Trust Me: A best friend's older brother, steamy small town romance by Elizabeth Bright

Author:Elizabeth Bright [Bright, Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bright House
Published: 2023-09-07T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 18

Michael

Fifteen minutes.

In fifteen minutes, Nora was going to walk through that door and I was going to put her in bed and keep her there for an entire weekend. More or less. She still seemed set on girls’ night, and as much as I wanted every second of her time until I left for New Hampshire, I also didn’t want to be one of those assholes who never let their girlfriend out of their sight. Anyway, after dinner and drinks, she would come right back here to me, so I couldn’t complain.

I paced from the kitchen to the couch and back again. Since my studio was a six hundred square foot box, that didn’t kill much time. It also didn’t settle the achy, roiling feeling of need in my stomach.

Fourteen minutes. If she hit only green lights, it would be more like eleven. The thought sent a lightning strike of eagerness through me that had me bouncing on my toes like a fucking dork.

I went to the window that faced the street and looked out. No sign of her red SUV. Of course there wasn’t. She’d texted when she left her house and the only way she could be here already was if she’d broken not only the speed limit but the laws of physics as well.

I gave a derisive snort at my own behavior and stepped back. No, I wasn’t going to stand here with my nose pressed against the glass like a kid waiting for Santa Claus. I was going to be an adult. Do something productive. And when she finally got here, I wasn’t going to pounce on her like some sex-starved teenager. I was better than that. I was a goddamned adult and would offer her a drink first. Maybe even something to eat.

Hopefully she would say no. But still, I would offer.

Having nothing better to do, I grabbed the broom and halfheartedly moved it around the floor. I wasn’t here enough to track in a lot of dirt, but I managed to make a dust pile the size of a quarter. When I couldn’t locate the dustpan, I swept it under the welcome mat.

The rumble of a motor cut through the quiet and I froze, listening. When it faded into the distance I let out a long, slow breath. It wasn’t her. I needed to get myself under control. I needed—

Another motor, this time followed by silence and then the slam of a car door. I couldn’t breathe. I stood there, completely still, every muscle tense and straining as I listened. And then, hallelujah, I heard her in the stairwell. She was moving fast, her footsteps making the slightly heavier thump of a person skipping every other stair.

I yanked the door open before she had a chance to knock and there she was. Cheeks pink, eyes bright, her hair swirling around her shoulders. For a moment neither of us moved as we gazed hungrily at each other.

“Hey, you,” she said breathlessly.

Fuck my good intentions. Fuck the drink.

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