Page 24 of Faking the Pass
I hoped she was able to sleep tonight—and that her asswipe of a fiancé wasn’t.
Although, who were we kidding? Guys like that didn’thavea conscience to keep them awake at night.
It didn’t seem right that he should get away with this scot-free. I needed to stop thinking about it. I was getting mad all over again. I’d never get to sleep at this rate.
At least Rosie had finally agreed to stay the night.
If anyone understood what it was like to be in the glare of the spotlight and have your worst moment play out for the entertainment of others, it was me.
It had happened to me just last week when my own personal nightmare was broadcast on national TV and then replayed for days.
I also thought about the sight of her in her wedding day lingerie.
Not the most chivalrous thing, granted, but thoughts were thoughts, and well, I was a guy.
Talk about adistraction.
Though it was years ago, I rememberedclearlyhow distracting Rosie had been back in high school—it was even worse now that she had grown into the full potential of her womanhood.
She was literally the last woman I needed to have close by when I was supposed to be fully focused on my injury rehab.
Well, she’d be leaving tomorrow and getting on with her life—what was left of it—and I could go back to what was left of mine.
The next morning, I woke early as always and went straight to my home gym over the garage to do my prescribed rehab exercises.
In a few weeks, I’d start working with the team’s trainers again, but for right now, I was limited in what I could do—or what I wassupposedto do anyway.
I tended to push the limits.
Isometric exercises done, I went to the kitchen to whip up a protein-and collagen-rich breakfast with the foods I had on hand. Eggs, cheese, several cans of Alaskan salmon. Some bacon on the side for flavor and energy.
I cooked all of it with plenty of butter. Fat was great fuel.
I hadn’t seen any sign of Rosie yet today.
A glance down the hallway told me she was still asleep. Or at least the door was still closed.
Since I was cooking anyway, I made her an omelet in case she had an appetite when she finally did get up.
Either way, I’d make sure she ate before she left.
I hadn’t been drunk since college, but if memory served, a greasy breakfast went a long way toward curing a hangover.
Finally, around ten o’clock, I heard her padding down the hallway. She came into the living area-slash-kitchen, barefoot and wearing my t-shirt, which was huge on her.
Still, her gorgeous legs were on full display, and she had the cutest feet I’d ever seen. They were tanned, and her toenails were painted a pearly white.
She’d belted the t-shirt in the middle with some lacy, sparkly thing—her wedding veil maybe—turning it into a short dress.
Here in full daylight I was able to take in the details I’d missed last night.
Rosie’s hair was shorter than she used to wear it in high school, about shoulder length, but it was the same creamy blonde I remembered, a mixture of honey and vanilla tones.
Her eyes, a beautiful shade of brown I’d never quite been able to forget, were underscored by the faintest shadows.
There was also a little blue mark on her forehead from where she’d run into the wall. Otherwise, her skin was flawless.
She looked… incredible, actually.
