Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 19583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 78(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 78(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
"I'm not single or miserable," I blurt out.
"Oh? Who's the lucky guy? Will he make an appearance at dinner, or should we set an imaginary place at the table for him?" He laughs.
"I didn't want to say anything because I don't want to jinx things." The lies come as easily as my sarcastic farewell remark to my mother. "I'll have to call him to see if his plans have changed this week, but I need to get on the phone with roadside. Hang up the phone."
"Fine, just be sure to let me know your boyfriend's name as soon as you think of it."
"Bye." I hang up, hating that I talked myself into a relationship that doesn't exist. Thankfully, I don't have much time to kick myself for lying to my brother. The customer service agent stays on the phone with me the entire time while they get a tow truck out to my car.
My gaze sweeps at the small shops a bit farther from me—all festooned with garlands and their windows frosted with artificial snow. Just my luck, I guess. Of all the things I thought could go wrong for our Christmas Eve dinner, this was the last on my list.
A flatbed pulls up beside me after thirty minutes of discussing awkward holiday travel plans with the agent. It's the season of oversharing and somewhat caring. I just want my family to care less about my dating life. However, I'm thankful to possibly get back on the road to see them.
The sun's sitting high in the afternoon sky, bouncing off the shiny exterior of the truck's chrome grill. I turn away from the gleam and see the highway signs showing I'm not too far outside of Heffen's Bluff. Hopefully, it's not the oil because the last thing I want is to let Josh be right about anything.
The tow truck driver gets out, circling the front of the truck, and that's when I see him.
Oh my God. The ground shifts from under me, and I have to steady myself, unable to believe my eyes for one second.
The late afternoon breeze catches his jet black hair, flipping tousled strands in front of his ruggedly handsome face—all hard, sharp angles. Piercing shale blue eyes stare at me, and he blinks slowly—his disbelief mirroring my own.
He doesn't have as many earrings and gauges from the last time I saw him, and his tattoos now cover the entirety of both his arms. Strong, muscular arms that flex and bulge while glistening under the sun's rays.
"Jelly Bean?" There's a slight twang in his deep voice that makes it sound like he sings about long whiskey nights.
"Collin?" I'm practically breathless as I drink him in. It would be an insult to say he looks the same. He doesn't. He looks better than my memory paints him. A clean white shirt that hugs his broad shoulders and muscled chest and dark denim jeans make him look like he's in a denim ad. No coat even though the wind is nipping at my fingertips, the air crisp with December chill.
Tall, sexy, with a shine to his skin that makes him look tan even though we're heading into the Christmas season. His expression shifts from curious to delight as he wraps his arms around me, hugging me tight. My nerve endings crackle with sparks the moment his skin touches mine, and I melt into him all too easily.
Damn, he smells as good as he looks too. A mixture of cinnamon and a brand-new car air freshener.
"Oh, Jelly Bean, it's been what? Ten years? You're as gorgeous as I remember." Collin puts me down, making my 5'4" height seem even smaller under his towering 6'2".
I have to tilt my head up to gaze back at him. "Yeah, I think it has been. What are you doing here?"
Collin takes a step to the side, using his hand to underline the logo on the side of the truck's door. "The Wright Spot is my place."
"I should’ve known! Wow, that's great. Your timing is perfect too—showing up in my life again—especially since I need a tow." I laugh and mimic his gesture, but there's no logo on my car door.
"Let me take a look. Pop the hood," he says, nudging his chin toward the front end.
The lever is right by the door as I reach inside while Collin sets up road flares and lights to make sure oncoming traffic sees us. After a few minutes of poking around under my hood, he runs to his truck, grabs a bottle of something, and pours it somewhere in the engine.
I try to ignore the warmth weaving through my legs at the sight of his muscles flexing. He has no business looking this good while fixing my car.
"Did you find the right spot yet?" I ask him, teasing and desperate to ignore the unexpected but familiar tendrils of desire coursing through me.