Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
I could save Taylor the embarrassment and confess that I’ll be staying here this weekend as well along with a handful of my friends, but where’s the fun in that?
I push off the doorframe and head to grab my workout clothes.
“Of course I’ll be packing.” She nods. “I’d completely forgotten with how busy this week has been.”
“Oh, so you have big plans then?” I ask with my back turned toward her as I tug open the top drawer of the dresser.
She makes a noncommittal sound, like a soft moan followed by a clearing of her throat. “Yep. My family grills out every year. Potato salad, watermelon, fireworks—”
“For Memorial Day?”
“The whole nine yards.”
I hum as if I’m interested in her lies. “Do you have a big family?”
“Why do you suddenly care?” I can hear the suspicion hardening her tone.
“It’s a fair question. After all, you know about my family. You know I have a twin sister—”
“And parents?” she interrupts. “Do you have those, or were you just spawned from the underworld one day?”
I’m glad she can’t see my smile.
“Ah yes, Rick and Judith. Been married thirty-five years this September. What about you?”
“Yup. Parents, in love, married forever.”
“What’re their names?” I ask, continuing the charade.
“You won’t believe this, but Rick and Judith. What are the odds, right?”
She’s trying to gain the upper hand with biting sarcasm, but she doesn’t realize how transparent it is. By deflecting the questions, she answers them so plainly, and I’m left with a tightness in my chest.
Who gets defensive over simple questions about their family? Who turns abrasive when asked the names of their parents? It’s obvious she didn’t have a storybook childhood. It’s clear there are parts of her life she’s not proud of. I had my suspicions, but this confirms it.
With my workout clothes tossed on top of the dresser, I turn and glance at her over my shoulder. Her hands are propped on her hips, her eyes assessing me coldly. If she were a cat, her claws would be out.
I turn back around and start unbuttoning my work shirt.
“Sounds like you have quite a weekend ahead of you.”
She hums in agreement.
There’s only silence after this, a moment that stretches so long I have no choice but to cave and glance back at her again. She hasn’t changed her pose at all, but her face has softened.
I arch a brow.
She tilts her head.
A little dimple starts to appear beside her lips as she fights off her smile.
“I don’t suppose you ever believed I was leaving, not even for one second?”
“No.”
“Why did you let me carry on like that for so long then?”
“It amuses me.”
Her eyes narrow. “Would you believe that until I met you, I would have called myself an honest person? Something about you…” She waves her hands to encompass my body as if that’s the root of our issues. “It’s just—you’re so damn difficult and stubborn and rude, and if I’m speaking frankly, which I guess I am because I’ve said too much already, I’d rather swallow my tongue than speak the truth to you, than share one piece of my life beyond the four walls of this cabin.”
Her honesty stings more than she probably intended. I know we’ve pushed each other to our limits and likely crossed every line there is to cross, and yet I don’t feel good about how far we’ve dragged each other through the mud. I didn’t realize how dirty we’d gotten. In fact, I’m not even sure we’d ever find our way out of this war if we tried. The realization cuts as deep as a knife.
I yank off my shirt and replace it with a t-shirt before I speak again. “What a charming confession. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to work out.”
I try to move around her, but she blocks my path, arms coming up to grip my biceps, or at least try to. She’s too small to really do much.
“Did I…Did I just hurt—”
She cuts herself off as she studies my face intently, searching for something I won’t reveal. Then she shakes her head in confirmation as if there’s no possible way she could have hurt my feelings. To her, I have none.
When I don’t speak, she takes a step closer. Her body is only an inch or two away from mine and even though I’m over six feet, a soft breeze could sway me in her direction and bring me right up against her. What would it feel like? Different than the first time? Better?
“The point I was trying to hint toward is: aren’t you tired?” she asks, sounding exhausted. “Of this? Don’t you think you and I could be friends if only we’d put down our weapons?”
“Do you always call your friends stubborn and rude?”
She hasn’t picked up on the fact that she’s bruised my ego. She still thinks we’re playing a game. She aims a teasing smile up at me and my cold heart wants to thaw, but instead, I double down on my annoyance. I’ve seen that smile aimed at every man around the jobsite this week. She has so many of them wrapped around her finger and I refuse to add myself to the multitude jumping for the chance to vie for her attention.