Not the Rebound Guy by Abby Knox (best classic romance novels txt) 📕

“Me? What about you?”

“Me too. Come on.”

With my arm around her shoulder, I give her no choice but to walk with me inside the house, through the kitchen, and down the hall. We creep as we pass Grams’ closed bedroom door.

“Hang on,” I whisper, pausing for a second. I listen at the door.

“What are you doing?”

I hear Grams’ even breathing and nod. “I just like to make sure I hear breathing, stirring in there before I lock up her house for the night.”

We make our way down the creaking hallway and stop at the guest room door. She puts her hand on the doorknob to steady herself. “You lock up at night? You listen for her breathing?”

A particular memory sobers me up slightly, and I explain in a whisper, “About a year ago, she let it slip that she never locks her doors. Of course, I already had a spare key to the house, so every night after she’s asleep, I lock up.”

As my eyes adjust to the dark, I watch as Eliza bites her bottom lip and her eyes drop to my mouth. She has one hand on the door and one hand fisting my shirt to steady herself. Her face is turned up to me.

“Garrett, this is above and beyond being neighborly. You’re a fucking hero, and I’m the worst granddaughter ever.”

“Come on,” I whisper, a little too roughly, pushing the door open and clumsily ushering her into the guest room. I quietly close the door then peel her fisted hand off my shirt. “Now listen. That’s not true. You are her favorite. I told you already she’s not upset with you for being far away. But you’re here now, and you’re still her superstar. You’ll always be her MVP. Whether you go back to New York or not.”

She blurts out a bunch of words that I’m sure she’s been holding in. “I don’t know if I want to…”

“Want to what, Eliza?”

In the dark, I can see her shake her head. I’m still holding her hands in mine, though I know it’s a bad idea.

“Making declarations about my life plan is a bad idea when I’m tired and a little drunk.”

“Very wise.”

She sighs. “And you’re…so nice to look at. Like how are you single? And how did we never meet before, because honey, you stand out in Piper’s Grove. Like a tall, sweet, tall, Hollywood movie actor.”

Now’s not the time to get into the whole story about why she’s never met me before. The single question is rhetorical; she already knows the answer to that, as we’ve just spent the last two hours lamenting all our terrible relationship experiences.

The compliments affect me, though, and I don’t want to let go of her hands just yet. I slant my face down and kiss the knuckles of her left hand, gently, and then her right. “Oh,” she sighs. “Wow.”

“Thank you,” I tell her.

For a few beats, Eliza and I hold that moment and gaze at each other.

“Stay—“

I know what she’s going to say, but it’s better if I don’t let her finish that. I don’t want to be her rebound guy. Especially if she’s not entirely sober.

“Goodnight, Eliza,” I say, cutting her off, letting go of her hands, and head back to my temporary campsite on the porch.

Once there, I pick up my guitar, Bessie, and pluck out a tune that’s been rattling around in my head all night. If I’m honest, since the first time Eliza and I made eye contact.

I pluck the melody over and over again to get it into my head permanently. At the same time, my eyes gaze across the meadow toward my house. At this moment, I’m happy my house isn’t completed yet, because I sure am enjoying the journey.

Chapter Five

Liza

Does Garrett know I can hear him plucking away on his guitar through the open window and humming to himself?

Earlier that night, he felt embarrassed when the singer called him up on stage. I wonder if he knows what a beautiful singing voice he has.

I lie in bed on top of the covers, open to the night air. Turning over to drift off on my side, I watch the fireflies dance in the dark outside. The sound of crickets and gentle guitar plucking carries me off to sleep with a goofy smile on my face.

For once, my conscience is quiet. There are no reminders that my heart is broken and needs time to heal before getting to know a brand new stranger. Maybe that’s the effect of all the beer. Whatever the case, I’m enjoying the moment and the fact that I can still feel his kisses on my fingers. Why does that feel so much more intimate than if he would have simply grabbed me and kissed me on the lips?

My bedtime thoughts might be innocent, but once I’m asleep, my visions take a turn for the utterly horny.

We’re back at Hijinks and making out like teenagers on the dance floor. Everyone is watching, and I don’t care. Jared, of all people, is on the stage and narrating our every move via the mic. Soon, Garrett is not just kissing me but groping me over my shirt, then under my shirt. The next thing I know, I’m topless. Somehow I’m not even embarrassed, and I want him to keep going. I close my eyes when he sucks one nipple into his mouth, and I’m in a different room entirely when my eyes open. Not so much a room, as a tent, which is hilarious. The last time I slept in a tent was on a hiking trip with Jared, and we did not have sex in that tent. I had thought it would be fun to snuggle in a giant sleeping bag, but he was such a severe over-the-top camper, he’d spoiled the mood. Every minute was regimented, and he’d been unimpressed with my kindling-gathering skills. And then he’d fussed at me at bedtime when I needed my phone light on so