Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“So, how have you been the past seven years?”
It was like him speaking broke the trance, and I narrowed my gaze, instantly annoyed. “Peachy. You?”
That earned me a chuckle. “Just swell.”
We danced in silence again, but he had that stupid smirk on his stupid face.
“What?”
Tyler shook his head. “Nothing. Just looking at you.” He paused. “That okay? Can I look at you, Jasmine?”
My next swallow came with more difficulty than any I’d ever had in my life, and I had no clue why. I also had no answer for his question, and the silence stretched between us once more.
“You seem nervous,” he said under his breath as the song neared the end.
“I’m not.”
“You’re shaking.”
I ground my teeth, ignoring him and looking at Morgan like she would possibly signal for this torture to end. But then Tyler’s hand at my hip swept lower, over, until the length of his forearm covered the small of my back and our chests brushed.
I looked up at him with my next breath shallow in my chest, my lips parted, but I didn’t have time to ask him what the hell he was doing before I was dipped backward.
“Relax,” he commanded me as one foot left the ground. I balanced on the other, all of my weight teetering on his arm, pulled steady with his other hand as it found the back of my neck and he dipped me even more.
I was rigid, stiff, opposed to the gesture in every single way.
But when he whispered that word again with his dark eyes still on mine, something inside me clicked.
Relax.
And I melted.
My back arched, my head falling back with my hair slipping over his hand and down like a waterfall. I held onto him, and he held onto me, and for a moment in time, I was suspended in a space where I had to trust Tyler Wagner not to let me fall.
And he didn’t.
When the last note of the song rang through the yard, he pulled me back upright, my hair falling over my shoulders as our chests met in the middle. He looked down his nose at me, and I stared at his chest, our arms still wrapped around each other, nearly every inch of us connected in a field of heat.
Morgan clapped, and the spell was broken.
“That was amazing!” she squealed, jumping up from her chair and rushing over to us. Oliver was right behind her, and he put his arm around her shoulders as they addressed the band.
She didn’t even consider seeing us dance with the other bands. It was like the fact that this one had gotten her parents up out of their chairs to dance was a sign.
Just like that, her mind was made up.
Tyler released his grip on me just marginally, but enough for me to take my first full breath and then take a full step back, until we were no longer touching at all.
He slipped his hands back into his pockets again, and then he offered me something between a smirk and a grimace, and without another word to anyone, he brushed past me, making his way toward the house.
Morgan and Oliver shook hands with every member of the band, and her dad talked money with the lead singer while her mom talked to the other two bands waiting at the edge of the drive.
And I stood there frozen, watching Tyler’s back, still feeling the brand of his hands on mine.
What the hell was that?
The cicadas were singing loudly in the trees that surrounded the Wagner’s property later that night when I slipped out onto the back patio, my laptop in tow. The sun had set hours ago and taken the warmth of the day with it, so I wrapped my thick cardigan around me a little tighter as I made my way to the large table next to their pool.
Steam gently rose from the aqua depths, the water dark but for the small bit of light the moon offered. That same moonlight streaked across the lake in the distance, but otherwise, the yard was dim and quiet.
I debated dangling my bare feet in the pool, knowing the water was heated, but thought better of it, since I hadn’t brought a towel with me. Instead, I sat my laptop up on the table, tucking my feet underneath me in the plush chair that accompanied it.
I typed in my password, rubbing my tired eyes and then taking a moment to just enjoy the evening around me as my home screen loaded.
As much as I didn’t ever want to come back to Bridgechester, I had missed it.
I missed the leaves turning colors in the fall, missed having seasons — period. It was the same one all the time in California, a perpetual spring. I’d found it lovely at first, but over time, found myself longing for red and yellow leaves, for snow, and even for the muddy season that always wedged its way between winter and spring.