With the intensity of a hound dog eyeing a juicy bone, he watched bubbles dance on the screen.
Unidentified frying objects.
He snorted. More bubbles appeared, then...
Can we talk?
Did he want to? No...yes...maybe. No, he had a library waiting for him. He put the phone back in the charger, stared at it, then picked it up again. The library could wait.
If U want.
I do. When?
Why did she keep asking these hard questions? He supposed now was a good time. Maybe if he talked to her, he could finally sleep.
Now. Where?
Ha! He could ask hard questions, too.
I’m parked down the street from your house.
He’d been thinking a neutral location would be best, but she was down the street. So close. He fisted his hand and pounded his chest. “Stop it!” Stupid thumping heart. Might as well talk here. But not in the house, not in his rooms. He’d cleaned his rooms from top to bottom and washed his sheets to get rid of her scent. She was banned from the second floor.
He drew in a deep breath, annoyed as hell that she was messing with his head. Still.
“You’re losing it, brother,” Parker had accused him when kicking him out of the kitchen.
Maybe he was. Even his dog had tired of his craziness and had removed himself to Everly’s room. He’d talk to Skye, get all these thoughts that were keeping him from sleeping off his chest, then he could move on with his life without her in it. After a year of pining after her, it was time. He texted her.
Meet U on the porch.
He considered exchanging his sleep pants for jeans, but nope. He’d put on a T-shirt. That was the extent of his civility because he wasn’t feeling very...well, civil right now. Barefoot, he headed for the porch.
The night was comfortably warm, the three-quarter moon was high in a cloudless sky, a soft breeze blew, and the honeysuckles filled the air with their sweet perfume. He bet he could sleep out here. The lights from her car lit up the driveway, and he crossed his arms as he waited for her to park and get out.
When she walked in front of the car’s headlights, which hadn’t automatically clicked off yet, his breath caught in his throat. The Skye walking toward him was the Skye he’d met the night he couldn’t forget no matter how hard he tried.
Her hair was down, the long strands lifting and falling with the wind. She wore a sleeveless blue top and white shorts, and on her feet were those glittery flip-flops.
She was his fantasy. The girl in his dreams. He shook his head, mentally pushing those thoughts away. When she reached the bottom step, she looked up at him and gave him a shy smile.
A few days ago, he would have fallen all over himself for that smile, but no longer. He turned without speaking, went to one of the Adirondack chairs, sat, and waited.
He refused to be curious as to what she had to say. Correction, he refused to let her see he was curious.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Skye knew this wasn’t going to be easy. But she’d earned his indifference, if that’s what it was. It could be that he hated her now. She prayed he still felt something for her. He hadn’t invited her to sit, hadn’t looked at her with warmth in his eyes, hadn’t given a hint that he was happy to see her. Her mind blanked, the speech she’d rehearsed in her motel room and on the way over forgotten.
“May I sit?”
He shrugged as if he couldn’t care less what she did. Tears burned her eyes, and she was so tired of that happening. She almost walked back to her car. He’s worth fighting for, her heart reminded her. That was what she’d grabbed on to as she’d sat in that dark motel room after Parker left.
If she sat in the chair next to him, it would be too easy for him to ignore her, to refuse to look at her as she offered him her heart in her trembling hands. So she moved to the section of the porch rail in front of him, then leaned back against it.
“I...” She cleared her throat. “I had this speech prepared that would... I don’t know. Sweep you off your feet?”
He made a noise that sounded like disbelief.