Page 19 of The Rival (Looking to Score 2)
Briefly, I wonder if I should feel embarrassed about my breakup confession last night. But any idea of embarrassment quickly fades when I remember the kind look in Alex’s eyes, the insistence in his voice, and his supportive words of encouragement.
“I’ll listen to you vent all you want,” he said, his eyes stormy, “but none of this self-pity stuff, no should-haves or regrets. They’re a waste of time, time that you deserve to spend healing.”
Who knew Alex Braun was so emotionally mature? Hockey god by day, therapist by night. And some part of me needed to hear those words. I just would have never guessed they’d come from Alex, someone I barely know.
I have friends, of course, but I’m not as close to any of them as I probably could be. I don’t have that ride-or-die tribe that social media memes like to tell me I should have. Not many people know the real me, but I have a feeling . . . maybe Alex could. It felt so natural opening up to him last night. It was wonderful not having to try to be someone I’m not.
After I brush my teeth and secure my long hair into a messy bun, I follow the smell of breakfast downstairs to a suspiciously empty kitchen. A casserole dish sitting on top of the stove is the source of the cinnamony goodness. The rolls are large and gooey, everything a girl could want in a dessert posing as a breakfast item. Two are missing, which makes me smile. A plate is also on the counter, covered in a cloth napkin. Underneath? Six fat slices of deliciously fried bacon.
Being a late riser doesn’t seem half bad. At least, not with Alex around.
I snag a ceramic mug from one of the cabinets and pour myself a cup of coffee, which he was thoughtful enough to brew as well. I don’t bother with the cream or sugar he left out for me. All-nighters at Harvard taught me to respect coffee in its undiluted form. I settle in with my breakfast next to the windows that face the backyard.
My belly flips when I spot Alex outside.
I pause in mid-chew, drinking in the long lines of his body, from his muscled arms bulging under the short sleeves of his white shirt, to the tight stretch of his jeans against his powerful legs. A large ax rests on a chopping block, and he’s made an impressive pile of split logs in a nearby wheelbarrow.
There’s something about this sexy lumberjack look that has all my attention. Is lumberjack porn a thing? If not, it is now, and I’m thoroughly enjoying it.
His dark hair looks a shade lighter in the golden glow of the morning sun. I admire him for a second longer, but when he pauses to wipe sweat from his forehead, his gaze wanders back toward the house. My heart leaps and I look away, even though I’m pretty sure he can’t see me. My own reflection stares back at me with wide, startled eyes.
What am I doing? Ogling a man I have zero right to? I need to check myself. Alex gave up his summer plans so I could have a place to live—and not even just that. Being here gives me a purpose. A reminder that life doesn’t end when a relationship does.
I gulp down my coffee, trying to wash away the guilt lumping up in my throat.
Eden, Holt, Saint, and Alex have all been so generous to me since the breakup. They’ve provided safety and shelter for me in more ways than one, respecting that I couldn’t go back to that black hole of an apartment I leased with His Name Rhymes With Fail. Since arriving here, I’ve felt so much more like myself. The old me. The before-breakup me. The woman I want to be.
It feels wrong, selfish even, to hog this place all for myself. Once again, I toy with the idea of asking Alex to stay for longer than the weekend. There’s plenty of room for the both of us, I’d reason with him. I know I’m not the only one nursing a broken heart.
I glance back out the window, catching sight of a flash of white against the otherwise green tapestry—Alex’s sweat-soaked shirt, clinging to his skin and outlining the muscles of his gorgeous back.
If only he didn’t have to leave so soon . . .
Maybe it’s for the best. I made myself clear last night, didn’t I? One kiss, and no further shenanigans. Behind the heart-to-hearts and lingering glances, danger lies.
Trying to change the course of my thoughts, I remember that the best way to clear my head is to move my body. I finish my breakfast and head back upstairs to change into a pair of heather-blue leggings and a matching sports bra, which feels a little ambitious given my calorie-laden breakfast. But hey, I have no one to impress.
