Page 41 of Ride By Your Side

Maybe it’s a little different given our two situations. She had to learn her fiancé wasn’t who she wanted him to be, whereas I learned the complete opposite—that Veronica Prescott isn’t who I assumed her to be, either—she’s so much better.

“Don’t tell me you might actually like me now,” she teases, pushing herself off the bed and closing the space between us.

In the past I probably would have taken a step back, wanting distance, but instead, I find myself stepping toward her, our bodies almost touching.

“And what if I do?” I ask, my eyes searching hers before they involuntarily fall to her perfectly plump pink lips. Plump, pink, and entirely kissable.

“Pretty sure I should be the one asking you that question right?” she says, her voice lowering to an almost whisper.

“So, are we ready to move this dresser now, or what?” Ford’s annoyingly deep voice cuts in, breaking the moment as I leap back.

“Oh, uh,” I ramble, scratching the back of my neck. “I guess that depends on Vee, here,” I say, my eyes falling back to the small, dark-haired woman whose charm has me completely under her spell.

“Almost ready,” she says, scurrying back toward the dresser as she continues to sort through one of the drawers. “But, uh, the bed is ready to move if you want to get that out of here,” she suggests over her shoulder.

“Yeah, we can do that,” I say, letting out a strangled sound before turning toward a seemingly oblivious Ford, who adjusts his glasses and nods.

“Alright, sounds good,” he agrees, moving toward the other side of the bed.

While a part of me has been dreading carrying the rest of the heavy stuff out, especially since I seem to be doing the majority of the heavy lifting, another part of me is relieved. If there’s one thing I could use right now, it’s a distraction and a release, since I should definitely not be thinking about Veronica Prescott’s lips, especially how good I know they’d feel against mine.

Yes, some physical exertion and maybe a cold shower later are exactly what I need.

25

Veronica

“Pizza’shere!”Milesyellsfrom the other room, the delicious smell of pepperoni and cheese drifting through the air.

“I’ll be out in a second!” I yell back as I hang up the last shirt in my closet.

It still feels surreal that I’m moving into Miles’ place, but at the same time, it feels... right. Strangely enough, this feels much more natural than all those times I imagined myself in Pete’s fancy custom-built home—the one he commissioned, furnished, and decorated entirely on his own. Many might have looked at it and seen a dream home, but not me. Maybe if he’d ever let me have a say, things would’ve been different, but I was shut out of the process entirely.

Here though, I’ve been given free rein to decorate my room however I want. Miles even offered to let me bring in some of my own furniture and put his stuff in storage until I move out, but I wasn’t about to create more work for anyone, especially afterseeing how exhausted the guys looked after moving everything into storage The last thing I’d want is to force them to carry out Miles’ stuff and bring my heavy furniture up an entire flight of stairs.

Taking one last look around the room, I breathe a sigh of relief. There’s still plenty to do—unpacking, settling in, and making it feel like home—but the most important thing in all of this is that I officially have a space to call my own while I figure out my next steps.

With the tempting smell of Bob’s Quick and Tasty pizza wafting through the air and into my room, I happily make my way toward the living room.

“Oh, good. You showered,” I tease, noticing his still-wet, freshly showered hair as I try to ignore the fact that he’s once again wearing my favorite manly uniform: a tight-fitting white T-shirt and pair of gray sweatpants.

“Did I really smell that bad?” he asks, lifting a slice of pizza onto his plate before reaching into the cupboard to pull out another plate for me.

“Only a little,” I tease, shrugging as I join him at the counter. “But don’t worry, it sort of worked for you. The majority of the women I know love that whole sexy, sweaty, manly look you had going on.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asks, adding one more slice on his plate before moving to lean against the opposite cabinet. “And are you one of these women?”

“I think I could be,” I say as I slip a slice of pepperoni onto my plate before turning back to face him. “I’ve always been the opposite of your sister when it comes to our taste in men. She always liked the tall, lanky, and super nerdy or artsy types, while I’ve always preferred mine to be more muscular and rugged,” I explain before taking a much-needed bite.

“I don’t think I believe that. Pete was definitely not the muscular, rugged type,” he challenges with a small chuckle as he lifts his slice to his lips.

“Just because he was who I ended up with doesn’t mean he was my type,” I say with a casual lift of my shoulder once I swallow.

“Hmm,” he says, not looking like he believes me, but it doesn’t matter because he’s wrong. I’m actually starting to think that hot, muscly, grumpy blonds might be exactly my type, especially as my eyes roam his body. Yep, definitely my type.

“So,” I begin once more, crossing one leg over the other, “now that you know mine, I have to ask, what exactly is Broody Bennett’s type?”

“I don’t know,” he answers, looking down at his plate. “I’m not sure I have one.”

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