Single (Stockton Beavers #1) by Collette West

Author:Collette West [West, Collette]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B01B745DIQ
Published: 2016-04-21T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

Luke

I plunge my hands into the basin of the sink and splash cold water on my face. Letting it drip from my goatee, I try to cool down a bit. For the past hour, I've had to sit on the couch with Roberta, watching TV with Mom in between us. She's so tantalizingly close, and yet I can't touch her, can't ask her where we stand, because I can't seem to snag any alone time with her.

I shake the water from my face. It's been a week since I kissed her, and every time I try to steal a private moment with her, all these obstacles keep popping up. Either I'm home and she's out, or I'm free and she's busy. The few times we've actually been in the same room together, Mom always seems to be there too. Is life really getting in the way, or is she purposely avoiding me? Either way, I'm going out of my mind. After that kiss, living in the same house is turning out to be a lot harder than I thought it would be. It's killing me knowing when she's in the shower, or worse yet, hearing her roll around in bed while I lie wide awake on the other side of the wall.

Let's be honest. I didn't expect one kiss to change everything, but I never imagined we'd go on just the same as before. And I don't know how to go about moving forward. Don't women usually take care of this kind of stuff? They're the ones who put labels on everything, indicating which boundaries need to be crossed and when. But Roberta's not doing any of that. It's like she's leaving it up to me to define what we are.

"Luke, are you all right in there?"

I grip the sides of the sink, thinking back to when I said those exact same words to her after I inadvertently gave her a cold shower—something I could really use right about now. I have half a mind to open the door and pull her in here with me only to ravage that soft, sweet mouth of hers. That's what a strong, confident man would do.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

But I'm not a strong, confident man. Right now, I feel more like a scared little boy. For one very big reason—David Nichols is pitching against the Beavers this weekend.

"Are you sure?" she asks again.

God, why would she ever be interested in having a wuss like me for a boyfriend? I should be fired up, gunning to put a guy like Nichols in his place—but I'm not.

"I'm sure," I reply.

I hold my breath, but all's quiet. And I'm glad she's gone because where do I even begin to explain what I went through to her? The debilitating pain I suffered at Nichols's hands is seared into my senses. Tipping my head to the side, I finger the scar on my neck, remembering what it felt like to have to gasp for my next breath and not knowing if it was going to come before I blacked out.

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