Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 107667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
“I don’t know,” I answer, and I don’t think I care. I just want him. But I save that for myself, so I don’t toe that cheating whore line. “We didn’t really talk.”
She chuckles. “Lordy, you can’t control yourself with him, can you?”
“No,” I admit, and I want to laugh at how pathetic I am. “He… Mom, he does things to me.”
“Bless,” she coos, and I smack my head on the steering wheel until I can’t anymore. “I think you need to sit down and talk to him and see what he is thinking. Be honest with him like you have been with Troy.”
I know she’s right, but that scares me. When I talk to him, I’ll fall harder, and then what? I give up my job because I don’t want any distance between us? “Troy is the safer choice.”
She sighs. “Absolutely. But is he the choice you want?”
I don’t even have to answer for her to know the truth. Just then, a text comes through from a number not in my contacts. I know immediately it’s from Dart.
“He just texted that we need to talk.”
“Lordy, lordy, lordy,” she tsks, and I can’t help but laugh. “Y’all do, Tennessee Lynn. For your own sanity.”
I know she’s right, but that doesn’t mean I’m not scared out of my fucking mind.
And excited at the same damn time.
A feeling only D’Artagnan Miklas can make me feel.
Chapter Seventeen
Tennessee
I don’t have to look for him to know Dart is here.
The moment I enter the Perk Me Up coffee shop by my apartment, I feel him. That buzzing feeling in my bones returns full force. My chest flutters as my gaze meets his in an instant. Breathless isn’t even the word to describe what happens to me.
All meaning, all sense, all thoughts, are useless the seconds our eyes meet.
Because on his head is my UT cowboy hat.
And he’s sporting an unstoppable smirk that has my insides turning to goo.
Lordy, I’m in so much trouble.
I have no control over my lips as they curve, and the flush creeps up my neck. In seconds, that night slams into me, and God, I’ve missed him. He tips the hat to me, his smirk dangerous, and every nerve ending in my body tingles. I gulp, and instantly, my thighs tremble, making it real hard to remember how to walk. He leans back in his chair, his legs out in front of him lazily as his fingers dance along the side of the coffee cup he holds. The same fingers that had squeezed my neck. More heat burns my cheeks, and that smirk of his only grows.
Oh, I’m so, so, so very fucked.
I come behind a chair at the table where he’s sitting and set my purse down. Neither of us says anything, our gazes locked in a heated embrace, and something as simple as breathing is a struggle. The overwhelming guilt burns my stomach as I look into his eyes. I’ve missed him so very much. I’ve missed how it feels to be under that gaze of his. To be utterly devoured by just his eyes. I clear my throat, trying to pull myself away, but I’m unable to.
He licks his lips slowly, tormenting me, before he says, “Can I get you a drink?”
“I can get it,” I say, but he’s already up and moving in the direction of the counter.
“What do you want?”
“A lemonade spritz.”
He steps toward me, brushing his arm along mine, and I take in a quick breath as his eyes consume mine. His scent about knocks me on my ass as he pulls his eyes from mine and goes to the barista. I gulp as I sit down on the other side of the table, hoping the round piece of wood is a good enough barrier.
Though I know for a damn fact it’s not.
I cross my legs and try to control my pounding heart as he returns and sits across from me, handing my drink to me. I reach for it, our fingers brushing, and just that touch has me shivering. I don’t understand this pull he has on me. This heat between us. With one look at him, I know he feels the same. “Thank you,” I say, and he leans back, his eyes moving along me. “Nice hat.”
His lips curve. “Best hat I’ve ever gotten for a hat trick,” he says, tipping it toward me again, looking like a naughty cowboy rather than a hockey player.
I look away, taking a deep pull of my lemonade. “So, how are you?”
“Cut it out, Tennie,” he says immediately, his voice rough.
I look up at him through my lashes. The unevenness of his voice tickles my stomach.
“I don’t want the small talk.”
“What do you want?”
“I want you,” he says simply, and everything explodes inside me. He crosses his arms over his chest and holds my gaze. “I want to know what the hell happened after we parted in Nashville.”