Page 103 of Prime Time Romance

Then I feel it.

A little spark.

Right there.

But then Josh shifts, and the sensation is gone again. I moan and take his hand in mine, moving his fingers exactly where I want them. “Here, a little harder.”

Josh does what I ask, resuming the circles with perfect pressure.

The little spark is back, and now it’s exploding like a firecracker, spreading waves of pleasure through my body.

“I’m coming,” I tell him, too lost in the feeling to comprehend anything more than that he is moaning too. His hand finds my hip and pulls, so I’m grinding even deeper.

There’s a thin sheen of sweat over his chest, and his breathing is labored and ragged.

Whenever I think he can’t get any sexier, I get proven wrong.

I collapse onto the bed beside him. He pulls me to his chest, to the little Brynn-shaped nook where I fit just right. He places a kiss on top of my head, and we lie there in silence until his breath slows and takes on a steady rhythm.

I lie there in the dark, listening to him sleep, trying to memorize what it feels like to lie next to him. His smell. The heat of his body. The protective way his arms wrap around me.

I start to drift to that state that’s halfway between reality and dreams. I know that our time together is limited, but there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than asleep in his arms.

I turn my head and press my forehead to his.

“Don’t forget,” I whisper. “When you go back. Don’t forget me, okay?”

He doesn’t answer.

I listen to his breaths until everything goes black.

31

Brynn

The bed is cold when I awake. The covers must have fallen onto the ground sometime in the night, leaving my naked body exposed.

I’m alone.

There’s no sleeping body next to me. Not even an indent in the mattress. No evidence that Josh was ever here. The empty condom wrapper on the nightstand is my only solace, proof that I didn’t dream up the perfect man. It’s a reminder that he was under my metaphorical nose and actual roof for months, but I was too preoccupied with my own cluster of a life to notice. I needed to drag us both to an alternate reality to see it.

My jeans are still in their heap on the floor. I pull them on, but when I reach for my T-shirt, I instead grab his. As I pull it over my head, I inhale the last fumes of his smell. And then I debate crawling back into bed for a good ugly cry. But I can’t.

Today, I’m not mopey, glass-half-empty Brynn, who just said goodbye to the love of her life.

No, today I am Sloan Edwards. Carson’s Cove’s beloved wallflower. About to become a beautiful swan.

And I have a pageant to win.

Sherry is already behind the bar when I descend. She gives me a funny look when she spots me coming down the steps, but if she’s curious about why I’m coming out of Fletcher’s room at eight-thirty in the morning, she doesn’t say anything. She continues drying glasses with her bar rag, humming what sounds like an old Alanis Morissette song under her breath.

“Good morning, Sherry,” I say in my best Sloan voice. “Fletch asked me to tell you that he had to leave town unexpectedly. He’s not sure when he’s going to be back, and he wanted to apologize for leaving you hanging.”

She sighs, visibly annoyed. “That kid. Where’s he gone off to this time?”

I shake my head. “I’m not quite sure,” I lie. “It’s because of me. I got myself into a bit of a mess. And…well…he’s helping me work through the consequences. He’s a really good person, honestly. He wouldn’t have—”

Sherry holds up her hand. “I don’t need the lecture. I know he’s a good kid. A few years ago, I’d tell you you’re full of it, but he’s changed. He’s a good egg. And if you say he’s helping out a friend, that’s all I need.”