Page 8 of Made for the Mountain Man

I'm so sorry. I'm a mess.

I put my phone down as three pings sound on Brooks' phone. One after another. Putting both hands over my eyes, I wait for him to read my messages, unable to look at him.

"You didn't write me back," Brooks says slowly.

I shake my head, keeping my hands over my eyes.

"If you had no intention of ever meeting me, why did you keep talking to me?" Brooks asks, confusion and hurt thick in his voice.

My eyes snap to his. I want to cut out my own heart at hearing the pain in his voice. I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. I don't know how to answer his question. How do I explain I desperately wish I was a different person, but I'm too terrified to make it happen in real life?

When I remain silent, Brooks clenches his jaw. He leans across the table, getting close to me. I stare at his lips, wondering if I could kiss him if I leaned forward.

"Mountain Matesis for finding a...partner," Brooks whispers in a low, growly tone that makes my belly flop and my panties wet.

"I-I know," I manage in a breathy whisper as I lean toward him.

I'm hypnotized by his stupidly handsome face. Except there’s nothing stupid about it. What would that face look like buried between my legs? I release a soft whimper.

Confusion flashes over Brooks’ face as he takes in my present state. His eyes darken as they dart to my lips. He leans forward slightly. I sink toward him like his distorted reflection in a mirror, only able to move when he moves. Slowly, he inches closer, like I'm a wounded cat he doesn't want to scare away. I’m pulled toward him, anticipation building as my heart thunders in my ears. My chest heaves with his proximity.

And that’s the precise moment the server returns to fill our water glasses. We both fall back in our chairs like a shot's been fired. Like we've been caught making out on my parent's couch with his hand up my shirt. I squeeze my thighs together.

The simultaneous need to runawayfrom andtohim will give me an aneurysm.

After the server leaves, Brooks grabs my hand across the table. "Violet, I don't understand. Help me understand, baby."

Tears prick my eyes, and I mouth, "I'm sorry."

Gathering my broken purse and pieces of my heart, I dart out the door.

Chapter 4

Violet

I spend the night tossing and turning in my too-expensive room at the hotel. The sun streams through the curtains I didn't bother to close last night. I finally give up around 5 am. Ignoring the fifteen unread messages from my friends, I type one of my own.

Brooks. I don't know what to say. Obviously. Because I'm a freak who can't talk to men. I'm in love with you. But I'm broken. You deserve better.

My thumb hovers over the send button before I delete it and throw my phone down on the bed with a groan.

After a hot shower, I gather my laptop and head to the local coffee shop I spotted on our way into town.The Reading Groundsis a kitschy, vibrant place. Loaded bookcases fill the walls and its popularity is evident by the number of tables in use even at this hour on a Sunday.

I get a black tea, trying to maximize my caffeine intake this morning since I don't drink coffee. Starting my laptop, I peruse job openings, making a list, and tailoring cover letters. Office work and project assistant jobs are easy to find, especially in the city, and I have a decent-sized list to start with in no time.

People come and go around me as I plug through for hours. I finally come up for air and see two women about my age sitting with a baby at the table next to mine. "Excuse me? Would you mind watching my stuff while I run to the restroom?"

"Of course not!" The blonde woman exclaims. Her energy reminds me of Naomi, and I like her instantly, despite my current feelings toward my roommate.

"Not at all." The other woman with dark brown hair and eyes agrees, grinning at the baby with matching hair and eyes in the highchair next to her. He squawks to get her attention. "We'll be here."

"Thank you," I say. "He's adorable."

She beams at me as I turn to head to the back.

A little pang hits me like it always does when I see a baby. Being unable to speak to men makes it a little harder to imagine having one myself. Not impossible, but project assistant jobs rarely pay enough to support a baby without a guy. I bite my lip, picturing a mini version of Brooks, and my heart squeezes painfully. Fighting back tears, I finish up, heading back out to my seat as I try to push the pain aside.

Before I sit down again, I order another tea. There's a momentary lull in traffic, so I head back to my table to wait for my name to be called.

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