Page 18 of Sterling Touch
I might be surrounded by annoying brothers and a growing son and amazing new sisters-in-law-turned-friends, but I’m stillmissing that one component I’ve always wanted.Love. The only-for-me kind of love.
Staring down at my open e-reader, I almost curse the unrealistic romance I’m reading, realizing I’ve been mindlessly glaring at the digital page more than comprehending the words.
This week’s Sterlets’ meeting is centered around a legitimate book, and I’ve struggled to be swept away in it. My mind has been preoccupied instead by the reality of Cortland Haven and his body. I blame my confession to Enya for bringing him to the forefront of my brain. It’s not like I’ve obsessed over Cort for twelve years. Eventually, I lumped him in with every other man I’ve sexually experienced—unable to complete the task.
Of course, I know now all the reasons why that is, and it’s more about me than them.
Still, I can’t help but wonder if Cort?—
“Whatcha readin’?”
I glance up from my rambling thoughts to see Henry Stanton leaning casually against the bar. His elbow is perched on the counter. His hip leaning against the bar, but his gaze is outward. Despite asking me a question, his body language reads disinterested in my answer.
Inwardly, I sigh and roll my eyes, knowing he’s about toattemptto flirt with me and I’m already exhausted by the wasted effort.
With a strained smile and a breath of annoyance, I answer him, “Smut.”
Although I proudly read what some consider idyllic romance, I find the word ‘smut’ a bit derogatory about the genre I love, but I’m hoping shock will stun him into silence.
His head swivels in my direction and a salacious grin curls his lips. He twists his body to face the bar and settles both his forearms on the top by bending at the waist. His eyes don’t leave me now, and I curse myself for having captured his attentioninstead of repelling it. Those same eyes blatantly scan down my seated position, lingering on my backside before flinging back up to my face.
“Interesting.”
“Really? You read romance novels?” Bet Henry doesn’t even read. He probably prefers pictures . . . in magazines. The thought of him pleasuring himself in such a manner makes me shiver, especially as he’s standing so close to me. There are three empty stools to my right. He can take a seat anywhere else but near me.
Henry scoffs, like I’ve insulted his intelligence and his ability.No romantic gestures coming from this guy. I already know what he wants. His intention comes in every leering gaze he gives me. And it’s another reason I don’t like Hudson having a friendship with Atticus, which isn’t fair to the kids.
The sins of the father shouldn’t be held against his children. I’m all too familiar with that kind of condemnation.
With his arms still on the bar, he leans forward and back, rocking his hips in a gentle, repetitive thrusting motion. “Maybe you could read me a passage sometime.”
With anyone else, the proposition might be endearing, seductive even, but not from Henry. Once again, I fight to keep a grimace off my face while a sticky, icky feeling glides down my throat. I might even throw up a little bit in my mouth at the thought of reading any such passage with this man.
“Or I could recommend the book when I’m done.”Or not. Because I’d really prefer to have as little interaction with him as I can.
“Let me buy you a drink.” He reaches for the stool to his right and tugs it closer to mine. Too close.
I scoot to the edge of my seat, frustrated that he’s taken the liberty to invite himself to sit beside me, and exhausted that I must play this game with him, because small town, and my son’s friend’s dad, and just the bullshit of being a single woman.
Why can’t I just be? Adult woman seeks love and affection; not needing a hero but wanting her equal.
Is that so hard to ask?I roll my eyes heavenward as if the goddess of love and sexual desire hears me.
“Sorry I’m late.” The rugged masculine voice to my left has me turning my head so fast my neck pops. My mouth gapes, before I’m rolling my lips inward, sensing I’m caught between a rock and a hard place, and staring at the lesser of the two evils.
“Cortland.” I drag out his name like I’m scolding his tardiness when we had zero plans to meet here. His name is also strangled in my throat because he looks so good. Straw cowboy hat on his head again. Silky blue shirt and dark jeans, like hedoeshave plans to meet someone. Only not me.
“Weren’t you sitting on the other side of the bar?” Henry asks Cort.
Was he?I hadn’t noticed. I’d entered with my head down, ordered my cola from Maggie, Milton’s owner, and promptly opened my Kindle as a distraction.
Cort doesn’t respond to Henry but keeps his eyes on me.He bothering you?
I could shake my head, signaling Henry is simply an annoyance but not a threat. But then I’d be dismissing Cort and settling for Henry sidled up beside me until I can reasonably escape for book club, when I just want to sit here and sip a Coke.
Flipping a coin and happily, mentally, landing on heads, I narrow my eyes at Cort. “I’ve been wondering when you’d get here.”
The deep layers of my statement are something I’ll lose sleep over later.
