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

about. It’s just one of those basic human needs. Food. Sex. Connection. Companionship. My thing is, if you’re in a long-term relationship, you should at least try to do things for your partner that are out of your comfort zone.”

Having waved down the server and ordered another round, I tug at the label on my empty bottle while I think about how to respond to what he’s just said.

“Oh, it wasn’t a comfort zone thing. It was a machismo thing.”

Garrett rotates the base of his bottle back and forth in his hand. “I gotta tell ya. For me personally, nothing makes me feel more macho.” My lips parted, I watch Garrett take a slow, sensuous draw from the bottle, lick his lips a little too thoroughly, then set the bottle down forcefully on the table. “But that’s just me.” He winks again and wipes a droplet of beer from his bottom lip with the side of his thumb.

I’m so slick right now I might slide right off this cheap vinyl upholstery and end up between his legs under the table.

Nora to the rescue.

“Eliza! Sorry, we’re late!”

My childhood friend Nora and her husband Jake appear at the table just at the right moment.

She goes on to explain the babysitter canceled, and they had to call all of their backups.

I shoot up and wrap Nora in a tight hug.

She glances past me and raises an eyebrow. “Who’s this? You got yourself a rebound guy already?”

“No! I mean, no.” God, I hope I didn’t blurt that out as if I’m repulsed by the idea of being on a date with him. Because I wouldn’t be. Hypothetically.

I make introductions, and Garrett stands and shakes Nora’s hand.

Suddenly, she gasps. “You’re the honey man! From the farmer’s market!”

He nods. “That’s me.”

“We love your stuff!” Nora then turns to me. “He makes the best honey, and the soap! Oh my gosh, you gotta try his soap and take some back to New York with you, your New York friends will go wild for it.”

I look back at Garrett. “Really?”

He shyly plants his hands inside his front pockets. “Well, I don’t do much; the bees make the honey. And the goats do the hard work with the soap.”

Nora grabs my shoulder like she wants me to understand. “I’m serious. This man’s soap is so lathery and moisturizes like you wouldn’t believe.”

I shouldn’t be thinking of Garrett in the same thought of showers and soap and bare skin. I should not be feeling turned on by listening to Nora describe soap. It’s just wrong. But look at him. And look at the way he’s looking at me. I bet he knows exactly what to do in the shower. Jared never wanted to fuck around in the shower ever. Why…why was I with him again?

Lightheadedness forces me to sit down as the server returns with our beers. Nora claps. “Yes! That’s what I need. You all have a tab going? Here.” She shoves a large bill in my hand then turns back to the server. “Two more rounds and keep ‘em coming. I am away from the twins for the first time in three months, and I am pumpin’ and dumpin’ tonight!”

Thank god for friends who are starved for a good time; no more talking about my vastly neglected nether region.

Chapter Four

Garrett

Eliza’s friend Nora seems like a lot of fun, and I’m enjoying the conversation while the band takes a break.

Andy, the lead singer, returns to the stage and turns the mic back on, only to interrupt the conversation. “I don’t normally do this, but I heard that my friend Garrett Strong is here tonight, and I’d like to invite him up on stage to sing a song he wrote for us.”

“Oh no,” I grumble, wolfing down my third beer of the night.

“You sing, too? Do you also pluck kittens out of trees and build houses for Habitat on weekends?” I deserved that. I probably seem like the do-goodiest do-gooder that ever did good.

I crack my knuckles, a thing I do when I’m nervous. “Sorta.”

Eliza cackles. “That was supposed to be a joke.”

I shrug as I stand. “What can I say? A man with a big ladder is always in demand. I’ll be right back, okay?” I look down at her widened eyes and briefly touch her shoulder.

The heat of her skin radiates through that sexy bohemian-style shirt she’s wearing, and I can still feel her warmth on my fingers after I step up to the stage.

I don’t want to be behind a mic; I want to stand next to Eliza. Or sit next to her. Hold her on my lap. If I’m honest, bury my head in her lap. Reluctantly, I accept the acoustic guitar from my buddy, then adjust the mic stand because I’m freakishly tall. I catch Eliza’s face while I’m strumming a few warm-up chords. She’s still surprised but also looks impressed. Too bad she’s about to be let down massively because I’m awkward as a thirteen-year-old when I’m on stage.

“This is a song I wrote after a bad heartbreak, and it helped me a lot. So tonight, I would like to dedicate this song to a new friend. I hope it helps.”

I play my silly song, sing my silly words, and try not to make too much eye contact with Eliza. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see her wiping her face. She’s probably so angry she’s been brought to tears over me gently calling her out.

I try to ignore the applause when I’m finished. Quickly I thank everyone and head straight back to Eliza to face the consequences of what I did.

To my surprise, she’s not even mad.

“That might be the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” she says. “Thank you.”

As the band eases into a popular tune with a steady beat, and we find ourselves dancing the two-step together. I don’t remember asking, and I don’t remember her hesitating. We just sort of fall into it. She follows