Page 81 of Scandalous Lover

Naomi turns her head slowly to face me, pinning me with her intense stare. Her mouth is open slightly, and I can almost watch her mind working. She stares at me for so long I start to get nervous that I said something wrong and screwed up any chance I had of ruining my entire life with this woman.

Finally though, she turns her gaze back to the house. “Yeah. You’re right.”

I reach for her hand, and she doesn’t pull away, but she doesn’t squeeze mine back either. I’m still in this limbo, waiting for whatever she’s about to say next.

“I don’t know what to do.”

Her words fall heavy in the hot, dusty air between us. I listen to them fall, wishing I had a magic wand I could wave to make this all better for her.

“I ran. I packed a bag, okay three bags, and got on a plane. I didn’t see any other options. There was no one to call. No one to help me.”

She turns her gaze back to me suddenly, and I can see her holding back tears. I want to pull her close once more, but I can tell she needs to get this out.

“I have almost a million followers but not one friend.”

I squeeze her hand firmly as her deep, dark truth surfaces. I know it must be painful for her to admit that, but it’s the first step in healing. “Well, you have me.”

Her head drops and she looks down at where I hold her limp hand in mine. Her silence speaks volumes.

She doesn’t have me, and she knows it. She has me right now, when no one can see us. She has me, a guy who would deny any connection with her if asked. A guy who’s too chickenshit to stand up and tell the world he wants to be with her.

“I’ll tell him,” I blurt out before I lose my nerve. It’s the only thing to say. “I’ll tell everyone.”

Naomi sighs, still not looking at me. “No, it’s okay. This isn’t really about that. This is my own shit, and I don’t think it’s going to be helped by you firebombing your whole life, which is the only safe place I have right now.”

She looks up at me then, eyes sad but dry. “Let’s just play it cool, okay? Just like we decided. At least for now. And I,” she takes a big breath and blows it out, “need to learn how to live without my phone. Without anyone watching. Except you.”

And that is how, after telling myself I wouldn’t, I find myself in a secret relationship with my best friend’s little sister.

Kind of secret, anyway.

For now.

“You want to see how I solve most of my problems?” I ask, grateful to finally have something to offer that I’m sure will work.

“I’d love that.”

ChapterTwenty-Six

Naomi

It’s not long before my tears are long forgotten. Dry, or possibly just indistinguishable from the rest of the liquid now pouring down every inch of my body.

“It’s freaking hot out here,” I say, taking a break from raking to wipe my sweaty brow with my sweating, sticky forearm.

Sam grins over at me, setting down the weed-eater and stretching. As I watch, he peels off his own sweat soaked shirt, tossing it over the side of the wheelbarrow.

“Totally unfair,” I chide, even though I’m not a bit displeased by my new view.

I start to rake again with gusto.

I officially love raking. Who knew it could be so fun to move piles of plant matter from one place to another with a giant spiny fork? I can’t even explain the satisfaction of it. One minute the ground is covered in the remains of vines Sam butchered into little pieces, the next—clean.

I pause for a moment and lean on my rake as a thought occurs to me. I wonder if housecleaning gives this same kind ofsatisfaction? I’ve always heard people talk about stress cleaning, but I always assumed they were just getting the benefits of the exercise. Endorphins and whatnot. I certainly never gave more than a passing thought to my own clean house after returning from lunch each and every Thursday to find it thoroughly scrubbed and organized by Sara, my housekeeper.

The thought that I’ve spent my whole life letting someone else claim the satisfaction of turning my tornado of a room into their own personal Mt. Everest is sobering. No wonder all the rich people I know are so unhappy.

Because right now, I’m on top of the world. Sure, I have shirtless Sam to feast my eyes on, with his long, lean frame and knee length shorts sagging low on his hips, not a colorful, hipster tattoo anywhere in sight. I’m practically drooling as I imagine running my hands up his strong back, the lube of his sweat making my skin glide over his?—

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