Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
She waves me off, her grin unstoppable. “You had to heal. Who am I to say how you do that? I missed you, and I’m so glad you’re home.”
Suddenly, and out of nowhere, Owen comes up behind her, wrapping his arms tightly around her and nuzzling her neck. “I have spent entirely too long without you in my arms.”
Angie giggles, and my eyes drown in tears. I remember watching them fall in love, and boy, did I root for them. Now, seeing them, it has my heart swelling to ten times its size. “You’re the one who wanted to play hockey with the kids.”
“Duh, I’m practicing for when we have our son,” he says, kissing her jaw.
“Like you need the practice. You grew up with three siblings and a twin.”
He shrugs. “Still, gotta make sure I don’t get rusty.” I laugh at that since he’s insane to think that could happen. He’s the leading scorer for the IceCats. He could play in his sleep. His striking blue eyes settle on me, and he smiles. “Hey there, Audrina. Good to see you again.”
I flash him a shy smile. “Sorry about the other day.”
He scoffs. “I couldn’t believe it was you, and it’s good to see you went back to your regular hair color.”
I laugh as I push my hair off my shoulders. “Apparently I was the only one down with the brown.”
A grimace fills Angie’s features. “Brown. Ew, you are meant to be a strawberry-blond.”
We all laugh in agreement, and while they don’t say it, I feel like they’re talking about more than my hair color. As if they believe I’m meant to be here.
Honestly, I’m starting to feel the same.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The tension I’d felt before I walked into Vivian’s birthday party got worse when I met Thatcher’s proclaimed “boy.” He’d never called anyone his best friend when we were growing up. That title was mine, but I can tell Banks Tellerman is important to Thatcher. He was my replacement for the time I was away, and I’m unsure how I feel about that.
Should I reclaim that title or maybe go for a new one?
Baby mama or his…
Telly didn’t really talk to me much. He was kind, was “pleased” to meet me, but when his eyes set on Arwen, he was just as much of a goner as his “boy.” Since he hadn’t come with anyone, he hung with the kids, and that made me happy. He may not be mature, but at least he is some sort of an adult. As I tried to watch Arwen and Telly, I was pulled into conversation after conversation, answering the same questions. Where have I been, and are Thatcher and I finally together.
Everything was decent, fun even, for almost an hour.
But then the nervousness comes roaring back in waves as Dart Miklas walks into the party with his gorgeous, thick wife, a little boy on her hip and a pregnant belly the size of a soccer ball. I instantly tense up and chance a glance at Thatcher. He hasn’t left my side the whole time, unless it was to tend to Arwen. We had to explain a few times to everyone that Arwen communicates with her hands, which the kids were sweet about immediately. I almost sobbed when Vivian took Arwen under her wing and started “talking” for my baby. While I’m sure Vivian guessed the whole time what Arwen was saying, I was still thankful for the little girl.
She’s a good egg, just like her parents.
I was just beginning to feel comfortable, like I belonged, but seeing Dart has me as still as a statue. I try to focus on what Chandler is talking about, but all I hear is ringing in my ears. It isn’t until I feel lips by my ear and that rough timbre of his voice that I let my whole body relax against his. “Are you okay?”
When I turn my head to meet his gaze, our lips are so close. Either of us could lean in to taste the other, but we don’t. And not because I don’t want to. Fuck, do I want to. It’s that I’m worried if I kiss him, I won’t stop. And when I say I won’t stop, I mean, I’ll climb his sexy ass like a tree and gobble him right up like he’s got the best-tasting fruit on his limbs.
Which would totally not be appropriate for this G-rated party.
Or appropriate for the fact that there is not supposed to be a we, but that hasn’t been the case since we walked in. His hand has stayed at my back, his body turned to mine, and when he isn’t talking to someone or chasing Arwen, he’s making sure I’m okay.
God, he makes me feel crazy.
As I gaze into his eyes, I remember what we said. Communication. I inhale deeply, letting it out in a whoosh, which must tickle his lips because he smiles the kind of smile that settles deep in my gut. Ignoring my needy core, I whisper, “Dart is here.”