Page 71 of Capri

“You’re in my car,” I remind him. Or maybe I remind myself.

He secures his seatbelt and pushes his thick brown locks off his face, turning to me with a smile. “That’s a great observation. And in ten minutes, I’ll be at your house. Helping you with your dryer.”

With a sarcastic smirk, he pats my thigh playfully. “Get to it, sweetheart. You’ve got clothes to be dried.”

I can’t fight him over it. Not when his thighs look like fucking tree trunks, all tanned and covered in dark hair.

Hell, I’m lusting after his hairy legs.

So, I drive. With Jones playing passenger princess in my front seat.

Now, to keep my eyes on the road.

20

JONES

I’m torturing myself.

Surrounded by her scent by choice. The entire car ride to Capri’s house had me ready to combust. Her lavender smell brings back a comforting feeling I’ve missed.

Holding myself back from touching her is going to be more difficult than I thought. Especially when I’ve tasted the goods and know how delicious they are.

I may have lied when I agreed with her, saying I needed a friend, too. After seeing Capri at The Dove last week, I was ready to claim her from the start and refuse to ever let her go.

But she extended a bridge. A bridge I couldn’t pass up if it meant spending time with her. Real quality time with her.

Even if it’s as friends. She’s the only one who will be thinking that, though. In Timber Heights, my focus is on my mother, but I won’t lie and say it wouldn’t be nice to have some companionship with a beautiful woman.

My three-month timeline in the States does add an obstacle to the prospect of something greater.

At this point, I just want to know her. To get to know what’s beyond the shell of the woman I met in Capri. That Capri was hurt and in the wake of discovery.

A month later, this Capri is living life forher,and it’s a beautiful transformation to see.

“Laundry room is right over here,” Capri tells me as we enter her apartment complex, and I follow her through the front door.

I don’t know what I expected from Capri’s home, but it wasn’t this. Her apartment is small and quaint with very minimal furniture and knick-knacks. Not that knick-knacks are necessary, but Capri has been an adult on her own for quite some time now.

It looks like she just moved in.

Her walls are a clean white, accompanied by a tan sectional that looks so fucking fluffy, I’m tempted to jump on it. Every surface is pristine—clean and well-kept, with a bouquet of white lilies on the kitchen countertop.

I can’t seem to get past the lack of furniture, though. Capri has a small kitchen island with no barstools and a TV stand with no TV. Her dining room has four chairs lined up against the wall with no table to fit under.

The small things are here, but the big ones are vacant.

“Where’s all your furniture?” I ask, unable to help myself.

“Oh, Drew kept most of it,” she says like she’s accepted that truth.

“Who’s Drew?”

Capri stops and turns to me, a look of hesitation crossing her face. “Oh. Sorry. I forgot you don’t know that. Drew is my ex-husband.”

“Your ex-husband,” I can’t even say his name. “Left you with nothing?” I’m borderline seething.

Her grin is sarcastic. “Great guy, huh?” She shrugs it off as I follow her to the laundry room.

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