Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 92368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“No. It wasn’t.” She goes quiet, but it’s clear the gears are turning in her head. “I was curious last night about your son, but I didn’t want to push. People share things in their own time. And sometimes not at all.”
“It’s hard for me to keep him a secret,” I say.
“You shouldn’t have to. And I’m glad you didn’t,” she adds, and there’s something wistful in her voice. Like she’s wishing this thing could turn into something more. Another night. Another time. Another moment here in the yard.
We’ve jammed so much into less than twenty-four hours. Shared more than most people do over a half-dozen dates.
This was a one-night stand in name only.
If we were other people, I’d take her hand and tug her into a corner by the door, far away from the neighbors, hardly visible, and kiss her against the side of my home. I’d claim her outside by the honeysuckle so we could both inhale the scent of wanting as we fucked.
Then I’d invite her over again.
But that’s not what last night was. This morning and this closeness, this easy connection—they’re scrambling my brain.
“Thanks for listening, Jules.”
She closes the distance between us and sets a hand on my chest, gently grabbing the fabric of my shirt. “Anytime.”
That word feels like a promise we can’t keep, but I wish we could.
The car service texts that they’re pulling up just as we go inside. I haul Jules against me one more time, then sniff her neck. “Mmm. Your morning scent is good too. You’re like a sexy garden,” I tell her, but I’ve got to stop with the praise. No more compliments. No more kisses. I need to let her go. I clear my throat and step back. “Bye, Jules.”
“Bye…Finn.” She stops, like she’s going to say see you around.
But really, we probably won’t. Just in case though, I add, “If I see you when you’re with—”
She holds up a hand, stopping me. “—I know. Nothing happened.”
When she pulls away, I’m filled with a bittersweet ache, but soon it’ll fade.
She sets her hand on the doorknob and…fuck. I can’t let her leave on the thought that this was nothing. I spin her around, cup her cheek, and meet her eyes. “Thank you. For last night. For this morning. For letting me have you.”
“I’m glad it was you.”
“You have no idea how glad I am too.”
She shrugs, coyly. “Actually, I think I do.”
She leaves, heading off into the light of day. I turn back into my home where there’s a text blinking up at me from my phone on the counter.
Tate: Five miles. Fastest time ever. See you tomorrow, sloth.
Guilt swells inside me. But I’ll have to find a way to live with it when I see my friend tomorrow morning.
For now, I walk through my kitchen, and it feels empty without his daughter.
13
MORE THAN ONE WAY TO TELL A STORY
Jules
I’m pretty sure my little apartment isn’t even technically a one-bedroom. The broker dubbed it a “junior” one-bedroom when I rented it. But that’s just real estate slang for “there’s a corner somewhere in here that lets us call it an alcove.”
That evening, four women jam into my alcove, including me.
Well, I am the keeper of the wigs, so we’re getting ready here for tonight’s karaoke and dancing.
“Check me out,” Layla says, adjusting a blunt purple wig that gives her serious anime vibes.
“You look like a fairy,” Harlow declares.
“A badass fairy,” Layla corrects, tapping Harlow’s nose.
“But of course,” Harlow seconds, flicking a few strands of hair in her long, curly cherry-red wig. “And now I’ll learn if redheads really do have more fun.”
Camden clears her throat while twirling a strand of her natural hair, all copper and shiny “Oh they do, honey. They definitely do,” she says.
I roll my eyes. “Right, Cam. Right.”
“Or maybe brunettes do, Jules,” Cam says with a hint of I know what you did last night.
Since, well, she does.
We worked out together earlier, on side-by-side ellipticals at the gym, and I told her pretty much everything. I’m not sure if I’ll say anything to Harlow and Layla, but only because I don’t want to overshare. I don’t want to blab either. If I said something, would it come back to hurt Finn? Or me?
No idea. But for now, I just want to have fun with the girls, trying on wigs before we head out.
The distraction helps too. I need it, badly. I’ve been thinking about Finn pretty much nonstop since I left his home eleven hours ago and wishing I could see him again. I knew the boundaries when I went over to his place, but my brain is wired to overthink. A few more days and I probably won’t think about him again. Until then, I’ll keep extra busy.
I wedge past Layla to look for just the right style for tonight.