Three Strikes and You're Mine by R.S. Grey

Author:R.S. Grey [Grey, R.S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-02-23T00:00:00+00:00

NINETEEN

CHLOE

I should be getting a letter in the mail from the Nobel Prize committee any day now regarding my genius idea. You see, what you do is this: behave badly and then pretend like you didn’t. It’s really that simple. I don’t know why someone hasn’t thought of this earlier.

Made out with my boss poolside?

Uh? No I didn’t. I have no idea what you’re talking about.

Luke stuck his tongue down my throat? Never happened, sweetie. Get your eyes checked.

I don’t even need one of those Men in Black memory sticks. I wake up the next morning completely and utterly prepared to tackle the day as if yesterday was same ol’ same ol’. My lips remember nothing.

I put on a Florence and the Machine playlist while I make classic French omelets for breakfast alongside oatmeal topped with nuts and berries for Luke and bananas and Nutella for Harper.

When they stroll into the kitchen to eat, I shoo them over to the breakfast table. Then I serve them with a big smile aimed at the cute little family.

If I’m unable to meet Luke’s eyes, it’s only because the sun is shining too brightly in that direction.

“Looks yummy, Chloe. Thank you.”

“Harper, you’re absolutely welcome!”

“Thanks,” Luke adds.

“Uh-huh,” I say, scurrying away before we accidentally have any more contact with each other. If we had made out last night and it had been surface-of-the-sun levels of hot, I’d worry about betraying my emotions in front of Harper. Good thing that’s not the case.

“I’m going on a run after I clean up breakfast, but there are freshly made granola bars cooling on the counter over here and a fruit tray in the fridge if either of you get hungry. Okay, bye!”

I break records on that run. It’s my best time ever. A perk of (literally) running from your problems.

In the afternoon, I’m out in the garden with a basket overflowing with green beans and red peppers. My head is in the clouds as I imagine all the dishes I could prepare for dinner. Then I spot Luke. He’s just finished working out. How can I tell? His gray shirt is drenched in sweat. His hair is slick with it too. He looks sticky and hot, and my hands clench around my gardening shears. I watch him skirt around the garden, completely ignoring me as he heads straight for the pool. In what can only be described as a slow-motion striptease, he tugs off his shirt and tosses it onto a lounge chair, making the muscles along his back ripple and bulge. He toes off his tennis shoes and socks then dives into the water to cool off.

I am slack-jawed among the cucumbers.

The tomatoes are shaking their heads at me like, Girl, you’re in trouble.

I take pruning shears to them and get on with my day.

“Knock-knock.”

Luke finds me the next morning when I’m reading in bed. I am this close to finishing my historical romance. Luke sees it lying cover side up on my bed, and the most interesting thing happens: he doesn’t feel the need to comment on it.

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