Page 82 of Smoky Darling

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Realizing how it sounded, Elouise drags a hand down her face. “I just mean it’s too early for the third degree.”

Truthfully, I’m glad Elouise interrupted. I can only imagine the sort of questions my own mother would ask in this situation, and I’m guessing Mrs. Hall would be just as direct.

And it’s not that I’m trying to keep secrets from Lou, but there are some topics – like our romantic histories – that are best discussed when it’s just the two of us. And we haven’t had enough alone time to share everything that still needs to be said.

Lou and her mom are still debating the merits of morning interrogations when I hear the front door click open.

Damnit, I’m better than this. I chastise myself when I realize I didn’t check to make sure that the door got relocked after the Halls came in.

I silently push back from the table, closing my hands into fists as I move to intercept the intruder.

“Where are you going?” Elouise breaks off her conversation with her mom to call after me.

I can hear heavy footsteps before I even exit the kitchen. Whoever just entered the house isn’t even trying to be quiet.

This older style house has a small threshold between the kitchen and living room, and that’s where I find him.

At the sight of me, the man a few years younger than myself halts.

When I keep approaching, he takes a step back, shock covering his features. And it’s that expression that makes it all click.

I stop, a few feet left between us and release the tension in my hands.

“James,” I don’t say his name too kindly, still feeling worked up over hearing someone walk into my girl’s house unannounced.

His eyebrows lift until they meld into his shaggy brown hair, the same shade as Elouise’s. “Beckett?” His brows shift back down, furrowing, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

That attitude brings me back 20 years. James had a tendency to be a little shit when he felt like he had something to prove.

A smirk pulls across my mouth, “I’ll give you one guess.”

I shouldn’t goad him. I really shouldn’t. Not when his parents are no doubt seconds from appearing. But I can’t help it. And when I see it click for him, my smirk turns into a grin.

“You son-of-a-bitch.”


Tags: S.J. Tilly Romance