Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
He stands there, with his ratty, worn-out ball cap that is somehow ridiculously sexy, dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt, which fits him just right, highlighting his well-toned pecs and contrasting with his tanned skin. This man likes to mow the lawn shirtless. I know because I’ve ogled him from my window one too many times to count. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled, stopping above his bulging bicep. He leans against the doorjamb, with his ankles crossed, and the perfect crooked smile on his face.
I swallow hard and push down every naughty thought I have about me ripping his clothes off and screwing him on every surface of my apartment. Hell, I’m not even sure my kitchen table is sturdy enough for what my mind would like to do to Wade.
In his hand, a single red rose. My fingers itch to take it from him, to bring it to my nose and inhale the sweet scent, but I’m frozen.
“Can I come in?”
I shake my head. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
“I’ll be good. I promise.”
He can promise all he wants because I’m not sure he’s the problem. I am. He stands, extends his hand with the rose, and I’m afraid he’s about to leave so I step back and let him in. Once he’s passed the threshold, I close the door and lock it, which is unheard of in Magnolia Grove. However, I wouldn’t put it past the town gossips to see his truck in the parking lot and come on up to my apartment to see what’s what.
With Wade standing in my living room, my two-bedroom apartment feels much smaller than it is. He’s larger than life, always has been, but has never overshadowed me. It’s funny how I can remember these amazing details about Wade, and yet have trouble getting over the break I asked for.
“Can I get you something to drink? I have wine, sweet tea, lemonade, or water.”
“What are you having?”
“Wine.”
“That works for me.” He smiles. I smile back and make my way into the kitchen.
Wade follows and puts my rose in the same vase I put the one from the morning and sets my keys down on my table. The smile forms before I can stop it. He remembered. “I meant to thank you earlier for fixing the flat and bringing my car to me. It was a nice surprise this morning.”
“Did you honestly think I wouldn’t?”
I hand him his glass and pick up mine. “You had no reason to.”
Wade chuckles. “You’re reason enough, Lemon.”
His words . . . they make my knees weak. I take a hearty drink to squash my nerves. He watches me for a minute before taking his own sip, and then walks toward the living room. I follow, watching him. Absorbing him.
“How’s the bump on Goldie’s head?” I ask, changing the subject. Wade turns away from my faux fireplace, where there are various pictures of me, my parents, Leslie.
“She’s fine,” he tells me. “There isn’t even a bump.”
“Little kids,” I start and pause. “They exaggerate sometimes. It’s important to always believe them though. Make sure they’re seen and understood.”
Wade chuckles. “Don’t get me wrong, Goldie can be dramatic at times. She is, after all, seven. But for the most part, she’s honest when something hurts or bothers her.”
“That’s good to know.”
I sit down in one of the corners of my three-seat sofa, and pull my leg under me. I’m trying to act as casually as possible, but it’s hard. I feel like I need to scream, dance around, or pounce on him. None of those options seem practical though and the anxiety or anxiousness I feel is all too consuming.
When Wade sits, I tell myself to relax. We’ve been this close and definitely closer many times over, and I’m not even counting last night. I take another sip, needing the liquid courage to relax.
“Do you want to talk about last night?”
“Nope,” I say, leaning forward to set my glass on my coffee table. “Sometimes things happen.
“Yes, but you’ve been hell-bent on ignoring me, so you’ll have to excuse me if my mind is running rampant with thoughts.”
“Can we chalk it up to a moment of weakness?”
Wade looks at me, truly looks into my eyes. They’re searching for the truth and I’m afraid if he looks to deeply, he might find it.
“No,” he finally says without breaking eye contact. “You’re beholden to the notion that I’ve done something wrong. And yet, when I come across you stranded on the side of the road, you throw caution to the wind and . . .” He pauses and shakes his head.
Is he searching for the right term to use? I’m not even sure I know the proper way to describe what I did. Yes, we had sex. I initiated it without preempt from him. It was me who kissed him, who straddled him, who unbuttoned his jeans. Right then, I didn’t care because after going from missing him for so many years, to being kissed by him again, my desire for him became too much to control.