Page 32 of Mine to Hold
“I enjoy living in the moment, taking things one day at a time. It’s easier that way. Less stressful.”
“I would think it would cause more anxiety,” he said. “Not having solid roots would make me twitch. I like structure.”
“That’s an overrated concept and a crutch.” She tapped her beer against his.
“Maybe. But it’s stable. It allows for long-lasting friendships.” He stared at the hummingbird tattoo on her wrist. No color. Just black ink. But the three-inch tattoo was exquisite. He reached out and traced the tiny wings. “Is there a story behind this tattoo?” He pointed to her bare feet. “Or the other three on your ankles? They’re very interesting. I like them all.”
“Thank you.” She smiled. “The butterfly was the first one I got. It was about six months after I left California. It represents freedom and change from a past life. From being in foster care and not being seen or heard.” She twisted her leg, showing off another tattoo. “I’ve always loved dolphins and evenings. And dolphins are so calming.”
He wanted to comment that moving around as much as she did made her closed off, never forming true bonds with people.
But that would be rude.
“I take it you like to read and drink whiskey.” He leaned over and lifted her leg, resting it on his lap, tracing the image with his finger. Her soft skin ignited a fire deep in his gut. It wasn’t that he’d sworn off relationships. He hadn’t. But he had made a promise to himself that he wouldn’t jump into the deep end. That he would take his time getting to know any woman who turned his head.
“I developed a taste for bourbon when I spent a few months in New Orleans and when I was living in Nashville, I found other whiskeys to enjoy. Books have always been my jam.” She leaned back, taking another swig. “They gave me comfort when I was living in foster care and felt as though I had no one.”
“I’m sorry you had to experience that.”
She shrugged. “While it’s a part of who I am, I refuse to let it define me. In some ways, it helped shape me into an independent human, capable of taking care of myself.”
“It’s a good quality to be able to turn a bad experience into a positive.”
She leaned over, tugging at his shirt, boldly exposing his chest. “Tell me about this?” She traced her fingers over the bear tattoo on his right pec, sending a warm tingle through his system.
Sleep might not actually come if this continued.
“Me and my brothers all have one and my mom has a mama bear with seven cubs on her ankle. We got them after she and Jameson made peace with each other.”
“That’s nice.”
He opened his mouth but was cut off by the damn doorbell.
Rumor jerked. Her foot hit the pool deck with a thud.
Yanking his cell from his pocket, he checked the door app.
Fucking Edwina.
Aggressively, he set his cell face down on the table. “Un-freaking-believable,” he muttered. He shoved his plate aside, snagged his beverage, and chugged, but he didn’t budge.
“Aren’t you going to get that?”
“Nope,” he said. “She’ll go away.”
“She?”
He closed his eyes and concentrated on the hum of a motorboat buzzing by. The sound did nothing to settle the nasty pit that had formed in his stomach. Every time he’d run into Edwina, she’d find a way to touch his arm or shoulder. She’d let her fingers linger on his body. It made him want to crawl out of his skin. He honestly wished her well.
As long as she stayed away.
He could forgive.
But he couldn’t forget.
It wasn’t that his heart was broken. Not by her. Not anymore.
He blinked.
