Page 34 of Best of Me

Even though I tossed my body wash into my bag last night, I find myself squeezing a dollop of his into my palm. He uses some kind of menthol-infused scrub that smells like heaven and makes my skin tingle—and while that’s probably from the menthol, I’m tingling internally at the thought of smelling like him all day.

I try my best to keep my hair out of the water, but it proves to be no easy feat with all of these showerheads. By the time I finish, my ends are damp, so after I dry off, I weave it into a messy fishtail braid. I brush my teeth, apply a quick layer of tinted moisturizer, coat my lashes with some inky black mascara, and swipe some sheer cherry gloss across my lips and call it a day. I may not look runway-worthy, but my kindergarteners won’t think twice about my laid-back look.

I emerge from the bathroom, bags in hand, dressed in a red A-line linen dress with a belted waist and a pair of flat sandals. I follow the smell of fresh coffee and bacon to the kitchen, where I find Duke scrambling up some eggs.

He grins as I join him. His kitchen is bright and light with stainless steel appliances, pale gray cabinetry, and white granite countertops. There’s a picture window centered over the sink and a large island separating the space from the still-unfurnished breakfast area.

“You hungry?” he asks as he pours two mugs of caffeinated goodness, adding heavy cream to mine before desecrating his with fifty pounds of sugar.

“Starving.”

He passes me my coffee. “You’re in luck; I made my specialty. Eggs, bacon, and toast.”

Twice now this man has made me breakfast. “Sounds good to me. I usually have cereal, so this is a treat.”

We eat standing at the island, making small talk between bites. This time I insist on rinsing our dishes, much to Duke’s dismay. I dry my hands on a dishrag and cross the room to him. Rising up to my tiptoes, I wrap my arms around his neck. At first, he doesn’t react, standing stock-still. Embarrassment curls around me, but when I try to step back, Duke bands his arms around my waist, finally returning my embrace. He holds me so close to him there’s not even room for air to move between us.

We stay like this for what feels like an eternity, and yet when he releases me, it’s too soon. In all of my life, I’ve never felt safer than I do in his arms. I know it’s wrong for me to want him, for me to have feelings for him, yet I’m helpless to deny it. I know with certainty that if Duke Kincaid asked me to be his, I would unequivocally say yes, Valorie be damned.

He takes a step back from me, his fingers grazing my side. “Are you free on Sunday?”

I run my teeth over my lower lip and nod. “Yeah, I am.”

“Good. I’ll pick you up around eleven.” The fact that he’s telling and not asking has that little pinball in my belly bouncing around like someone is tilting the machine.

“Okay,” I murmur, suddenly shy.

“C’mon, I’ll walk you out.” He presses a hand to the small of my back as we walk together to my car. I open the door and toss my bags into the back seatbefore situating myself behind the wheel and pressing the start button.

I expect Duke to shut my door and go on his way, but instead, he leans down into the car and, his eyes on mine, draws my seat beltacross my lap, buckling it. “Safety first, Cricket.” He presses his lips to my forehead in the briefest of kisses, barely a brush, before standing back to his full height. “Have a good day.”

He shoulders my car door shut and saunters back toward his house, and all I can do is drool over the way his sweats sit so deliciously low on his hips and swoon over the events of this morning like a schoolgirl whose crush finally noticed her.

chapter twenty

Duke

The week passes at an agonizingly slow rate. Add in that I let my and Mallory’s little sleepover and subsequent plans slip out while on patrol Thursday morning and Nate’s been a smirking I-told-you-ass ever since, making the last two days damn near unbearable.

That’s not to say I don’t love the guy like a brother, because I do, but right about now, as I read through our text exchange, I want to punch him in the face.

Nate: Today’s the big day, huh?

Me: STFU.

Nate: Your hot date.

Me: Again, STFU.

Nate: What kind of guy chooses mini golf as a first date?

Me: Maybe the third time’s a charm? STFU!

Nate: You gonna buy her a flat soda and some nachos from the concession stand?

Nate: Maybe y’all can hit up the arcade. Who knows, if you win enough tickets you can win her a friendship bracelet to commemorate the occasion.

Me: I hate you.

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