It was her turn to look surprised.
“Then why go to all the trouble? And don’t spout crap about gray hair. I saw no gray hair, and you’re not the type of guy to turn down any female, cougar or otherwise…”
“Ouch.” I laughed.
Her eyes narrowed. Oh, I loved those eyes. They changed colors when she was angry. Hot. So damn hot.
“It’s a necessary evil.”
“Because.”
“You said one true thing.”
“This is part of the true thing.”
“Nope. I told you one true thing. I hate dying my hair.”
She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest.
I looked away, focusing on the bar of soap in the corner of the bathtub and the slow drip of water coming out of the leaky faucet. “Light hair was the old me — too recognizable. And that’s as close to the truth as I’ve told anyone.”
Saylor’s lips pressed together, causing her cheeks to tighten just a bit, which also caused her neck muscles to strain. Man, every inch of her was perfect. I wanted to touch every part of her. I’ve never seen a girl look so sexy without trying.
She was in skinny jeans and a black t-shirt for shit’s sake, and it was a tie between wanting to strip her first and lick her later or lick her first then strip her later.
“Thank you,” she finally said, getting up off the floor and checking my hair with her fingers.
“Not so fast,” I murmured, grabbing a hold of her waist. “Now it’s your turn. Tell me one true thing.”
My fingers dug into her skin, her breath caught.
“I think you’d be hotter as a blond.”
I released her and burst out laughing. The sound of it echoed around the bathroom walls like a damn ping-pong ball. “Honey, you have no idea how true that is. No. Freaking. Clue.”
She swatted me with a towel, and just like that—
I was back to being obsessed.
Back to trying to figure out possible scenarios where the endgame wasn’t me packing up and leaving.
But keeping her all for myself.
Except — I had a nagging suspicion that if she ever found out who I really was, the normalcy of our relationship would take a nosedive and head straight for the pit of hell.
Chapter Thirty
The hardest thing I’ve ever done is watch my family suffer through my illness, knowing there was nothing I could do to comfort them… until I saw the look on Gabe’s face
when she came into the room. And then, like watching the saddest part of a movie, I saw their story unfold. And the ending? I closed my eyes. I couldn’t watch. Because I hated those types of stories — ones that gave you no hope but left you empty — and searching. —Wes M.
Saylor
I pulled into the parking lot and hurried out of my car. An accident on the freeway had made traffic complete insanity. Clenching my keys in my hand and some sheet music in the other, I ran toward the doors. Two men, big enough to cause serious damage to any action star, blocked my way. My eyes fell to two huge guns. Had there been a break-in or something?
One of them held up his hand, stopping me in my tracks.
“Do you have an appointment?”