Page 95 of Burning Daylight
“Friendly things, I guess.”
“Friendly things,” she repeats, frowning.
“Yeah. I think you’ll find I can beveryfriendly.” I wag my brows.
She gives me a bemused look and then heads toward the picnic table, sliding onto the bench and placing her notebook down. “Well, come on then,friend, tell me something about you.”
I follow her, slipping into the seat across from her and resting my hands on the table next to my own black book. I jerk my chin toward hers. “What’s that?”
She gives me a chastising look. “I asked you a question first.”
“Okay.” I pick up my pencil and roll it between my fingers. “I spent years thinking my dad wished I was dead, and now that he wants me here, I don’t know how to act like I’m his son. His wealth makes me uncomfortable, and if it weren’t for my sister, I’d probably never touch a dime of my trust fund.”
Her eyes widen.
“Shit, I’m sorry.” I run a hand through my hair, my leg bouncing. “That was too heavy, right? You just asked, so I?—”
“No,” she cuts me off. “I just didn’t expect you to be so honest.”
I glance down at the table and then back at her, hoping my gaze conveys the words that I don’t know how to say. “I’ll always be honest with you.”
She snorts.
“From now on,” I amend.
Truthfully, I’ve never been open with anyone like this, and maybe I’m a dumbass for it, but it feels like I can share pieces of myself, and she’ll hold them close and keep them safe.
I’ve never had that before, not since I was a little kid and my mom…
Well, I don’t want to think about my mother. It’s just been a while.
“And this is something you share with your friends?” she asks.
“I’d like to think of us as best friends, honestly. Now you go.” I gesture toward her notebook. “Is that a diary?”
She drums her fingers on the table, and I want to grip them in mine. Instead, I aim for the journal. I’m only planning on tapping the front of it, but the way she rips it out of my reach has my interest piquing.
“Why are you so cagey about it?” My heart thumps faster, and I lean forward. “Is there something aboutmein there?”
She keeps her face carefully blank. “It’s amazing that after all this time you still think I’m obsessed with you.”
I throw my hands up in surrender. “Feels like something a stalker would do, is all. For all I know, you’ve doodled your first name and my last together a thousand times.”
She scoffs. “You wish.”
“Juliette Montgomery,” I muse, smiling. “Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
It takes a second to realize what I’ve said, and when I do, my world tips upside down.
When did my subconscious start accepting that I’m a Montgomery again?
The corners of her lips flip up. “This isn’t a diary, but itiswhere I write.”
I smirk. “And what, I’m just supposed to believe you don’t write dirty stories about me?”
She narrows her gaze. “Okay, first of all, sex isn’t dirty.”
The wordsexon her lips makes my dick hard, and I will it to behave, because I’m not trying to embarrass myself out here.
