ll give me a nugget of information about himself.
“I had dinner tonight with Cricket, Della, and Scottie,” I say. “They said you were a good neighbor.”
“They all seem nice.”
“Do you know any of them well?”
He shakes his head.
“Why not?” I ask.
“Because I don’t care enough to know them well.”
His answer is straightforward, but it doesn’t satisfy my curiosity. Why?
“If you’d like to get to know them, maybe we could have a neighborhood potluck or something and—”
“You’re missing the point.”
“Which is . . .”
He side-eyes me and sighs. “Look, I appreciate your misplaced sense of . . . whatever this is, but I’m not a people person. I don’t need to get to know everyone on the street. I don’t want to, as a matter of fact.”
I blow out a breath and sink deeper into the cushions. “Aren’t you lonely? Don’t you miss having connections with people?”
“No.” He rolls his head around his neck. “I take it you do.”
“Yes, I do. Don’t you fear growing old alone?”
“I’d rather grow old alone than with the wrong person, Gabrielle.”
My instinct is to argue with him. But that actually makes sense.
Christopher thought the exact same way, so much so that he divorced me. “I love you too much to let you grow old with the wrong person, Gabs.”
Leave it to me to be attracted to two men who think I’m the wrong person.
“I don’t know that I even want to grow old with someone, per se,” I say. “I want companionship more than anything. Don’t get me wrong. I love love. It’s beautiful and wonderful when it’s right. But I’m not even after that at this point.”
Jay leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His eyes are clear as he listens. His attentiveness encourages me to continue.
“I just want to feel like a woman again,” I say. “Love isn’t necessary. I just want a reason to get dolled up on Friday nights. I want someone to laugh with, cuddle up to—someone to have fun sex with.”
You’re not talking to the girls, Gabby. Shut up.
His brows shoot to the ceiling. He quickly catches himself and smoothens his features.
I scramble, trying desperately to figure out how to sweep this under the rug. Do I say I was kidding?
Jay bites his lip and watches me.
Oh, what’s it matter? He’s just Jay, after all—the guy who won’t look twice at Della. He’s obviously not interested in me.
“So do you have any friends looking for a hookup?” I ask, smiling sweetly. I might as well lean all the way in at this point.
“No.”
The word is rough and raw, uttered with an unshakable confidence. It toys with my hormones. It ruffles my feathers. The single syllable, mixed with the severity in his tone, nearly has me panting.
Why do I always go for the unavailable ones?
He gets to his feet and takes the towel off his shoulders. He wipes his face again before tossing it on the arm of the chair.
I stand, too, and try not to stare at him. He’s a beautiful, handsome puzzle I can’t quite snap together.
“Thanks for letting me borrow your flannel,” I say. “And thanks for helping Carter tonight with his ball.”
“It’s no problem.”
I smile at him and then head for the door.
“I’ll tell the boys not to bother you,” I say. “And like I said, we are self-sufficient . . . despite the events of the last two days. Don’t worry about us being needy and wanting to connect or anything.”
It’s a joke—mostly. At least, I mean it as one. But when he reaches in front of me to open the door and I look up into his eyes, I’m not sure he took it that way.
He peers down at me with his hand on the knob. A storm wages in those hazel orbs. The intensity of the golds and browns holds my attention, not letting me look away.
Each breath has his chest brushing against my arm. I’m frozen in place, held hostage by nothing but his silent demand not to move.
It’s a request I’m too happy to oblige.
“Gabrielle . . .”
“Yes?”
The storm picks up. So does his breathing. My heartbeat races in anticipation of what he’s going to say.
Or do.
He licks his lips. His tongue leaves a trail of wetness behind, making him that much more kissable. His gaze drops to my mouth.
My mind races, sorting through a million thoughts powering through my brain at warp speed. Is he going to kiss me?
He lowers his face toward mine. I lift my chin to meet him, my breath trembling. This doesn’t make a whole lot of sense since he’s not into connecting with people—and kissing me would definitely be a connection. But who am I to turn down a kiss from a sexy man?