Page 59 of GAF Factor

His jaw tensed as he glanced over at me. “For a time.”

I was surprised he told me the truth. Most men wouldn’t admit to being in love with another man’s woman. “Why didn’t it work out?”

“There was nothing to work out. She was never mine to have.”

“Because you never made a move?”

“Pretty much,” he said, shifting into park before turning back to me.

“And you never made a move when I was with Kavanaugh,” I pointed out.

“Are you pointing out all of the ways I failed at getting a woman?” If he was trying to make a joke, he failed miserably.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“What good would that have done? Would you have liked me more if you knew I had an obsession with you? Would you have come running into my arms the moment you found out I followed you from your ex?”

I thought about it and grinned. “Okay, maybe you’re right.”

“See, this way, I didn’t look like a stalker.”

“Fox says you can’t stalk someone you know.”

“Fox is a fucking nut job. Are we done here?”

“You don’t like sitting in the car with me?”

“I’ll sit in the car with you any time you want, but I’d rather have you inside and naked.”

I rolled my eyes. “Is that all men think about?”

His hand wrapped around the back of my neck in a flash, drawing me into him. “Face it, baby. You’ve been thinking about me naked a lot longer than you want to admit.” His lips brushed over mine in a light kiss, and then he was out of the car and walking around to my side to pull me out.

I squealed as he yanked open the door and tugged me into his arms. His warm breath fanned over my face as he leaned in close, brushing his nose against mine. “Fuck, I should have taken you from Kavanaugh the first night I brought you back here.”

15

KAVANAUGH

I staredat her number for way too long, trying to think of something clever to say. Merry Christmas just didn’t seem like enough. I needed more.

“Dinner’s ready,” Zoe said, poking her head into the living room.

I glanced up just as Red slapped me on the back of the head. “Ow. What the fuck was that for?”

“For staring at your phone for the last half hour,” he muttered. “You’re not with her anymore. Move on, man.”

“Just like that?”

“It’s been over a month. You have to let her go.”

“It’s not that easy. We have a connection.”

He shoved to his feet, snatching his beer off the end table. “What you have is a potential restraining order. Let. Her. Go.”

“We still text,” I argued. “It’s not like this is a one-sided thing.”

“I don’t get you. You broke up with her. You said you didn’t think it would work out, that you would never live up to her expectations for honesty.”

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