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)
My stomach tightens. I shoot Dylan a text and then exit the back door.
The night is cool, sending a wave of chills over me as I step onto the lawn. Brilliant stars twinkle overhead in the clear night sky—something I missed in Boston. We didn’t live downtown, but even in the suburbs there was enough light to prevent a clear view of the stars.
My anxiety grows as I get closer to Jay’s door.
Why did I think this was a good idea again?
Knock! Knock!
Jay opens the door. His eyes widen when he sees it’s me.
My jaw drops when I see him.
Even tequila couldn’t have prepared me for this.
He’s shirtless with a towel thrown over his shoulder. The lines of his shoulders, chest, and abs are covered in a sheen. Sweatpants sit low on his hips.
“Hey,” he says, wiping his forehead with the edge of the towel.
Words, Gabby. Use words.
“Hey.” I flash him a wobbly smile. “I brought your shirt back.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
Our fingers brush against each other’s as he takes the flannel from me. The contact ignites the alcohol that’s left in my system. My knees wobble as I struggle not to melt.
“I saw your little boy tonight,” he says.
“You did? When?”
“A few hours ago.” He chuckles softly. “That kid is a bundle of energy.”
I cringe. “Carter must have come over while I was at Della’s. I’m sorry if he bothered you.”
“Nah, he just wanted his basketball aired up.”
“So you’re responsible for him bouncing that thing in the house all night? I ought to make him come over here and practice. He’s driving Dylan and me nuts.”
Jay steps to the side. “He left his hoodie. If you want to come in, I’ll grab it.”
“Sure. Thanks.”
I inhale a lungful of masculinity as I pass him. It’s sweat and cologne—a deep, rich scent that’s, in a word, delicious. The door closing snaps me back to reality.
“You can have a seat,” he says. “I need to remember where I put it.”
“That sounds like something I’d do. I put things in a safe place all the time. The problem is that the only thing it’s safe from is me ever finding it again.”
“It might be on my workbench in the garage. Hang tight.”
I sit on his brown leather sofa. “I’m hanging.”
His back, in all its glory, is on full display as he leaves the room.
“Just settle down and be normal,” I whisper to myself.
The living area is comfortable, with leather furniture and a large brick fireplace. A small desk is tucked into one corner and flanked by bookcases. And instead of trinkets adorning the shelves, it’s actual books.
So hot.
“Here you go,” he says, returning with Carter’s hoodie in his hand. “He left it lying on the garage floor.”
“Color me not surprised.” I take it from him. “When he was a baby, he used to take his diaper off and leave it wherever he was standing. Then it graduated to socks and then shoes. Now we’re at the hoodie stage.”
Jay sits in a chair next to the couch. “Be happy. In a few years, he’ll be leaving his pants—”
“No, no, no. Don’t say that about my baby.”
He chuckles.
“I’m not ready for that,” I say, wadding the hoodie on my lap. “In other news, it turns out that Della saw the Towel Incident.”
“I know.”
What? “How do you know?”
“She told my buddy Lark.”
“People are talking about it?”
“Didn’t you say you grew up here?” He shrugs. “It’s a small town. People talk. Although I doubt Lark said anything to anyone but me. He doesn’t get in other people’s business much.”
“Well, thank God for small favors.”
He picks up a water bottle from the coffee table and unscrews the lid. “Do you want a drink?”
“I had three palomas at Della’s tonight, and that’s probably two too many. I’m trying to lay off the fluids because my stomach’s still a bit squirrely. My fear of puking is real.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he downs the water. I don’t know how watching someone drink is sexy, but it is. It really freaking is.
The energy in the room is easy. He’s almost relaxed. I wonder if it’s because we’re on his turf, not mine. Every interaction we’ve had until now has been at my house.
He settles back in his chair. “So did you know Della before you moved here?”
“Della? No. It’s such a weird thing. Everyone says that small towns always stay the same. On the surface, that’s true. But if you’ve been gone for a while and come back, you see that some things did change. Buildings are torn down; new homes are put up. The people come and go. I didn’t know Della or Scottie when I lived here. But that was almost two decades ago.” I pause. “When did you move to Alden?”
“About four years ago.”
“Why here?”
A shadow filters across his face. Lines bunch around his eyes, and his shoulders are taut. He makes a point of swallowing before he speaks.