Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
They chat about Jay before the conversation moves to what color Scottie should paint her kitchen. As they discuss paint colors and tile patterns, my mind drifts elsewhere.
“I can be over here in a string bikini, bent over my lawn mower, and the man doesn’t look at me twice.”
Della is stunning and sexy—all the things I’m not. I’m disheveled most of the time, rocking my mom bod and a messy bun. If Jay isn’t looking at her when she’s barely dressed and practically begging for his attention, the odds that I’ll get it are slim.
But do I even want it?
My body tingles as I think about him watching us through the window. The surprise I felt, finding him fixing the deck without being asked. The ease with which he handled Dylan’s attitude.
All that felt good in so many ways.
Supported. Cared for. Seen. It strikes a chord deep inside me, reminding me what it’s like not to be alone.
I’m so tired of being alone.
I watch Della tell a story, her manicured fingers flying through the air.
By the sound of it, my interactions with Jay were a momentary thing—not a foundation of friendship or anything else. That’s fine. I don’t have the bandwidth to build something real with someone else right now anyway.
But those arms. That chest. The smirk that toys on his lips . . .
I take a long drink of my paloma.
I need to get laid. Stat.
CHAPTER EIGHT
GABRIELLE
Carter! Stop bouncing the ball in the house,” I say, angling my voice toward the kitchen.
The incessant rubber meeting hardwood stops. I tilt my head back in relief. Dylan sighs from the sofa across the room.
Despite my making them a meal before I went to Della’s, the boys were starving when I returned. I whipped up sausage patties and pancakes after a quick trip to the grocery store, which they scarfed down like wild dogs. I was surprised when neither ran to his room after we cleaned up their second dinner. Instead, Carter took his ball to the deck to practice dribbling. Dylan sat in the living room with me and turned on a murder mystery. I’m sure he did it to torment me, but it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make to spend time with him.
“Want to give me your opinion?” I ask, scrolling to the top of my computer screen.
“Sure.”
“I have a pregnant customer with triplets who wants names with a theme. Any theme. Doesn’t matter. Two girls and a boy.”
Dylan turns the volume down.
“I have Luna, Stella, and Orion. Clover, Daisy, and Clay. Opal, Ruby, and Jasper. Brooke, Cordelia, and Adrian.”
He furrows his brows. “People really pay you for this?”
“Look, it shocks me too. But at one hundred dollars a pop, what can I say?”
“You say Ruth, Jackie, and Derek.”
“What?” I ask, laughing.
“You wanted themes.” He shrugs. “Those are all baseball greats.”
Oh. “Repeat those.”
“Ruth. Jackie. Derek.”
“I’m writing that down. When I looked at their social media, I noticed her husband was into baseball. Those could work.”
Dylan grins. “I want half the money if they use my idea.”
His face lights up, forgoing the narrowed eyes and pressed lips I’m so used to seeing from him. He’s happy—almost carefree. I’d give everything to understand why he flips back and forth so fast. And I’d give even more to keep him like this.
“So what combination was your favorite?” I ask.
“Mine. Then probably the one with Clover. You never hear that as a name. It’s kinda cool.”
Whoa. A compliment too? What was in those pancakes?
Carter’s footsteps echo through the house. They grow louder as he approaches.
“What are you guys doing?” he asks, swatting a lock of hair out of his face.
“I’m finishing up a project. What are you doing?” I ask him.
“Well, I was practicing my dribbling. But I think I’m dribbled out.”
Thank God.
Dylan climbs off the sofa. “Hey, wanna hop on and play duos?”
“Let’s go!” Carter races up the stairs, followed closely by his brother.
Their chatter hits my heart so hard it takes my breath away. Why can’t it always be like this?
I close my computer, too distracted to concentrate on my work. Middle names are always the hardest, and there’s no way I can think about that now. Instead, I turn to the basket of clean clothes on the coffee table. My mind wanders, flitting from one topic to the next.
I grab the shirt lying on top of the pile and fold it.
“He’s just Jay.”
Della’s words come back to me as I pick up his flannel. He’s just Jay. What does that mean?
At the end of the day, what it means doesn’t really matter. He’s my kind, albeit gorgeous, neighbor. That’s all.
I carry Jay’s flannel through the house and into the kitchen, stopping at the sink. The lights in his house are on. I mull over the idea of returning his shirt or keeping it until tomorrow. While tomorrow would be fine, there’s no time like the present.