Page 44 of The Charm of You

“Why not? You get girls like her with your eyes closed. I swear, all you have to do is breathe in their direction, and they come running like my uncle’s pigs during feeding time on his farm.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Why are you not trying to get with that sweet angel?”

I hang my head and sigh. “She’s out of my league too, man.”

“Again, you’re not wrong, because she’s the cream of the crop, for sure.” He stops me again from locking myself in Judd’s office. “But you’ve landed chicks like Keely Butler and Danielle McCleary. You’re like Sapphire Creek’s catnip when it comes to women. You’re my idol.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” I nudge past him as discomfort crawls up my arms like a swarm of bees.

Bo’s got it all wrong. Sure, Keely and Danielle were flings in my past, but I’m not some vagina-whisperer he should have on his shortlist of idols.

I’ve been lucky since high school, but women don’t stay. I’m not the guy they end up with. I’m the casual hookup they run to for a quick getaway to Climax City, and I’m happy to oblige.

Caroline and I could have some fun, but the idea seems futile.

She’s not the fun type.

She’s the kind of girl men dream of bringing home to their mothers and settling down with. She’s the kind of woman who makes a man willingly and happily walk down the aisle to a future together.

I’m just not that kind of man.

“Ithought you added a new pottery class on Monday nights.” I follow my mother through her kitchen, and the smell of herbs from the pot roast she’s cooking makes my damn stomach growl.

“It was canceled.” She shrugs and pulls the oven door open, and steam bellows to freedom. “Annabelle’s youngest daughter is in town with her new baby, and Mary Ellen’s tennis elbow is giving her too much grief to attend class. The other women are prepping for homecoming weekend, so I invited Paulette over for dinner.”

I nearly bite my tongue. “Paulette is coming over for dinner? Does that mean…”

“Caroline is coming too,” she chirps, and I wish she would’ve said anything else. I’d prefer if Satan himself joined us for dinner tonight—anyone other than Caroline fucking Summers.

If I didn’t respect my mother, the string of curse words I’d unleash would be so long and filthy and loud that they’d hear me from two counties over.

“Don’t just stand there.” She unties a bag of dough and starts tearing apart the rolls and spreading them on a baking sheet. “They’ll be here soon, and you need a shower.”

“Thanks,” I deadpan.

“I love ya, honey, but you smell worse than a racoon carcass in the trash.”

“I hear you loud and clear, Ma.”

On my way out, she calls, “Wear one of your good shirts!”

She never tells me what to wear. What in the world is she up to tonight?

I pause inside of my apartment as unease settles in my stomach like a rock at the bottom of a pond.

For me, Mondays are for laundry and vacuuming, then a nightcap on my couch. I drink beer and watch football. My mother and I never have dinner on Mondays, and we sure as hell don’t invite pretty women to join us for dinner on Mondays.

Why did I have to tell Caroline she’s pretty? Fuck—I’m no different than every other guy falling at her feet.

When she told me she liked it, I nearly buckled and fell to my knees, ready with a parade of compliments on the tip of my tongue. She’s a damn temptress.

A hypnotizing temptress.

I lose all logic when I’m around her, and I fucking hate it.

Even more, I hate that I can still taste her.

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