Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 153946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Morgan and Gene’s wedding a few years later had blown that theory out of the water.
I was the Bride’s Man and she was the Maid of Honor at the backyard gathering. It might sound like a line, but as soon as I saw August walking toward me in her silky wraparound dress, I swear fucking bells started clanging in my head.
Gone forever was the gawky pre-teen. In her place was a ripe, luscious beauty in her late twenties that I barely knew, with breasts that almost made this southern man cry. She was focused on her sister, but all I could see was her.
Of course, the timing was off again. Not only was I taking time off from dating while recovering from the shame of divorcing after less than a year of marriage, but August had a new boyfriend who Morgan thought might be “the one.”
So that was that. She wasn’t local or available, and I wasn’t the type to force a square peg into a round hole.
“You never did anything about it though, right?” Kingston asked curiously when I moved around to strap down the passenger side wheel. “You and she never…?”
“No. We never did.” I regretted it more often than I wanted to admit.
For years after that, I hadn’t seen her for longer than a family dinner on her rare weekend visits, though she’d come more often when Gene was recovering from his surgery and going through chemo. When she moved back here four years ago this summer, my desire had come roaring back with her, as if it had been waiting for her to make a more permanent appearance. But she’d been nursing wounds from a bad breakup. Sam and Morgan hadn’t told me much, only that the long-term relationship had ended badly, and that it might be a while before she was ready for another.
More of our shitty fucking timing.
For a while there, it pissed me off. Wanting something I couldn’t have was never my style. I told myself she wouldn’t last a year before leaving again, not when six months in, she was already traveling to do publicity for her latest book and visiting her friends in California.
Her life was too big for the ordinary one I lived. She would move on eventually, and I would still be here. What I felt about her, what I thought we could have together, wouldn’t change that outcome. And because I couldn’t avoid her until she disappeared again, I’d done the only thing I could think of to maintain my sanity.
I’d been a dick.
Growing up surrounded by women, I had the inside track on how they felt about that kind of bullshit behavior. But I was still a man, and something about August brought out a side of me I wasn’t proud of. The behavior made me feel like shit and she didn’t deserve it, but by the time I pulled my head out of my ass, the damage was done. She never gave me the chance to apologize, and I never pushed, because I didn’t blame her.
Then Sam went to Italy and everything really went to hell.
Not that long ago, after one too many beers, I’d decided I needed to accept that if August and I had ever had a chance, we’d well and truly missed it.
Yet here I was again, twisting myself into knots over the woman. Living proof that age really didn’t guarantee a damn thing.
“You turned Morgan down,” Kingston said, trying—and failing—to fight his smirk. “You turned me down, and both our offers were free of charge. Would I be wrong in thinking you’re going to be shelling out money to rent an apartment today, Wade?”
It wasn’t the worst idea. But I couldn’t consider it until I talked to her and found out where her head was at.
“We’ll see where the day takes me,” I said as I slapped the tow light on top of the car and pulled off my gloves.
Kingston guffawed. “That is the least Wade Hudson statement I’ve ever heard, and this might be the most impulsive thing you’ve ever done.”
Considering how I was feeling at the moment? It probably wouldn’t be the last.
4
AUGUST
I was sweeping the courtyard and talking Lemons with my “hellhound” Merlin. He was currently giving me the time of day because I’d been sharing the plate of peanut butter crackers I’d set on the patio table with him whenever I took a break.
It was the only thing that got his attention lately. I could open a jar of peanut butter on Mars and the big grump would find a way to join me.
“What do you think, old man? You want to try to talk me out of entering this homage to the midlife crisis, or are you planning another full and exciting day of sitting on the couch and licking your balls?”