Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
“And?” Her voice rose an octave.
“And it was the hottest, sexiest, most amazing kiss of my entire life. Pretty sure I’d have taken my clothes off right there on Grams’s front lawn if he asked me to.”
“Omigod!”
“But then he pushed me away and told me to go in the house.”
“Why?”
“No idea.”
“You think he could be married?”
I hesitated. “I suppose it’s possible. Grams said his wife left him, and he definitely lives alone, but who knows?”
“Well, I know things didn’t exactly go your way tonight, but I love that you went after him. I think it’s healthy. You’re too careful with your feelings.”
I sighed. “Maybe, but then something like this happens and it reminds me why being careful is better than being reckless.”
“Listen, don’t give up. Maybe he’s … I don’t know, religious or something. Maybe his divorce isn’t final.”
“Maybe he’s just not that into me.”
“But he said he was!”
“Actions speak louder than words in this case.” I rolled onto my back again. “I just hope I don’t run into him before I leave. I don’t think I could look him in the eye.”
“Well, he’s crazy if he doesn’t want you,” my sister said. “I think he does need a therapist.”
I laughed a little. “Thanks. Love you.”
“Love you too. Thanks for taking care of Grams.”
We hung up and I got ready for bed, where I lay on my back and blinked at the ceiling. That kiss. That kiss. That kiss. I touched my lips, wondering if he was sorry he’d done it. He’d seemed into it, but then he’d gotten so mad. Was he angry with me? Or with himself?
I wondered if he’d gone to bed yet. Did he sleep naked?
The thought sent a warm rush through my body.
I closed my eyes and tried to relax, but it was a long time before the tension in my body eased enough for me to fall asleep.
Twelve
Ryan
What the actual fuck was wrong with me?
I tossed and turned all night long, alternately congratulating myself on doing the right thing and hating myself for it. And I didn’t even want to think about the revenge my dick was going to exact on me. It was probably going to refuse to get hard ever again.
But I had done the right thing, hadn’t I? The selfless thing?
So what if she’d been willing to come home with me and overlook the fact that all I had was a shitty mattress on the floor? So what if she’d have let me get my mouth on her, those mile-long legs wrapped around my neck, those full, firm breasts in my hands? So what if she might have stayed for hours and let me fuck her with my tongue, my fingers, my cock? So what if she would have made me come so hard I nearly believed in God again?
It didn’t matter, I told myself, because it would have meant using her just so I could let myself feel something again, and that was an asshole move.
She was kind and thoughtful and made the most delicious pie I’d ever tasted (sorry, Mom). She had sweet dreams about me and believed I was a good man. She was the first woman in a long time that made me wish I were.
She deserved better than a one-night stand on the floor in this decrepit old house with a messed up guy like me.
Still. It was a long fucking night.
“Woods. You with me?”
I realized Mack had been giving me instructions about something and I’d zoned out. “Sorry. Can you say that again?”
“What’s with you today?” Mack was sitting behind his desk—it was still strange for me to see him like that—going over a list of projects that needed to be finished before the first snowfall. I was sitting in a chair across from him thinking about Stella’s perfect lips and how good her body had felt against mine.
And also the pie. Not gonna lie.
“Sorry, guess I’m a little distracted.” I frowned and looked down at the empty page where I was supposed to be taking some notes.
Mack leaned back in his chair. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re a lying sack of shit.”
I almost smiled.
He tossed his pen on the desk and shut his laptop. “Tell you what. Let’s go get a beer and some wings or something. It’s almost six and I didn’t eat much lunch today.”
“Me neither.”
We agreed to meet at Hop Lot Brewing Co., which was south of downtown. Arriving just a few minutes apart—me on my bike, Mack in his SUV—we sat at the bar, shook hands with the two brothers who owned the place, and ordered a couple locally brewed IPAs along with some wings.
“God, I’m so fucking hungry,” Mack said, shrugging out of his denim jacket.
“Same.” I kept my brown leather on, even though I was a little warm. I had USMC tattooed on my left arm, and I didn’t feel like talking about it tonight. Had I known how many ignorant comments and questions I’d get from the general public about it, I might have thought twice before putting those letters in such a visible place.