Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 53629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 268(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 268(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
It takes everything in me to rip my hands away from his and get the confession out there. The weight of it is destroying me.
“I have to tell you something. Before you tell me you want me. Brody … the guy I was with …” The prick at the back of my eyes burns and I struggle to say anything without fear of losing it.
“Mags,” he says and Robert’s consoling voice is accompanied by his arms wrapping around me. He pulls me into his chest and holds me. He always has. Every time I come so close to breaking, this man has been here for me.
He whispers in my hair, “Whatever it is, you can tell me.” He kisses the top of my head. “I will still love you. You know I’ll always love you.”
First I cry, and I hate myself for it. I don’t even know why I’m crying.
But then I tell him everything. I don’t skip a single detail from four years ago, up till the moment we got here.
Brody
I take a deep breath in as I flip the dark wood coffee table over. It takes a grunt and a heave; the driftwood is heavier than it looks. The breeze blows through the small three-bedroom apartment, carrying the scent of the ocean with it, and I have to wipe my brow as I look down at the last piece of furniture put into place.
“It’s still a man cave.”
“Good, because that’s what I was going for,” I tell Griffin. With my shirt off, a thin sheen of sweat along my shoulders and the drill at my feet, it’s obvious I’ve been working my ass off to get this place together. One thud is followed by another as Griffin plants his feet on the new coffee table, determined to already make an ass groove in the corner of the dark blue sectional I put together yesterday.
I don’t say a damn word. I’ve barely said anything since three days ago when Magnolia said she needed time and then Griffin filled me in on why.
Fuck buddies or old flames, I don’t know which exactly. All I know is that the girl I’m after has something going on with another man. Or did. I saw all the signs; I knew it deep down, and yet …
“No more boxes,” Griffin says absently, his voice just a tad louder than the constant clicking on the laptop balanced on his thighs.
“No more boxes,” I repeat with a long exhale and make my way to the fridge for a beer, only to find it empty.
I check my phone again and stare at the text she sent after our so-called date: Hey, can we talk?
I didn’t respond and I don’t intend to. If she’s going to write me off for some other guy, she can do it to my face. Maybe it’s pride. Maybe I’m just pissed. Either way, I’m not letting her off easy.
“So what are you going to do now?” Griffin asks, not lifting his gaze from the computer screen. He’s working on the website page, the online store and partners for retail. So I can’t blame him for sitting his ass down and not doing a damn thing to help me furnish this place.
There’s no more furniture to put together. No more focusing on working a screwdriver or drill and not thinking about the woman who’s under my skin.
“Shower,” I answer easily enough and then lean against the countertop, taking a look around the place. It’s minimal with dark woods, but light and bright white accents. It’s airy and reminds me of the shore most of all. Which, I remind myself, is the entire reason I’m here.
Not for Rose or Magnolia, or whoever this woman wants to be.
Even if thoughts of her lips keep me up at night. Even if I can’t help but want to rewind every moment we’ve had together so I can say the right things and end each night with a kiss like the one we had on the pier.
“You keep sighing like that and someone’s going think you’re depressed,” Griffin says, mocking me from across the open living space. All I can do is give him a scowl in return but he doesn’t see since he still hasn’t looked up.
I crack my neck to the left and right and make my way around the counter to go shower and get my shit together.
“So she may have had a low-key thing with a guy. Maybe … it’s just a rumor.”
I don’t bother answering Griffin, I don’t even halt my steps. The truth is it’s not just a rumor when she’s out with me but leaves the second she sees him. That’s not fucking gossip; that’s reality.
“You should just ask her,” Griffin calls out as I walk down the narrow hallway to the master suite. Again I don’t answer him but I at least agree with that sentiment.