Page 39 of Forget Me Not

“Is that so bad?”

She doesn’t answer.

I step up to her, only this time, she doesn’t step back. I keep at least a couple inches between us because God knows what happens every time I touch her.

“I’m not like other people you’ve met, Nova. I’m not interested in a happily ever after. I’m not a romantic at heart. I fuck. I move. I don’t stay in one place for more than a couple years because I like the freedom moving gives me. I’m not the man you take to meet your parents, but I can sure as hell make you come harder than you ever have in your life.”

She blushes at what I’ve said, her eyes brighter than I’ve ever seen against the shade of her skin.

“And when you’re old and alone?” she asks softly.

Carefully, I reach up, moving that damned curl that always falls across her forehead out of the way. I chance a step closer to her and she doesn’t back away, her eyes flashing with something suppressed. Fear? A hollowness she hides perfectly beneath her smile?

I should walk away from this girl, now. Let her go, find some guy that’s not ready to drop everything and move at the slightest whim. I’m not the man who can bring her the stability I think she probably wants. I’m not the type to wake her up in the morning with soft kisses and sweet romance.

“Reid,” she starts and just as I’m about to drag her down to the sand and take her in the middle of the fucking day where anyone could see us, she screams, “Toast!”

She jumps out of my arms, stomping across the sand to the water’s edge. Out in the current, Toast is swimming frantically for his ball which floats out to sea.

“Get back here!”

“His ball’s out there.” I toss my hat in the sand and start unbuttoning my shirt.

“I’ll get him a new one,” Nova snaps. “Come here, Toast. Come here, boy!” She pauses to look at me, freezing when she realizes I’ve taken off my shirt. “What are you doing?” Her gaze travels over me, down to my abs, then up to my chest and I resist the urge to chuckle at the blush spreading up her cheeks.

“Going to get the ball.” I kick off my boots and drop my jeans all while Nova watches, mouth open, face bright as a cooked lobster. Her eyes center in on my cock, still semi-hard from just being in her fucking presence and they go wide. “Don’t forget to breathe, little bird,” I murmur as I walk past her and into the water.

It’s cold but refreshing as the water swallows me. I dip under, swimming through the light current and making my way to where I can hear Toast kicking. He’s about twenty feet out—not too far, but I can see he’s tuckering out, so I swim ahead, grab the ball, and hook an arm around him, steering him back toward shore.

“Can’t be doing shit like this, mate. Your mom’s about to lose her shit.”

When we make it back to the beach, Toast runs to Nova, collapsing at her feet in a wet, panting heap.

“Don’t do that to me,” she snaps, stooping down to his level and hugging him tightly. “You shaved at least four years off my life. What if you were swept away? Huh?” Toast just cocks his head at her and jumps forward to lick her face. “You’d be fish food.”

When he doesn’t reply, she lets out a deep, disappointed sigh.

“Thank you,” she says to me, giving me a small half-smile. It’s the first time she’s actually fucking smiled at me and I swear my heart stops for a second.

So, this is what everyone else sees? No wonder Crusty wrote a fucking song about it.

She stands there awkwardly while I slip my clothes back on. Wet boxers mean I’ll look like I pissed myself, but at least the dog is safe and that little dip in the water kept me from doing something so fucking stupid, I’m not sure I’d come back from it.

“Thank you. Really.” Her eyes rake over me and just like that, my cock’s hardening in my jeans again. Fucking hell. “We can stop at my cottage. I can get you a towel.”

“Little bird.” I fix her with a look. “Do you really think it’s wise for us to be alone in your comfy little cottage right now?”

She pauses, her cheeks damn near the color of a maraschino cherry. My favorite.

“Okay, well how about pizza? Do you like pizza? Or do you only eat what you catch like a wild caveman?”

“Are you asking me on a date, little bird?” I joke, tossing Toast his ball. He takes it, though more because he has to now, than because he wants to play.

“You don’t date and neither do I, remember?”

Interesting. She’s never shared that little tidbit before.

“Pizza and sweet crabs,” she shrugs, her eyes alive with a challenge. “Strictly platonic. You just have to promise not to fall in love with me.”

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