Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
“Hell if I know.” She runs her fingertip along the rim of her glass. “Enough about me. Tell me about you.” Her grin is debaucherous. “How did practice go with rugby boy?”
I laugh at the name she coined for Jory, a name that I’ve accidentally admitted to my vernacular and let slip once in front of him.
The thought of him entering my mind is accompanied by a very, very specific ball of fire in my core. It apparently has taken up residence there, ready to reheat as soon as his name or a memory sparks to life. It’s unfortunate—and inconvenient.
“That good, huh?” she asks, giggling.
In my head, I’ve been trying to justify my reaction to him. I’ve been working hard to figure out a way to contain the butterflies in my stomach when he’s around. The only way I think that can happen is if he doesn’t look at me, breathe on me, laugh around me—and definitely not touch me.
I can still feel his hand on my face from this afternoon.
“Let’s just start with the fact that I hate him,” I say, giggling, too.
“Sure looks like it.”
I lean forward and sigh. “He has no business being so …”
I’m not sure whether to start with the fact that he’s maddeningly gorgeous, or charming, or decent. Or how I’ve tried to find a flaw in him and have come up empty-handed. Or how I forget how much I hate men when he’s in the room and how the protective shield I feel like I carry through life feels less necessary around him.
It’s dangerous, to be sure. And I’m positive that the more time I spend with him, the sooner I’ll find his fatal flaw. I don’t want to find it. But I don’t want to think he’s perfect, either.
It would be so much better if I hadn’t ever met the man. Life was better when I hated them all.
“How long has it been since you had sex?” Nettie asks, grinning.
“Almost five months.”
“Then it’s no wonder you’re all hormonal about this guy.”
Yeah. She’s right. “Thanks, Net.”
“Of course. That’s why you keep me around. For my irrefutable insight into your relationships.” She takes me in, giving me a moment to respond. But when I don’t, she correctly reads that I don’t want to talk about this anymore. “So, on to the wedding. Have you and Mira figured out the rehearsal stuff yet?”
“No. We’re meeting with Cathy at Mira’s tomorrow after church. Audrey promised to have a head count and that she’d confirm whether they’re getting married in the church or in the barn on their property.”
Her eyes light up. “Oh, that would be fun. Can you imagine the barn with string lights and flowers? It would be beautiful.”
“I know. I’m hoping they go that route. I get why you’d want to get married in a church, but a barn on the property where they’re building their home together would just be special.”
“Agreed.”
I finish my martini and then hold up my glass. “I’m going to grab another one.”
“Okay. I’ll wait for you to get back, then I’ll go pee. I don’t want us to lose our table.”
“Want me to get you another drink?”
She winces. “No. This is my second one, and I want to pace myself. Thanks, though.”
I nod her way as I climb out of the booth.
The bar has gotten busier since I arrived. A few people are on the dance floor, dancing to the music playing overhead, and the line to order drinks has doubled. I make small talk with Lora, a woman who moved here about a year ago and works at the bank. She had her eyes on Hartley until my sister came back to town.
Finally, it’s my turn. I hold up my glass and Patsy gives me a thumbs-up from the other end of the bar. The other two bartenders keep busy passing out beers and shots for what appears to be a bachelor party beside me.
“Thanks,” I say, taking the fresh martini from Patsy. As I turn to go back to my seat, a hand cups my elbow from behind. I look over my shoulder, expecting it to be Nettie changing her mind about getting a third beverage. But that’s not who I find.
A shiver snakes along my spine as the hair on the back of my neck stands on edge.
“Why are you touching me?” I nearly spit, yanking my arm out of Jasper’s clutches.
“I want to talk to you.”
“I don’t give a shit.”
“Well, I do.”
His forward movement instinctively makes me step back until my back is flat against the clammy brick wall. My drink sloshes around the glass, hitting the floor.
Jasper’s eyes are glassy, and from experience, I know that he’s at least five beers deep. His breath reeks of alcohol as he leans in. I recoil, pulling away to put as much distance between us as I can.