Page 7 of Mine Forever
Sighing, I look around, hoping the sand or beach houses will give me some inspiration.
“Let’s see… Chase, good to see you…” I shake my head. “Ah, Eden, let’s keep the lies to a minimum, okay?”
My head keeps reminding me of the last words we said to each other. Anger and hurt ran deep between us.
But my heart?
That stupid bitch is pounding at the thought of seeing him again. The way it always did when I knew I was going to see him.
My stomach flip-flops, but I shut down all the memories that will do nothing but threaten any bravado I’ve mustered to come here.
The farther down the island, the farther apart the houses become until we reach a dead end to the road.
Nate takes a left onto a street with just a handful of houses. To my right, the Atlantic stretches out in all its mysterious deep blue beauty.
The only sign a storm is on its way are the winds that have picked up a bit. But the blue skies are promising that I can get what I need—for Chase to say yes—and get my ass on the next plane back to New York.
My confidence about Chase’s reaction to my request isn’t as promising as the skies, though.
Nate pulls his truck into a short, crushed-shell driveway of a beach home on stilts behind a blacked-out truck.
Chase isn’t anywhere to be seen, and with the house looking deserted, if Nate wasn’t who he is, I’d start to wonder why I followed him.
Parking on the street in front of the house, I stall for a moment before blowing out a breath and getting out of the rental. Between the oppressive humidity and my nerves, nausea roils in my stomach
Squaring my shoulders, I head in the direction where Nate went. As I approach, the ocean winds blowing around me, I hear a couple of male voices though I can’t hear what they’re saying.
As I round the corner, Nate says, “I brought you something,”
“As grateful as I am for the coffee, I hope like hell it’s a six-pack of beer.”
I freeze, the click of my heels on the concrete silenced.
I haven’t heard his voice in four years, but it affects me just the same. That deep-timbered rasp caresses my skin like a lover’s touch.
Nate chuckles and squints up to the side of the house where the ladder leans against it. “Better. Bring your ass down here and see for yourself.”
The ladder creaks and jostles. Work boots hit the rungs, followed by jean-clad legs. I nearly swallow my tongue as that sexy-as-hell happy trail comes into view when his T-shirt rides up.
All the times I ever touched that happy trail—with my fingertips or my tongue—play in my head, making it feel about two hundred degrees out here.
“What did you?—”
Chase stops when he looks over at me. His worn and faded baseball cap—his lucky Gators cap—is pulled low, but it doesn’t hide the flash of anger in those emerald-green eyes.
His hands land on his hips, back ramrod straight. Those lips—my body recalls just how perfect they felt on my skin—flatten into a straight line.
Maybe I should have broken my sex drought before I came here. Because the anger I wanted to hang on to so desperately has abandoned me.
“Is this a joke, Gentry?” Chase’s voice is tight and cold enough to freeze over the ocean just beyond the house.
Nate looks back and forth between us, confusion written on his face. “This is Eden Mitchell.”
“I know who the hell she is.”
“She says you’re friends.”
“She fucking lied.”
