Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 104288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
The hunger in his eyes is so fierce, I convince myself I must be imagining it. A man like Tuck can’t possibly want a girl like me.
But God, how insane would the sex be if that hunger were real?
Shoving that thought from my head, I summon my every ounce of self-restraint—and self-respect—and step back. “You have a wedding to get to.”
I’m imagining the disappointment on his face too, right?
“I do.” He runs a hand over his mouth. “You’ll holler if you need anything? I’ll have my phone.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Right.”
“Have fun.”
“Good luck studying. And don’t forget the warm clothes.” He turns toward the open door. For a split second he hesitates, and some wild, unhinged part of me fantasizes he’s going to ask me to be his plus-one tonight. “Bye, Maren.”
Talk about disappointment. “Bye, Tuck.”
I dart up the stairs, jumping when I hear Tuck close the door behind him. I let myself into my apartment and close my own door, falling back against it. My chest heaves as I try to catch my breath. My heart gallops inside my chest.
Did Tuck and I almost kiss? Again?
Did Tuck Monroe, the millionaire single dad who looks like a celebrity who plays superheroes, actually want to kiss me again?
Even if he did, it’s a moot point. I need to focus on school. Saving money. I have to figure out what I want to do with my life. Getting involved with Tuck jeopardizes all that.
I breathe until my heart rate slows. I need to practice a little mind over matter. If I stay busy, and keep my mind and my body occupied, I can forget about that almost-kiss, and the one before it too.
So I shower. I study. I eat some dinner.
But even though I’m wiped and more than a little overwhelmed with school, I can’t sit still several hours later.
I can’t stop thinking about how delicious Tuck’s kiss would be.
It’s almost ten by the time I give up. Only one thing to do to get out all this weird ass energy.
Dance.
seven
. . .
Tuck
Second Wind
My sparkler goes out, but my buzz stays put.
Goldie and Coop wave from the back of their getaway golf cart. They’re all smiles, flush with happiness after what turned out to be one hell of a party. I drank. I laughed. I danced my ass off.
And now I’m a little drunk and my feet hurt, so it’s time to head out.
“Going home to Katie?” Abel asks when he sees me grabbing my jacket.
“She’s at my mom’s tonight.”
Riley grins. “Going home to the nanny, then.”
I spear my friend with a dark look. “Don’t.”
Riley holds up his hands. “I’m just messin’. I know you can’t touch her.”
“Even though he’s clearly jonesin’.” Abel nods at me. “I’ll bet fifty bucks they bang.”
Riley shakes his head. “No way I’m taking the other side of that bet.”
“Y’all hush,” I say.
Truth is, I can’t stop thinking about Maren to save my life. Tonight was a great time, don’t get me wrong. For all the week’s snafus, the wedding turned out beautifully. I’m happy for Coop and Goldie.
But seeing them kiss and touch and laugh together hit home that I don’t have someone to touch like that.
I do laugh with Maren, though. A lot. Probably too much.
I have no desire to get married again. Not gonna lie, though, I felt a tug in my chest watching Goldie walk down the aisle. She and Coop make a great pair. They’re going to be good partners in life and in parenthood—Goldie is four months pregnant.
Maybe I only miss having a partner like that. A partner at all. Someone to help shoulder life, lighten the load. ’Cause damn, does it get heavy sometimes.
It’d also be nice to have someone to dance with. Miss that too.
My house is a five-minute walk, so I pop an Altoid in my mouth, throw my tuxedo jacket over my shoulder, and head into the dark. The farther I walk, the darker it gets. The more stars come out in the sky.
My tongue burns with the fiery taste of cinnamon.
I notice it’s a new moon. The absence of its light makes the stars seem to pulse in time to my heartbeat.
They make me think of Maren. Again.
I hear the thump of a bass beat. Glancing over my shoulder, I wonder if the party’s started back up. But as I approach my house, I realize it’s coming from this direction.
It’s coming from the crofter.
My stomach does a somersault. Is Maren working out? At this hour?
I should one hundred percent go home and get my ass in bed. But my curiosity—my buzz—gets the better of me.
Peering through the garage door windows, I see Maren standing in front of the mirrors in the gym. She’s wearing what have to be the tiniest, tightest pair of bike shorts ever made and a sports bra.