End of discussion.
I fumble, trying to collect myself. “You mean, here in Beachwood?” I ask.
He nods. “If you’re going to stick around.”
The reluctance is clear in his voice. I can tell, he doesn’t want me around anymore, but although it sends a rush of disappointment through me, I force myself to keep hold of my new calm.
“I’m staying,” I announce, noticing the flash of surprise that crosses his face. “I need time and space to figure this all out, how I’m going to mend fences with Juliet, what’s next for me in life. I want to do that here.”
Garrett nods slowly. “I guess you’re welcome to stay…”
He glances away, his face still tense, and I realize I didn’t think this part through. How am I going to deal with sleeping under the same roof as him: running into each other in the morning and at night too?
Walking in on him in the bathroom, half-naked, his body dripping with moisture…
Oh God. I feel a flush just thinking about it. I’ll spend every hour of every day thinking about the constant temptation of his beautiful mouth, and worse still, the knowledge that he thinks our kiss is nothing but a mistake.
It’s impossible.
“I could move into the apartment above the bar,” I offer, a split-second idea that I don’t even realize makes sense until I hear it out loud.
Yes!
“I know you said the plumbing is busted,” I add hopefully, my spirits rising, “but I can get someone in to fix it, I don’t care.”
Anything to keep me from spending every day wanting to kiss him again, and every day knowing he couldn’t care less.
Garrett looks sheepish. “About that,” he mumbles. “I, uh, maybe stretched the truth a little. The plumbing’s fine, I just prefer crashing here. I like it,” he adds, apologetic.
I laugh, the tension broken. “Don’t worry, I won’t rat you out,” I reassure him. “As long as you’re OK with me staying there?”
“Sure!” Garrett exclaims, before I even finish getting the words out. “Any help you need, just ask. It’s kind of grotty up there,” he adds. “Emerson was crashing there before me, and we didn’t bother with any kind of decorating.”
“A bachelor pad, I can imagine.” I force a smile, trying to reassure him that just because I’m sticking around in Beachwood, it doesn’t make it a big deal. “Don’t worry, I won’t bother you. I’ve got plenty to be thinking about.”
“Hey.” Garrett softens, giving me that familiar look of teasing friendship. “You know I’ve got your back. Whatever you need, just ask.”
I take a deep breath. I have a place to crash for as long as I need and a friend to help me—even if my heart is still spinning from a kiss he’d rather not repeat.
It’s not much, but it’s something. I can work with this.
“How about we start with my bags?”
11
That girl is nothing but trouble.
It’s been a week since Carina announced she was sticking around in town, and I’m wound tight enough to break. I try to ignore the blazing chemistry between us, like if I pretend it’s not there, it’ll just go away, but it only gets worse. Ever since that kiss, she’s all I can think about, and dammit if I don’t want her, every second of every day.
It’s crazy. I’ve kissed hundreds of girls, and never thought twice. For me, it was always the pre-game for the real deal: counting down until I could move things along to the next level, the kind of level that has way less clothing and way more moans.
But kissing Carina…
Hell, it was like nothing else in the world. The soft pillows of her lips, the breathy little sigh she made when she wrapped herself around me. The feel of her body, soft and yielding under my hands…
I could have kissed her forever, just her and me under the stars. For that one glorious moment, my past seemed to melt away into distant memories. No hurt, no pain, no bitter regrets. Just her. The sweetness of her kiss, the craving buried just below the surface.
God, it was a revelation.
Tasting her, teasing her. I’ve never known a kiss like that before, and God, I want more.
But it’s wrong.
I tell it to myself, every time I catch a flash of those blue eyes, see her wet those perfect lips. It’s all wrong. What happened between us on that dock was a mistake. She’s hurting, she’s vulnerable. Hell, after everything that’s happened to her, is it any wonder she went looking for a moment of comfort in the nearest embrace?
It doesn’t mean she really wants me, she’s just reeling from her past. I would have to be the lowest kind of scum to take advantage of her, so I keep my distance and pretend like nothing’s changed. I help her move in to the apartment above the bar, fix things up for her, and then go home alone at night. She’s a friend, nothing more than that. But no matter how many times I remind myself she’s not ready for anything—sure as hell not a mess of a man like me—I can’t ignore the truth.
I want her like a drowning man gasps for air.
“Look who’s Mr. Sunshine today,” Brit remarks as she slides into a stool on Saturday morning. I’ve started opening early on weekends, offering breakfast on the patio out back, but it’s not making a difference to the sparse turnout either way. “What happened?” Brit teases me with a grin. “Someone tell you plaid is out of style?”