Page 52 of Book Boyfriends
Falling for these men isn’t the plan. Still, a sense of loss hollows out inside me, as if I’m a jigsaw puzzle missing the final piece. Without it, the picture isn’t quite right. It’s not the idea that Owen isn’t the person I want to share my story with, but that it’s one more person who isn’t. In the ebb and flow of how I feel about a life alone, at this moment it aches.
My smile is more for show, but I offer it, nonetheless. “It would be nice to have a boyfriend who bakes.”
He wipes his hands, grabs the second cookie sheet, and slides it into the oven with the one I just put in there. “In the meantime, you have a friend who bakes. In ten to fifteen minutes, we’ll have biscuits to celebrate the startofour friendship.”
“To friendship.” I put out my hand.
He takes it. “To friendship.”
Over two biscuits, each side smothered with homemade jam, we again toast to our new friendship. Owen’s admission that, despite how much he loves Selena, he accepts that he may not end up with her, solidifies my resolve to get him back to her. The depth of his love is evident in his willingness to sacrifice being with her for her sake. It’s like how Selena sacrificed being withhim to not take him away from his life in Sugarville. They may not be perfect, but they are right for each other, and I want to get them back together.
I’ll go on my next two dates to decide between Lars and Lord James. Both men appear less emotionally attached to their love interests than Owen, but, then again, they don’t wear their emotions on their faces like he does. They’ll need to be unpeeled just a bit to discover which one will be less hurt to remain with me—if it comes to that.
I hope it doesn’t come tothat. My goal is to get them all back. To give them a chance to write their own happy endings. But if I have to choose one to get the other two back, I’ll do it. Even if the idea of stealing what should be someone else’s happy ending makes me queasy.
“I know we just gorged on biscuits, but what are your thoughts on dessert for dinner?” I ask, the leftover biscuits in a box in my hands, as I follow Owen towards Special Ingredient’s entrance.
He holds the door for me. “Dessert for dinner? You’re speaking my love language.” He smirks. “Friendship language rather.”
Laughing, I shuffle out. The lukewarm evening air kisses my skin. This time of year, Southern California teeters between summer and coming fall, with hot days and nights that are both coolish and warmish.
“There’s this amazing ice cream place around the block?—”
“Peach?” A low timbre steals my words. The almost lush deepness thrums through me.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I’M HER DAVIS
“Davis,” I breathe, spinning to face him.
Every clichéd body reaction roars awake. Clenched belly. Wobbly knees. Stuttered breath. There may even be a few I’ve never experienced before.
Davis’s handsome features spark beneath the glow of the streetlamp, making that boyish grin pop bright. The one he wore throughout our second chance date, or whatever it was, at Fisher’s Landing. The one I imagined stretched across his face after I texted himThank Youfor the muffin and tea. The same smile that I imagine he wears each time we exchange quick texts about Doc’s recovery.
“You’re going with Davis?” he says with a cheeky lilt.
“It’s your name.”Good god, am I batting my eyes?
“I did say you could call me whatever you wanted.”
“Yeah, and I choose Davis.” Dragon-size wings flutter in my abdomen.
“You choose Davis.” Winking, he holds up a shopping bag withArvida Booksprinted on the front. “I picked up those other books you recommended.”
It’s clear our texts go beyond just checking on Doc. They also include Davis’s romance reading education. We agree thatfor him to have a well-developed opinion, he should sample the genre.
“I just suggested those this afternoon.” Head tipped back, I let out a soft chuckle that sounds a little too much like a giggle.
“Well,Peach, I’m a good student. I learn quickly.” It’s somehow a little dirty the way it slips from his smirking mouth.
The possibilities of that eagerness crackles between us. My body’s temperature rises with the fantasy of Davis, his mouth close to my ear, whispering, “Tell me how you want to be touched.” His hands roaming just where I tell him.
“Yeah?” I bite my lower lip, tamping down the breathiness in my voice.
A throat clears. “Hi. I’m Owen.”
Oh crap! I’m on a date… Sort of.Blinking away the sex-charged headiness, I look between Owen, who stands just a step behind me, one eyebrow quirked with accusation, and Davis, who shifts foot-to-foot.
