Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 128742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
I’ve done the rounds. Now I’m tucked into a corner with a glass of wine watching from a distance. Truthfully, I’m preoccupied. Itchy and edgy. Disappointed.
Yeah, I can’t pretend anymore that’s not what I’m feeling. I’m disappointed.
Nate and Yvonne aren’t here.
I shouldn’t care. I keep telling myself not to. But ever since our road trip, I’ve become more impatient to see Nate again. Part of me had even thought he might make the effort to connect again (as friends, of course), but obviously I was mistaken.
I get it, though. Having a girlfriend is a pretty good reason why he hasn’t made the effort.
And why I should banish the thought.
I’m not particularly close to Yvonne and feel no special loyalty to her. Still, sniping another woman’s guy is a shit thing to do. It wouldn’t win me any points with the rest of the group either, I’m sure.
Uh-huh, like it was even a remote possibility that you could steal him from her? the amused voice in my head inquires.
Ugh. This is ridiculous.
I’ve been here more than two months now. It’s been fun, but it’s time to stop letting myself entertain absurd scenarios of unrequited obsessions. Time to face the bitter truth.
And find another glass of wine to wash it down with.
When I enter the kitchen to get myself a refill, I spot one of Jack’s rugby teammates digging around in the drawers.
“You live here, right?” he asks, glancing at me over one broad shoulder. He’s clad in jeans and a striped polo shirt that stretches across his chest.
I really need to start paying more attention to rugby. The guy’s stacked, with rugged good looks and playful eyes.
“Yup,” I answer.
“Help me find the bottle opener?”
I open the dishwasher and pull it out of the utensil bin. “Jack threw it in there so people wouldn’t run off with it.”
“Outstanding.” He pops the cap off his beer and raises the bottle to me. “Cheers.”
We clink and drink.
“I’m Sam.” He leans against the counter. “You’re Abbey, yeah?”
“Yeah. Is there a sign on my back?”
“Jack talks about you.”
“Oh.” An embarrassed blush heats my face. “Don’t believe a word of it.”
“All good stuff. Promise.” Sam’s got a disarming smile and easy demeanor about him. “You’re quite fit, you know. I see why he didn’t mention that.”
I laugh nervously because I don’t know how to take that. “You just put it right out there, huh?”
Sam shrugs with a bright, tipsy grin. “Was that a bit cheeky?”
“Maybe a little. Please, don’t let me stop you.”
His grin widens as his gaze travels over me, lingering briefly on the bare skin revealed by my off-the-shoulder sweater. Despite Lee’s best efforts to dress me tonight, I chose my own outfit. Oversize sweater, denim skirt, and black combat boots. Cute and casual. Even Lee grudgingly admitted I looked good when he saw me walk out of my room. I’m sure it pained him to do so.
Someone turns up the music in the living room. Not a song I’m familiar with, though I’ve been absorbing a lot of British rock lately.
“Shall we have a dance?” Sam asks.
Nashville Abbey would say no. She’d be too far out of her comfort zone and self-conscious about looking silly in front of a crowd.
London Abbey has a few drinks in her and needs something to chase away the idea of a guy out of reach. So I chug my wine and grab his hand, leading him to the living room, where others are crammed together.
For a few minutes, I let go of all my apprehensions and distractions. I let Sam pull me close as he presses his lips to my hair, uttering flirty words I don’t entirely discern through the music and his accent. I just nod and smile, amused for the moment to go with it. There are worse ways to spend an evening and more destructive means of forgetting a guy.
Across the room, I notice Jack noticing me. His usual unbothered smile falters as he sizes up his friend. His eyes narrow. When Sam nuzzles the side of my neck, Jack walks away from his conversation to approach us.
“Oi, mate.” He jabs Sam’s shoulder. “You’re slobbering on the girl.”
“He’s really not,” I counter, still dancing in Sam’s embrace.
“On my best behavior,” Sam says, still grinning and unaffected. “Swear it.”
“House meeting.” Jack gives Sam a shove, and although Sam raises a curious eyebrow, he backs off.
“Thanks for the bottle opener,” he tells me. With a wink, he retreats.
Jack takes his place, but with quite a bit more distance between us. That doesn’t stop his addictive scent from gripping my senses. He always smells so fucking good, like soap and sandalwood with a hint of spice. He’s wearing a soft gray sweater and black trousers that make his ass look delicious. (I know this because I confirmed it with my eyes. Multiple times.)