Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 71911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Instead, I was inviting her to pick out a bottle of wine for us to drink and offering her some of the pie that Mrs. Jo had given me. Brielle was in a relationship. She had already cheated on him once since I’d met her. She was twenty-eight years old. Those three facts alone were enough for me to stop finding reasons to be around her.
I reached for a T-shirt I’d had on earlier, lying across the ottoman in the living room, and pulled it over my head. I’d done that too. Chosen not to put it on when she was coming up here. I knew my body looked good. I had to keep it that way in case Kiro wanted to do a concert or hit the road again. My damn vanity had wanted to show her just how good I looked.
“I don’t know a lot about wine. Or at least, the kind you have in there. I buy my wine at the grocery store, and it’s whatever is on sale most of the time. But I know I like Zinfandel,” she said, holding out a bottle of wine to me.
That particular bottle hadn’t come from a grocery store. She was right about that. She had good taste. Even if she didn’t realize it.
I took the bottle and winked at her. “Good choice.” I headed toward the kitchen. “I’ll open the bottle and pour the wine. You can cut the pie and put it on plates. I’ll show you where to find things.”
She followed me into the kitchen, and I opened the knife drawer, then pointed to the cabinet with the plates in it.
“There,” I said simply, then focused on the wine and not the way she smelled or looked in the sleeveless blouse and navy linen shorts she was wearing.
We worked in silence for a few minutes before I glanced over at her.
“The cake was good last night. I forgot to mention it.”
She smiled softly and placed a slice of pie on a plate. “Thanks. But it won’t be as good as this. I can see you’ve already had some, so you know of its deliciousness,” she said.
I nodded. “Indeed.”
“Mrs. Jo loves with this pie. Since she gave you one, that means, you’ve made it into her heart. She wouldn’t have made this for you otherwise. With her, a cherry delight pie means she loves you. That you’ve become family. Count yourself lucky,” Brielle said to me, then gave me a pointed look.
“I’m glad to hear that. She’s a nice lady,” I replied, walking the two glasses of wine over to the table, setting them down. “How long have you known her?” I asked.
Brielle smiled, as if having a fond memory. “Since I moved here. She was the first person in the building to speak to me. Actually, she came over and, uh …” Brielle paused, as if not sure if she should continue.
I waited, more curious than before.
“She introduced herself. She made me feel welcome.” Then, she stopped and said nothing more.
She’d left something out. That was clear. I was good at reading her. The more I watched her, the better I got at it. Brielle had an expressive face.
“She’s very excited about your new sofa. That might be why she gave me this pie,” I admitted.
Brielle laughed and looked up at me through her lashes. “There’s a good chance you’re right.”
The smile that spread across my face was easy. I wanted to smile. Hell, I wanted to fucking laugh. Brielle made me feel … happy. Why the fuck was that? Why did she make me feel anything more than lust?
She took a bite, and I watched her swallow, then take a sip of the wine. My own was forgotten in front of me. I preferred the view over the food and drink.
Brielle glanced over at me again and blushed. “Why are you looking at me? Do I have pie on my face?” she asked me.
I could lie and tell her she did, but I didn’t. I decided honesty with her was best. “You’re hard not to look at.”
Her big blue eyes widened, and she stared at me. My mind went to other things then. Naked things. Brielle spread out on top of this table kind of things. My cock hardened and pressed against the zipper of my jeans.
“I, uh, should probably go,” she said, moving her chair back.
“You’ve not finished your wine or your pie,” I pointed out.
She looked at me nervously, then closed her eyes a minute and took a deep breath before opening them. “I’m sorry. This, we, it … I don’t think I should have come inside,” she said, standing up.
I watched her struggle with something more to say before walking out.
I tried to force myself to stay in my chair. Let her go. She was right to leave. We both needed her to leave.