Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
She stops, her face tilting toward me. “What did you say?”
I do better at meeting her gaze. “Your nails are silver. They’re usually black.”
“They are. You noticed.”
I can barely think about the reasons this is a bad idea. “I notice everything.” I tip my forehead toward her earrings. “Your earrings.” My gaze drifts to her ink. “The flowers on your arms.”
She rubs her right hand along her left forearm, licking her lips as though waiting for me to say more.
“The way your hair falls,” I continue, the words spilling out before I can stop them.
And I can’t stop. “The way you smile. Your different smiles. You have so many.”
“And what are they?”
Images snap before my eyes. “There was one earlier tonight. When I scored—I think it was pride.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling again. “So cocky,” she whispers.
I tip my chin toward her. “There’s that one. The smile you give me when you say I’m cocky.”
“I do have a smile like that,” she says.
I cycle through her smiles in my head, then let out a satisfied sigh. “The one you have when you flirt.”
She gasps dramatically. “I flirt?”
I slide maybe an inch closer. There are teammates here, co-workers. But the pull toward her is magnetic, and my resistance is tenuous at best. “You know you do, Shutterbug.”
“So do you,” she counters.
“I am guilty as charged,” I admit. But the words hit differently as I say them, guilt cutting into me. Not just guilt for wanting her—for being drawn to her—but for the fear that I couldn’t stop even if I tried. And what that might mean—for us, for the team, for everything I’ve worked for my whole life. I take a steadying breath, square my shoulders, and pivot the conversation. “Everly kind of gave me this look earlier when your name came up.”
Leighton startles, but she goes with it. “And?”
And I’m not sure what I’m looking for. But now that I’ve said it, I know I’m searching for breadcrumbs. “Fuck it,” I mutter, since there’s no point pretending with Leighton. “It made me wonder if she knows…” I trail off, hoping she’ll pick up the thread.
“She does. I told her,” Leighton admits softly. “A while ago.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That…I’d have seen you again. If I could.”
“Every fucking day,” I say, shaking my head and scrubbing a hand over the back of my neck. Then I look at her again, laying all my vulnerability on the table. “I should stop thinking about what that’d be like. Really stop. But it’s hard. I want to know I’m not the only one who feels this way. That I’m not the only one who hasn’t gone on another date. There was the auction date, but it was platonic. It was a PR charity thing. I want to know I’m not the only one who feels like nothing else could compare…”
She runs her hand along her arm, her fingers tracing the flowers as if she’s grounding herself. Then her eyes meet mine. “Do you know why I have these?”
I’m dying to know every detail about her, especially with how deliberately she shifted gears. “I don’t.”
“One day, my sister and I went to a flower farm. We had the best time, checking out all the flowers. I took pictures of us. It made me so happy. But it also stayed with me because I understood then why I love flowers so much.”
“Why do you love them so much?”
“Because I can smell them—all of them. I can tell the difference between each one. The delicate scent of jasmine. The peppery scent of calendulas. The creamy, crisp scent of lilacs. I could tell them all apart. I could smell everything.”
Her voice carries a longing. But there’s gratitude too, for the way she can detect every scent.
“That’s why you have flowers on you,” I say softly.
“Yes. Because…I can enjoy them completely. Experience them completely,” she says, closing her eyes. When she opens them, they’re full of emotion. “I haven’t seen anyone either…since you.”
“Leighton, let me drive you home.” I sound like I’m begging and I don’t even care.
She shakes her head, a small, bittersweet smile on her lips. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” She takes a beat. “And you don’t either.”
I drop my head, knowing she’s right. Appreciating she’s looking out for both of us.
But I walk her to the curb anyway and wait until her Lyft arrives. I hold the door open, watching her climb inside, the ache settling deeper in my chest. Letting her go is the right thing. It’s what we both need.
When I go back inside to join the guys, Asher pulls me aside to a corner of the bar. “Be careful.”
I arch a brow, feigning confusion. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” he says, his tone low but firm. “You’re not exactly subtle, Miles. The way you look at her—it’s only a matter of time before someone says something.”