Page 67 of Almost Enough

It was only a week. We weren’t dating. We didn’t make promises. Hell, we kissed, what? Twice? Maybe three times if you count that thing he did against the wall that probably rewired my nervous system.

Still. It’s not like I fell in love with him. That would be ridiculous.

I’ve had one-night stands before. This isn’t different.

Except it is.

No. Stop it. I am fine. I can walk into that bar and be completely unaffected. Totally normal. Unbothered.

Beau Sinclair is just a guy. A hot, complicated, emotionally unavailable guy who happened to ruin me a little bit. I’ll survive. I always do.

twenty

. . .

Beau

The bar’s too loud. Too crowded. Too full of people I don’t care to talk to.

But Rowan asked me to come, so I did. He’s my best friend, and he just got back from his honeymoon, grinning like a damn fool. So, yeah, I’m here, nursing a beer I don’t want, pretending I’m not scanning the room every five seconds.

I run a hand over my jaw, the prickle of stubble rough under my palm. I shouldn’t have come, but part of me wants to see her to prove to myself that I can be in her space without wanting her. That I won’t fold the second she looks at me with those wide eyes and that mouth that never stops moving.

The door swings open behind me. I don’t need to turn around. Every nerve ending in my body lights up like a goddamn beacon, and I just know it’s her.

The air shifts. That’s the only way I can describe it. It’s like the oxygen in the room suddenly tastes different, sharper, sweeter. My grip tightens on the beer bottle, knuckles going white against the glass.

And because I’m an idiot, I turn around to look.

Whitley’s mouth is wide with that sunshine smile I’ve found myself missing.

Beautiful. So damn beautiful.

She’s wearing some silky little thing that hugs her like a second skin. She’s caught the attention of every bastard in the place. Including me.

Her hair’s a little wild, eyes lit up like she owns the whole goddamn room because she does. She’s glowing, and I feel like I’ve been kicked in the ribs because I remember what she looked like under me, soft and flushed.

And now she looks like she’s doing just fine. Better than fine. Like I never even touched her.

That fucking stings.

She heads straight for our table, all confidence and curves.

“Hey, everyone!” she chirps, that voice as light as a damn breeze, like she didn’t cry when I told her to get on the plane. Like I didn’t spend the whole week wishing I could take it back.

Rowan and Violet stand to give her a hug. Jake grins and takes her fingers in his, planting a kiss on the top of her hand. Shit stirrer.

She finally turns to me. “Beau.”

My name on her lips is a gut punch. She smiles, cool and easy, as if we’re mere acquaintances. Not like I’ve had my mouth on every inch of her skin.

I nod. “Whitley.”

She slides into the chair beside Violet, already laughing at something Jake says.

I just sit there, beer sweating in my palm, watching this incredible woman act like I never meant a goddamn thing.

She’s good at pretending, but not half as good as I am at acting like it doesn’t kill me.