Meet Cute by Elise Faber (buy e reader .txt) 📕

time my dad died, I was sad, but it was almost a relief. I didn’t have to keep trying to make a place in his life for me.”

“And your brother?”

Her smile was sad. “He’s a product of the same system. How do you think it goes?”

I traced her palm with my fingers, her skin warm and damp. “I can imagine.”

“I’m sure you can.” Her hand twitched. “I think it’s been six months since I’ve talked to him? I called him on his birthday, we spoke for two minutes, and that was it.”

“And on your birthday? Does he call you?”

The pain in her eyes sliced me to the quick. I was a fucking idiot for having asked it in the first place.

“Never mind,” I said, the words clipped out as rapidly as possible. “Let’s talk about—”

She squeezed my hand. “I really am okay.”

That smile she gave me did some squeezing of its own, grabbing my heart and clutching tightly. “Sweetheart—”

“You know what I want to do?”

“What’s that?”

“I want . . .” A sigh, quiet as the breeze on a midsummer night rustling through grass, brushed along my spine. “I just want to stop looking backward and to just live my life.”

“That sounds like sound advice.”

“Either that or thrusting my head into the sand like an ostrich.”

I squeezed her hand. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Ostrich.”

“Why do you care?” she asked archly.

I cared. I cared a whole freaking lot more than was reasonable for the short length of our friendship.

Not that I could tell her that.

Instead, I tugged a lock of her hair, the blond strand having escaped from her ponytail, and said, “I don’t want that gorgeous face buried in the sand. Plus,” I added. “How can I be a damsel in distress without you there to save me?”

She laughed, and fuck if that didn’t make me feel ten feet tall. “Come on, damsel,” she said, pushing out of the water. “Let’s go inside before I turn into a prune.”

I got out ahead of her, snagging our towels and then helping her down the steps.

“Tammy?” I asked as we walked toward the house.

“Yeah?”

“Any chance that the whole living-your-life thing involves me?”

Her lips curved, slow and sexy and full. “Yeah,” she murmured. “I think there’s a damned good chance of that.”

Chapter Twenty

Tammy

I stopped just before I stepped inside the house, not wanting my makeshift bathing suit to drip all over the floor.

“What is it?” Tal asked, his front coming very close to my back.

“The floor,” I said by way of explanation.

He stepped in front of me. “What’s wrong with the floor?”

I snorted, patted his cheek. “Sometimes, I forget I’m with a man who’s spent his last years cloistered in a mansion with people to take care of his every whim.”

“Hey! I resent that comment.”

I gave him an arched look.

“Sometimes, it’s a trailer and not a mansion.”

Giggles bubbled out of my chest, and I shook my head at him. “I don’t know how you can always make me laugh,” I said. “But I’m glad for it.”

Fingers on my cheek, a damp chest against mine. “Me, too.”

Golden eyes, wide pupils, beautiful, long lashes.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” I said.

His cheeks went a little pink. “Tam—”

I dropped my towel.

Which was slightly less impactful since I was wearing a bra and his underwear, but the way his gaze dragged over my body, a nearly tangible scorch of heat, as though it were invisible fingers, made every inch of me jump to absolute rigid attention.

I wanted him.

Again.

Without all the angst.

“Tal?”

Those pretty gold eyes had landed somewhere in the vicinity of my breasts, and I glanced down, discovered why. My bra was plain white cotton, and the water had made it see-through.

Maybe I should be embarrassed that my breasts were on such blatant display, but aside from being completely over with the angst and insecurities, I was also absolutely and unequivocally attracted to this man. Seeing him look at me like that—heat in his eyes, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession, his cock hardened behind the closure of his swim trunks—I couldn’t be insecure.

I just . . . wanted.

My fingers went to the waistband of the boxer briefs, and I started to push them down.

“No,” he murmured. “Wait.”

And then he scooped me up and carried me to the bed.

It was my turn to say, “Wait.”

“No?” he asked.

“Not on the sheets,” I said. “They’ll get wet.”

His smile was absolutely wicked, and I felt it right between my thighs, as though he’d thrust home and filled me to near-impossible proportions. Then he slowly released me, my body sliding down his, feeling every hard inch against me as my feet inched toward the floor.

Lips parting, breath trembling, I managed to not turn into a pile of goo.

Or not too much of one, anyway.

His fingers brushed back and forth above the waistband of the boxers, dipped beneath, the calloused length the sexiest roughness, especially when it became more than a finger, when both of his hands slipped beneath the sodden fabric to cup my ass and tug me toward him.

“Wet, huh?” A finger slid between my cheeks, the tip growing, gliding smoothly as he slid it forward and inside.

I moaned, the blunt intrusion making my knees buckle.

And then his hand was slipping free, the boxers were on the floor.

His lips found mine for a brief, blazing kiss. Then I was free again, my knees buckling again, my hips jerking, moans pouring out of my mouth as he bent, rucked up my bra, and sucked one of my nipples deep.

Pleasure flowed through me, filling me from my toes all the way out the top of my head. I scrabbled at his shoulders, trying to hold him closer, even as he pulled away, making me groan for an entirely different reason this time. I wanted more. I wanted him inside me and—

I reached for the tie of his swim trunks.

He brushed my hands away, reached for the drawer and pulled out a condom.

But I wasn’t going to be deterred. I pushed him back