Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Just outside the apartment door now, he spun around, regarding her with guarded shock. Dawning panic. “Chloe—”
“I think we should both start dating other people,” she blurted, watching his left eyebrow hoist very slowly, and very dramatically. “Not that we were ever dating, but you know what I mean. Maybe it’ll be easier to be best friends if we have separate, healthy romantic lives, you know?” A scalding hot iron branded the insides of her throat. “There won’t be so much . . . of an expectation for us to be everything to each other when we simply can’t be everything to each other. We can’t keep pretending the way we are is normal.”
He stared back at her like he couldn’t comprehend anything coming out of her mouth.
“You know, you made the list of Boston’s Most Eligible Bachelors.” The words scraped the walls of her throat like hot sandpaper. “It’s perfect timing.”
More confusion lit his eyes. “I . . . what? How do you know that?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“What a coincidence. Neither does some ridiculous list.” He tunneled frustrated fingers through his hair. “I’m coming back in so we can straighten this out.”
He started forward, but she shook her head adamantly. “There is nothing to discuss and . . . listen, I just want to be alone. Good night, Sig.”
Closing the door on his stricken expression was one of the hardest things she’d ever done in her life. But despite the tears burning in her eyes and the hormonal wreckage that was her overwrought body, Chloe couldn’t help but feel proud of herself. At least she’d tried. At least she’d been brave in calling out the problem by name, in detail, even if the effort didn’t pay off.
It was comforting to know she’d gotten stronger.
If only she could stop being weak for a man who obviously wasn’t meant for her.
Chapter Nine
Sig was really taking a huge chance driving his junker from Boston to Darien—and the ancient engine was making its grievances known. But Chloe wanted her good luck blouse for tomorrow, so she was going to get the goddamn blouse. As long as Sig had a single breath in his lungs, if she wanted something, he’d go get it for her.
No questions or debates.
Not even if she’d spit roasted his fucking heart tonight and left it out to bleed.
He needed to speak to his father. Immediately. There were only two months remaining until the wedding . . . and now he’d lost Chloe. Lost her in a capacity he’d never really had her, but reason didn’t make the gaping wound in his chest any smaller or less excruciating.
Sig blindly took the exit to Darien, his tires squealing as he took the left onto the service road that would take him toward the Sound—and the Clifford residence.
The worst part about tonight was he’d hurt Chloe.
Had she been the one to strip nearly naked and beg to be taken to bed? Yeah—and he’d be replaying every second of that adult game of peekaboo until he was old and gray. But the fact that Chloe started it didn’t matter. Sig was the one with the inside information. He was the one keeping his father’s past to himself, hoping it would derail the wedding. Even if that happened, Sig would still be so fucking worried about being able to provide for Chloe that he wouldn’t give himself the privilege of sleeping with her until he had a secure contract with the Bearcats. Money and security to offer her.
Chloe knew none of that.
She only knew she’d been denied.
That truth sat in his stomach like a dozen bricks. He could barely remember the three-hour drive, because he continued to replay not only what happened earlier, but over the course of the last six months since Chloe moved to Boston. God knew their relationship had never been easy. How could it be? There was enough sexual tension between them to fill every hockey arena in North America. But in the beginning, when he’d rented her the apartment and showed her around Boston, he’d kept his filthy hands to himself. Mostly. He’d left her place without watching her strip, at the very least.
He didn’t speak to her like he spoke to her tonight.
Press it where we both wish I could put my cock, Chloe.
Sig squealed to a stop at a red light and rolled down the window, letting cold air into the truck so he wouldn’t arrive sweating. Maybe he shouldn’t have made this impulsive trip to visit Harvey. Hell, he hadn’t even called first. But he kept hearing Chloe say I can’t do this anymore. Kept hearing her suggestion they date other people. So, no, he couldn’t put this visit off. He was running out of time.
There was one disaster he could avert right this moment, however.
With the light still red, Sig picked up his phone and quickly pulled up the necessary contact, tapping dial. His agent, David, answered on the fourth ring, his voice groggy and disoriented from sleep. “No, Sig. I haven’t heard from the Bearcats about an offer yet.”