Break Point by Rachel Blaufeld

Author:Rachel Blaufeld [Blaufeld, Rachel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780997070750
Google: QXUGMQAACAAJ
Amazon: B01MY5NOOE
Goodreads: 32294947
Publisher: Rachel Blaufeld Publishing
Published: 2017-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Jules

My head hurt, actually ached at the thought that he’d spent time wanting to do all that with Darla. My body also fully lit up, although it had already been somewhat aroused during the car ride. But now it was a fiery mess. I was an asteroid burning through the sky, and Drew . . . Drew was the source drawing me in.

“That actually sounds wonderful,” I murmured.

“Really?” His thumb moved back and forth over mine.

“Really.”

“Good, we’ll do it. First, let’s eat dinner tonight.” He stepped out of the car and opened my door before paying the attendant.

The restaurant was called Abba, and it was an Israeli-style bistro. The outside was fashioned in white stone like the old city of Jerusalem. I’d remembered this from a comparative religions course I took at my first college. Greenery ran alongside the wall and up the stairs toward the door.

Drew pulled it open, and we walked inside. Tantalizing scents of citrus and sesame hung in the air.

“Hi, welcome to Abba.”

“I called earlier. Drew King for a table of two. Adam Sell told me to speak with Marjorie.”

“I have you right here.” The hostess pecked at her iPad. “Table for two by the open kitchen.”

“Sounds good,” Drew said, grabbing my hand and squeezing it.

“Right this way.”

The place was busy. It was all windows and bright, unlike the Southern. Fresh fruits and vegetables hung over the open kitchen, and the staff wore their whites with small blue handkerchiefs tucked in the pockets.

A Middle Eastern melody filtered through speakers as we were seated directly across from the kitchen in a dark blue leather banquette for two.

“This is gorgeous,” I noted.

“It’s a far cry from a steakhouse.”

“I was sort of thinking that. It’s definitely a nice change of pace.”

When the server came, Drew ordered a large bottle of sparkling water and a Scotch on the rocks. I ordered a glass of Israeli cabernet.

We made more small talk until the drinks arrived. “We’re taking our time,” Drew told the server, “and going to have our drink and then order.”

The server hurried away, and after a clink and a toast to reunions, Drew asked the sixty-four-million-dollar question.

“When do you think you’re going to let me all the way back in? In every way, Jules?” He tossed back a healthy dose of Scotch, his Adam’s apple dipping with each swallow.

“Drew,” I whispered.

“I don’t want to make small talk. I want to talk for real. I’m sorry for what I did, pushing you away, but if I thought for a minute that all of this was about to happen—Darla, you dropping out of school, waiting tables . . . Christ.” He slammed his drink down.

“Please don’t cause a scene.” I reached across the table and placed my hand on top of his. My fingers pressed into his skin, and tingles ran through me. “I was so broken when you left. I’d been through a mess at my other school, and I knew being with you was wrong. It was like I

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