Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 145823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“Hell no. I’m not getting in the middle of that.”
“I knew I loved you for a reason, Grayson,” I called over to him.
Sam rolled her eyes. “Fine, at least tell her that she has to talk to him,” she said, turning her head and aiming those last words right at me. “That man has left her a piece of sea glass on the doorstep every single day since she told him off. Every. Day. At least hear his side of the story.”
My eyes drifted to the small pile on the side table. Six pieces in all.
“I know all the story I need to,” I retorted, trying to focus on the letters that filled the page. “He flies a glorified version of the same damned helicopter as Will. End of story.”
“If he’s a Blackhawk guy, you tell her to run,” Grayson teased. “If she’s going to fall for a pilot, at least make sure he flies a real bird.”
“It’s a Jayhawk,” I fired back before I could stop myself. Funny what you could learn on Google.
Sam sent me a knowing smile, and I glared for good measure.
“If you cared enough to look his shit up, then it’s not the end of the story,” Grayson remarked.
“No more love for you, Mr. Masters,” I replied. “You know he looked Will up online, right?” That would get Grayson back on my side.
He swore, and I lifted a corner of my lips in a slight smirk. It felt good to be right.
“If he’s that into you, I can’t really blame him. If I’d thought someone stood between Sam and me? I wouldn’t have stopped at a Google search.”
“Traitor.” My eyes narrowed.
“That’s my man.” Sam’s smile was contagious, and I found myself shaking my head with a slight scoff of a laugh.
In truth, the only reason I hadn’t googled Jackson’s ex was because I didn’t want to know anything about her or anyone who could walk away from their family the way she had.
The creak of a door opening sounded from the laptop, and a muffled voice came over the speaker.
“Shit. I have to go, baby. I love you.”
“I love you,” she replied. “Be safe, okay?”
“Always,” he answered.
Then he was gone.
Sam shut the laptop, then held it to her chest as her head fell to the back of the couch. “I miss him so damned much.”
“I know you do. I’m sorry.” I closed my book, then scooted so that I sat next to her. “What do you want to do today? We can do anything you want.” I’d already listened to this week’s recording of the Will story and rewarded myself with a trip to Christina’s shop, where I’d spent an hour looking at all the gorgeous sea-glass necklaces she had, so my day was wide open.
“Anything?” Sam asked, her eyes sad as she stared up at the new, swirling ceiling fan.
“Anything,” I assured her.
She sat up and put the laptop on the coffee table. “Good! Because I want you to stop wallowing and go talk to Jackson.”
“Anything but that.” I got off the couch and abandoned my copy of To The Lighthouse on the table.
“Come on, Morgan. You’re miserable. You’ve been miserable for the past week! I’ve given you time to process, but now you’re just stewing, and I’m not going to sit here silently while you push him away.” She followed me as I headed toward the kitchen. It was the next major renovation.
“News flash. I’ve been miserable for the past two years,” I fired back. Next week it would be exactly two years, and though I tried not to think about the approaching date, it lingered in my mind every possible minute. “And it’s not like we have some relationship that I’m losing. He’s just a guy who lives next door.” I got out two glasses and set them on the counter. “Tea?”
“Only if it’s sweet,” she replied, leaning back against the Formica.
“Honey, it’s the South. It’s always sweet.” I poured us two glasses.
“He’s not just a guy who lives next door,” she argued, then thanked me for the tea as I passed her a glass. “He’s the guy you want. The guy you said kissed like a god.”
“Maybe I overexaggerated.” I sipped my tea, knowing full well that I hadn’t. Kissing Jackson was a religious experience. The man knew exactly what he was doing in that department, and he did it so well that my heart picked up the pace just thinking about it. If that man could rev me up using only his mouth, what would the rest of his body be capable of?
“Uh-huh,” she challenged, lifting her eyebrow as she called out my bullshit.
“None of that matters,” I grumbled. “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results, and I’m not involving myself with another heartbreak just waiting to happen when I haven’t fixed myself from the last one.”