Page 29 of Ten Day Affair
Does that mean we’re not doing dinner? Probably for the best.
This is just my regular evening run. Nothing unusual.
I’m a terrible liar, even to myself.
My ponytail swings with each stride, damp tendrils sticking to my neck. The salt air clings to my skin, but I barely register the familiar scent. My mind keeps replaying the boardroom sighting like a horror film on an endless loop.
I push faster, my breath growing ragged.
Five more minutes and I'll be past his place. Just a normal part of my route. Not a drive-by. And it’s definitely not reconnaissance.
My inner voice snorts. Who am I kidding?
I rearranged my call schedule to get home before sunset, just in time for this run. Just in time to maybe, possibly, accidentally pass his place.
Not that I’d admit that to anyone. Especially not to myself.
The houses along Mariner's Reach all blend together in my peripheral vision until I'm there. His place, number 128.
Lights glow from within.
My pulse spikes instantly, thundering in my ears louder than my footfalls. I slow imperceptibly, eyes darting tocatch details. I’ve run past from the beach side since that night, memorizing details I had no business noticing.
Modern furniture with glass walls facing the ocean, just like mine.
A suit jacket is tossed over a chair visible through the window. That is new, a tell.
He's here.
Heat floods my face that has nothing to do with exertion.
My pace falters as I make a turn and head toward my stairs.
I hover a moment too long to catch my breath, and that's the exact moment the door slides open.
I jolt upright and pick up speed, praying he doesn’t see me before I vanish up my deck.
Cole steps outside onto his patio, silhouetted against the warm interior light. He's not wearing a suit now, dressed more casually and fully showing off those fucking hot forearms I remember all too well.
He doesn't see me. Yet.
Then, his eyes lock on mine, and for a heartbeat, neither of us moves. The ocean breeze stirs between us, carrying the scent of grilled something from somewhere down the beach.
"Sam."
Just my name. That's all. But the way he says it, like he's been waiting to taste it on his tongue. My body reacts before my brain. Skin prickles. Breathing goes shallow.
“Houston.” I aim for casual, like I run past billionaires’ beach houses every night and call them by their last names.
He smiles but doesn't say anything.
“Fancy seeing you here.”
Great line, Taylor. Really smooth.
He walks down the steps, and I notice his sexy barefeet. The golden porch light catches in his hair, turning it honey-amber.
I'm nearly drooling over the fitted gray t-shirt and joggers that hug that tight body ever so perfectly. He stops at a careful distance away.
