Page 55 of If Tomorrow Never Comes

“I started a terrible book the other day. It was so boring I was asleep in under five minutes. We’re talking really, really bad. Wanna borrow it?”

She laughed, and it felt really, really good. “What was it?”

“Some pretentious memoir that hit theNYTbestseller list last week. I’ve had more time to read lately, so I figured why not? It was a mistake.”

It wasn’t lost on her his “time to read” was likely due to his breakup. “I mean, I’ll give it a shot. I’m pretty desperate at this point.”

He dipped his chin in a small nod, looking pleased with himself, and stood. She drained the glass while he went to another room and was on her feet when he returned.

He noticed and opened his door as he held the book out to her. “I hope you hate it as much as I did.”

She tucked it in her arm. “Thanks. For ... everything. Hank, the water, the book.”

The conversation.

She’d never admit it to him—barely even acknowledged it to herself—but she felt just a touch lighter as she walked through his door.

“Would you want to do that again?” he blurted from behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder.

He shifted so his hip held the door open but made no move to follow her. “Run with Hank, I mean. I meant what I said a while back, that you’d be welcome to take him anytime you want. He loves it, and it would help me out on days I’m too busy to take him myself. I, um, I could give you my number. You could just text me if you wanted to come grab him.”

That was probably a bad idea. And yet, some foolish part of her thrilled at the idea. “Oh. Sure.”

She swallowed and faced him again, unlocking and holding out her phone. With a small smile he took it and programmed in his number, then handed it back.

“I hope this is okay, but I want you to know you can use it anytime. If you need anything, even just a reminder someone’s close by. I know it’s not the same as your family or friends, and I’m definitely no doctor. But I’m a few minutes away, and if you ever needed help ...” He paused for a beat and slid his hands into his pockets. “Or even just a friend. I’m ... I’m here.”

Tender emotion flooded her, and she kept her eyes down, refusing to look at the man who made her feel things she didn’t want to. She almost deleted his number right then and there.

“I’m sorry,” came his quiet voice. “You don’t have to use it, obviously. I—”

She shook her head quickly, swiping at her cheeks. “No, it’s not that. I appreciate the gesture, really. It’s just ...” She paused to collect herself. “You’re a really nice guy. That’s all.”

His forehead creased as if he were in pain. “I’m not.”

“You are. Not everyone would offer to do that.”

“It’s nothing, Elliott. If it would help you sleep better and feel safe, I’d ...” He stopped suddenly and clenched his jaw, as if trying to determine if he should keep going. The words he finally spoke were quiet but fierce.

“I think I’d do just about anything.”

Chapter Seventeen

Elliott

The book actually worked. Whether it was the dull, never-ending descriptions or the sheer physical and emotional exhaustion of the day, she’d never know, but either way, she was asleep ten minutes after climbing into bed.

It backfired, though, in spectacular fashion. Because even though she drifted into blessed slumber, she also dreamed about Jamie.

It was inevitable, really, that she’d fall asleep to the mental image of his shirtless torso composed of muscles stacked in perfect rows. As she drifted off, her memory took her back to the night they met, the meddling bitch.

Of course, things went very differently this time. Better, as dreams usually went, and she went straight to the moment when he’d rasped those desperate, desire-tinged words into her mouth.

“Come home with me.”

She sucked in a breath at the feel of his tongue tracing her bottom lip. “Okay.”

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