Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
“I think I’d be up for it,” I say with a dry smile.
“Thanks for making me wait for that answer though.”
“Someone has to keep you on your toes,” I shoot back, smirking.
“You say that like my players don’t.” He fixes me with a mock stern look.
Since the next question is safer signed, I switch to sign language, asking, Is someone giving you trouble?
He signs back, I work with a pack of grown men with elite skills. They always give me trouble.
Briefly, I wonder if he’s talking about Miles. But then, from what I’ve read, Miles is having a good season.
We exchange a few more signed words before his phone rings.
“It’s the GM—Clementine. I should take this,” he says with a wink.
“Even the boss has a boss.” I grin, turning to leave his office.
But as I step into the hallway, I walk straight into the man who left me these earrings in a pretty box in my building’s foyer. My stomach tightens as I meet Miles’s gaze. His stare is locked on me, like he can’t look away. He’s wearing workout shorts and a Sea Dogs T-shirt. He must be on his way to the weight room.
For a moment, it’s like that night all over again—the world narrowing down to the weight of his stare, the way he swallows roughly, clearly taken off guard to see me in my dad’s office.
Maybe I should move first, make this less intense, less charged. The hallway feels small and close, and his gaze is heavy, like he’s struggling just as much as I am to look away.
I glance at the stairwell and then nod toward it, wordlessly asking him to follow me. As we walk, I catalog the sounds—the hum of the heating system, the faint sound of voices from nearby offices. But when I open the door and it shuts, we’re shrouded in silence. I don’t mind it. Silence is comfortable for me.
“Hey,” he says, taking a big breath, then tilting his head. “You wear them.” He sounds mesmerized. Surprised too.
“Yeah, I do,” I say, my voice feathery and I lift a hand, the silver bracelet sliding down my wrist as I touch the tiny earring on my right ear. It sits above the long, dangling star earring that I’m wearing today. It’s a delicate, intricate flower given to me one morning by this man, along with the bracelet I left in a lockbox. “Every day,” I say.
And then I instantly regret it because it feels like I’m confessing far too much. Who admits something like this? That they wear something every day from a one-time-only lover? Apparently, this girl does.
But his lips lift, like I’ve said the exact right thing. “You do?”
“Well, yeah, they’re really, really pretty,” I say, as if that excuses the significance of wearing them daily. But then again, he’s the man who retrieved my bracelet from the lockbox the morning after. That’s why it was empty. He had both delivered to me along with a note—I wanted you to have your bracelet, so I got it for you. And then I couldn’t resist giving you these too. -M.
“I had a feeling they’d look good on you. They reminded me of you and your tattoos when I saw them that morning.” His gaze stays locked on my face. “They’re so pretty.”
My stomach flips, but my throat aches annoyingly. I say nothing.
He’s quiet for a spell too, rubbing the back of his neck, glancing at the stairwell door as if he’s aware time is slipping away.
Aware, too, that even talking here, like this, is a risk.
I shouldn’t linger in this stolen moment for too long. But something has always nagged at me since that morning—how quickly he must’ve pulled it off—retrieving the bracelet and getting me a gift. And, of course, I didn’t say anything because we haven’t been talking. “Did you just go out to the trail that morning?”
He smiles, like you caught me. “I did. I wanted you to have your bracelet back.”
“Even though I said it was no big deal?”
“It was yours. It belonged on you,” he says, like there was no other option but to retrieve it for me.
I love that he was so determined. And that’s why I admit the next thing. “I went there too,” I say softly.
“You did?” He sounds borderline thrilled, and I’m not sure why given that I returned the locket to the lockbox. “Why?”
“It didn’t feel right keeping the necklace,” I say honestly.
“Because it was someone else’s?”
“No. Because it reminded me too much…”
He pauses, absorbing that, then says, almost like he’s caught me on a technicality, “But you wear the earrings.”
I shrug. “With a note like that, it was kind of hard to resist.”
A smile shifts his lips, and he says, “I understand that completely.”
And I suppose I do understand why he sounded borderline thrilled moments ago. Maybe because he suspected the real reason I went down that trail nearly two months ago. I don’t like letting down my guard. I don’t like showing myself to most people. But since Miles put himself out here this morning, I do something risky too. “But if I’m being honest, I suppose I went there because I was kind of stupidly hoping there’d be something left there. For me.”