Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
I stare at her, silently begging for her not to reject me, not to cut me off before I’ve even been given a damn shot. I don’t know what she sees when she looks at me, what’s going through her head, but after several seconds, she sighs and nods. “Okay, it’s dropped.”
“Good. Because I’m starved. What do you say we eat and then head down to the beach?”
“Sounds good.” I don’t miss the way the corner of her lips tips downward slightly before she plasters on a fake smile.
“Hey,” I say, feeling like something needs to be said before the trip is ruined, thanks to my damn tattoo and admission. “We’re friends. We’ve been friends for years. Yes, I have feelings for you, but until you saw the tattoo, you had no idea. I promise I’m not going to attack you or anything. I know you just ended your engagement, and you’re not looking to start anything new. I just want to have a good time and enjoy your company while you’re here. Okay?”
She opens her mouth as if she wants to say something, and I internally flinch, hoping she isn’t about to tell me she’s out of here. But, after a few seconds, she simply nods in understanding before walking past me and up the pool steps. I stay where I am for several beats, watching as she saunters out of the pool, looking like a fucking wet dream as water slews down her tanned, toned body. My eyes land on her pert ass, which is barely covered by the scrap of material someone deemed to call a bathing suit, torn between enjoying the show and wanting to demand she cover her ass up—literally.
In the end, I tamper down the caveman in me and simply enjoy watching the woman in front of me own her beauty while mentally planning how to make every inch of her mine.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
KENDALL
We’re friends.
I just ended an engagement.
He’s my brother’s best friend.
I suck at relationships.
I keep repeating those four facts in my head every time I think about what it would be like to be with Declan, to get lost in him. When my brain goes haywire and tries to imagine how it would feel to be kissed by him, for him to be inside me. When I remember his confession—that he wrote his part of “Drunk on Your Love” for me… that he has feelings for me, it damn near throws those four truths out the window.
Since the night we talked all those years ago, I’ve thought about him. His words of wisdom—that we’re all a little broken—took seed in my heart and have remained there, growing and flourishing, reminding me that it’s okay if I’m a little broken. We’ve become closer the past couple of years, but I never allowed myself to go there… until now. Because now that he’s confessed to having feelings for me, I can’t stop thinking about him.
It’s been several days since he told me he has feelings for me yet has no intention of acting on them. Every second of every freaking day has been spent with me thinking about him, watching him, and paying attention to every little detail regarding him.
Like when he wakes up, he walks out of his room all sleepy, his hair thrown into a sexy as hell messy knot, sporting no shirt and gray sweats—yep, motherfucking sweatpants—with his hand scrubbing his chest and abs lazily. I’m already awake, reading or writing on the couch. He glances my way with a sleepy smile and goes straight to the phone to order room service, his voice raspy in that sexy way from just waking up. He looks over at me when he’s ordering to silently confirm I still want the same thing—coffee and French toast—and when I nod, he’ll jerk his chin up in response, lifting his hand to his face and scrubbing his scruffy face that he hasn’t shaved since the day we took off out of town.
Or when we’re hanging out by the pool and beach and he goes into the water to cool off, swimming laps from one side to the other, his taut muscles flex in a way that reminds me of how strong he is—strong enough to pick me up and carry me like I weigh nothing.
And don’t get me started on how well he knows me. It’s clear that even though my paying attention to him is new, he’s been watching me for a while. He knows how I like my coffee and what foods I love and hate. He knows I like a glass of wine at dinner and which ones are my favorites. He always orders dessert, knowing I won’t do it but secretly want it, and shares it with me.
Every evening, after we both shower and are settled in for the night, we sit on the balcony together, writing and discussing music and life. I’ve written several songs for my next album, and he’s written quite a few that he’s said he wants to show the guys once he’s back. He’s worried about Gage since he still won’t accept any of the guys’ phone calls, and he’s scared the band might not recover. For him, it’s not about the money but the friendship. They’ve drifted, and he’s not sure they will ever be the same.