Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 92422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Dad’s expression softens as a smile tips the corners of his lips. “To Colby and Britt.”
We clink our glasses before sipping the sparkly liquid.
I peek at Britt. The stiffness of her posture has disappeared, and her expression has relaxed, making her look even more beautiful.
That’s all it takes for air to get trapped in my lungs.
Maybe this relationship started off as an impulsive decision fueled by too much liquor, but who’s to say it can’t be more?
Who’s to say it already isn’t?
22
BRITT
I give one final wave to Colby’s parents as they disappear around the corner. Only then do I spin and whack him on the chest. “I can’t believe you told them we’re married!”
“Ow.” He lifts a hand to rub the injured area. “Why not? It’s the truth. We are married.”
“Not for long,” I say with a grunt, stalking to his truck parked down the street.
“TBD,” he says, trailing after me.
My clenched fists land on my hips as I swing around and glare. I’m seriously going to throttle him.
The grin he flashes does nothing to soften my stance.
Well…almost nothing.
Damn him.
He clicks the locks on his truck before opening the passenger side door in one smooth movement. “Your chariot awaits, madam.”
I flatten my lips, refusing to allow them to tremble. I get the feeling that if I give Colby an inch, he’ll take a mile.
After pulling into traffic, he throws a glance my way. “Should we talk at your place? I’m sure it’ll be a lot quieter than mine.”
I jerk my head into a tight nod.
Tonight I’m pulling the plug and ending this sham of a marriage.
Ten minutes later, I shove the key into the lock and push open the door to my apartment before flicking on the lights. As he strolls into the entryway and then the dining/living room combination, his gaze bounces around the space as if trying to absorb everything at once. It makes me wish that I’d taken the time to hide some of the more personal objects that had been left lying around. I’d assumed we would talk at a restaurant.
After a long stretch of silence, his gaze settles on me. “You live here alone?”
“Yup. When I applied to Western in the summer, I didn’t know anyone.”
He nods, gravitating to a credenza before picking up a silver-framed photo. My palms dampen as he studies it.
His gaze flickers to mine. “Is this your family?”
“Um, yeah.”
“How old were you when this was taken?” With a tilt of his head, he scrutinizes it. “About eight or nine?”
“Probably around there.” I force my feet into motion, closing the distance between us before plucking the frame from his hands. Relief rushes through me when he doesn’t ask any more questions.
As I set it back on the table, he beelines toward the couch and picks up the guitar.
Damn it.
Why didn’t I put the instrument away instead of leaving it out?
He strums a few cords. “You play?”
I jerk my shoulders, trying to shake off the growing tension that fills every muscle. This guy is making me twitchy. “A little.”
“Wanna play something for me? We can open this conversation with a song.”
It’s not a question I have to think about. “Nope.”
“You sang to me on the airplane,” he reminds, voice turning cajoling.
“Only because you were in distress.”
The slow smile that spreads across his lips sends a punch of arousal straight to my core. “Would you believe I’m in distress at the moment?”
It takes effort to swallow past the thick lump wedged in my throat. “Not a chance.”
Having Colby here is like being responsible for an overactive child in an art gallery. I need to keep a close eye on him, or he’ll rip the place apart and be into everything.
I’ve invited a few friends over since moving in, but I try to keep entertaining to a minimum. I’m also careful to hide anything that could potentially tie me to my old life.
It’s taking every ounce of self-control not to leap at him and rip the instrument from his hands.
I’ve never allowed anyone to touch or play with it.
Not even my siblings.
Instead of acting on the rush of emotion coursing through me, I settle on the couch in the hopes he’ll do the same.
I just want to get this over with.
Anxiety leaks from my muscles when he follows my lead and drops down beside me.
My fingers tap an insistent beat on my jean-clad thigh as I force myself to remain calm. “We need to end this now.”
There.
I said it.
Even though he appears outwardly calm and collected, the unnerving way he stares tells me he’s anything but. It’s enough to have another round of nerves detonating at the bottom of my belly.
“What’s the hurry? Why are you so opposed to the idea of spending a little time together to see if this could work?”
I wait for him to flash a charming smile or chuckle. Something that will show me that he’s joking around.