Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
“Hey,” Truett replied without making the first attempt to hide his gaze as it perused my body.
Normally, I would have called him out on such a blatant appraisal had I not been doing the exact same thing.
Holy hell, the man was downright edible. Dark jeans hung low on his hips, and a gray Henley hugged his muscular shoulders. His thick biceps waged war against the fabric while his abs tapered down to a trim waist. He’d trimmed his beard. Not a shave by any means, but it was now short enough to reveal the sharp angles of his jawline.
Truett had already been gorgeous, so this was like gorgeous squared and I did not have the mental capacity to compute that. For a mere mortal like myself, it was overwhelming and a bit unfair. Wearing braided pigtails and cut-off denim shorts, I looked like I should be starting my farm chores, while he was obviously on his way to audition for the next superhero film.
Something was off though. This wasn’t just something he threw on for a casual Wednesday at his favorite diner. Nobody could pull off jeans and a T-shirt like he did, and from what I could tell, that hadn’t changed over time. This was different though. His jeans were dressy, lacking signs of everyday wear and tear, and his shirt was far from upscale elegance, but his chiseled body made it red-carpet ready. It was the same with the boots—classic yet intentionally rugged.
Oh, yes. Truett had dressed up for someone.
The pang of jealousy that hit me was absurd. What did it matter to me if he was meeting up with someone? Truett’s personal life was none of my business or concern. He hadn’t been mine in nearly half my life. I’m pretty sure the dibs I’d called on him in eleventh grade had expired by now.
And yet, even as I told myself all of that, I still blurted, “You look nice. You got a date later?”
His lips twitched as he stepped deeper into the room, his boots thudding softly against the unfinished floor. “Not that I’m aware of. I don’t meet a lot of women in my living room.”
Damn, that was sad, and it shouldn’t have felt like a relief. “Shit. Sorry.”
Ignoring my apology, he picked up a stray tile spacer from the floor and turned it in his fingers. “What about you? Some lucky country boy taking you to the hoedown?”
“Yep, Billy Bob’s picking me up on his tractor and everything.”
He smirked. “So tractors are what’s doing it for you these days?”
“Psh. Actually, nothing’s doing it for me these days. I’m kind of on an expedition of self-discovery right now. Men suck. Present company included.”
“Fair assessment.” Still turning the spacer between his dexterous fingers, he wedged his other hand into his back pocket. “What does this ‘expedition of self-discovery’ include? Are we talking incense and crystals or LSD?”
A laugh bubbled from my throat. “Neither. This is more the kind where you get a divorce, pierce your nose, dye your hair, and spend your life’s savings on a run-down restaurant. Though, now that you mention it, it’s not often a person can say LSD would have been the smarter choice.”
His smile.
Dear God, the smile that stretched across his mouth was yet another exponent to the sexiness equation I couldn’t compute.
And worse, why did I suddenly want to?
“You cut your hair too,” he stated, a slight tilt of his head giving his words a playful edge. “I like it.”
I hit him with a side-eye. “You liar. You used to beg me not to cut my hair.”
He pressed his palm against his chest, feigning innocence. “What? I never.”
“Oh, really.” I propped my hand on my hip. “You once bribed my hairdresser to cancel my appointment and then replaced all the scissors in the house with safety scissors.”
“First of all, the safety scissors happened to be on sale. And hello, Coupon Queen, I thought you liked it when I was thrifty.”
I rolled my eyes, fighting to suppress my smile.
“Secondly,” he continued. “It wasn’t a bribe.”
“So you just happened to send her husband a gift card for a couple’s massage that had to be used on the specific day of my appointment or it expired?”
“What was I supposed to do? I missed Kyle’s birthday.”
“You never met Kyle!”
He erupted into deep, rich laughter and I couldn’t help but join him. It was nice to remember the good times. It hadn’t all been doom and gloom with us. Once upon a time, our lives had been full of laughter and sarcasm. We’d poked at each other relentlessly, until one of us got annoyed. Then we made love, slow and tender, ensuring nothing was ever taken to heart.
We’d had a good life.
A beautiful life.
It was easy to forget how incredible we’d been together when our relationship had met such a tragic demise. Hate was easier. Or at least I missed him less when the memories were tainted with anger and resentment.