Page 8 of Screwed (Dad Bod Contracting 4)
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because nothing will ever compare to what I had with Craig, And James is just as closed off as I am, so even if I did want to pursue something, he doesn’t.”
“How do you know?” Laurel asks.
“Because we talked about it!” I snap. “We both acknowledged things, and we both made it clear we weren’t in a place to fuck around with something that would only end up in more heartbreak for both of us. And there are his kids to think about, too. He doesn’t want to get them confused, so we agreed to move on without lingering over it. For both our sakes.”
Laurel just shakes her head, sighing. “Nova…”
“What?”
She shakes her head again. “Nothing. Never mind.” She wraps her arm around me again. “I’m glad you shared this with me, Nova. Thank you.”
“I’m sorry to crash like this, I just…” I lean against her. “I was up late after work, trying to come up with creative themes and centerpieces and such, and I just… couldn’t. It all came up all at once, and I had to get it out. I’ve kept it bolted down for so long.”
Laurel tugs me to my feet. “Come on. You can sleep in one of our extra rooms.”
“You’re sure it’s okay?” I ask.
She nods. “It’s not just okay—I insist.”
“All right,” I say, “I’m too tired to argue.”
I follow her back to the house and she leads me to an extra room at the end of the hallway upstairs. There’s a queen-size bed with a cozy flannel quilt and an electric fireplace, and a few cute, kitschy, country-chic decorations that make it feel homey.
I hesitate when Laurel asks if there’s anything I need, and when I don’t reply right away Laurel just snorts at me. “It’s not that hard to just ask for something, Nova. It’s really not.”
“Maybe not for you,” I murmur. “Do you have anything I can sleep in?”
Laurel eyes me—I’m several inches taller than her, and thicker in the butt and thighs as well as bustier. “Ummm, maybe? I can’t guarantee anything of mine will fit you all that well, though.”
She leaves and comes back a few minutes later with a T-shirt.
“This is the best I can do, considering the difference in our builds. An oversized T-shirt…well, oversized for me.”
I smile at her, lean in for a hug. “Perfect. Thank you.”
She kisses my cheek. “This is what friends are for, Nova.”
I change into the shirt—which isn’t really oversized, but whatever. I’m too tired from crying, or maybe it was the twenty-hour shift I’d worked followed by three hours of wedding planning; every detail of which made me think more and more of Craig, and the wedding we never got to have.
Regardless, I passed out the second my head hit the pillow.
Chapter 2
I wake up disoriented—I’m not in my bed; what time is it?
I blink slowly, stretching, noticing that the sun is blazing in through the window, high in the sky. Ten? Eleven? Near noon, maybe? I know it’s later than I’ve slept in a long time. I hear voices, smell food being cooked. Grilled cheese? Oh my god, I’m hungry—I skipped both lunch and dinner yesterday, and now I’m famished. I follow my nose down into the kitchen, bleary-eyed, still half asleep, and disoriented and groggy. When I stumble to a halt in the kitchen, I’m still half asleep. I was not thinking about anything except where the coffee pot was, and how I could get my hands on a grilled cheese sandwich. I’m not thinking about what I’m wearing, who’s here, or what I look like.
At the same round table where I’d sobbed last night, I see Ryder, Nova, Nate…
And James.
Nate is in Star Wars pajama pants and nothing else, chattering a mile a minute about who knows what, he’s just talking for the hell of it. It’s too early for that much chipper chatter. Ryder and James are both dressed for work, in faded jeans, hoodies with sleeves pushed up around their thick forearms, Oakleys pushed up on their heads, massive clunky boots under the table.
James has his huge bear paw hands wrapped around a diner-style coffee mug, making it look like a toy teacup. His brown eyes slide across the room and land on me, and flick in slow increments downward—eyes, hair, chest, legs. He coughs, suddenly—as if he literally choked on his coffee.
I remember, groggily, that I’d braided my hair before bed but didn’t have a hair tie, so it came loose from the braid, which means my hair must be coming loose in a bombed-out spray of curly ginger. Like a cloud of red around my face, loose and wild.
And then I remember that I never took off my makeup, so I must have raccoon circles and smears.
Furthermore, I remember that I borrowed pj’s from Laurel, and that she’s four inches shorter than me, and at least one cup size smaller in the chest.
