Page 26 of His Virgin Romance Series

“I told you it’s horrible.”

“It’s not,” I assured her. “It’s honest, and the sad fact is, the truth hurts.”

“He’s been really nice agreeing to let me stay here, too,” Rachel said.

I frowned. “Aren’t you paying rent?”

“Well, yeah—”

“And, you are doing all the cooking and cleaning, as far as I can tell.”

“Um—”

“Added to which you have a full-time job.”

“But—”

“So from where I’m standing, it sounds like you’re the one doing Brent a favor.”

I could sense that Rachel was a little amused when she replied. “It’s not like he asked me to do any of those things,” she said, defending her brother. “I mean, I volunteered.”

“And, did he try and stop you?” I asked. “Or at least offer up some help?”

“No…”

“My point precisely,” I said. “He likes getting you to do the grunt work because that means he doesn’t have to do shit. And trust me, if Brent can get out of doing work—any kind of work—he’s all in.”

“You really do know my brother,” she said, with a smile in her voice.

It made me long to see her face. It amazed me that it had been nearly two months since I’d last seen her. The memory I had of her now was slightly blurry, like a foggy picture from a few decades back. I could remember basic features—the beautiful hazel of her eyes and the brown-gold sheen of her hair—but the other details of her face eluded me.

Was it possible to fall in love with a voice?I wondered. There were moments when I really felt that you could. She hadn’t brought up meeting me, and I realized that it was because she was scared I might misconstrue the request. The only reason I was hesitating at this point was because I needed to figure out what I wanted and how badly I wanted it.

“He brought a girl home last night,” Rachel said, cutting through my thoughts.

“What?”

“He brought a girl home last night,” she repeated.

“Who did?”

“Brent did,” Rachel replied. “Did you just zone out on me?”

“Uh…no.”

“You did!” she said, in a lightly accusing tone.

“Sorry.”

She laughed. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing,” I said, a little too quickly.

How could I explain to her that she was what was on my mind? How could I explain to her that her laugh made me feel warm inside or that her voice made me think of music and starlight or that her little silences and short pauses felt like an eternity because I hung on her every word?

“Come on,” she coaxed. “Tell me.”

“I was just—”

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