Page 33 of Sweet Caroline
The car is comfortably warm inside as we settle into the backseat and Caroline’s driver pulls out into the sporadic traffic in front of my building.
“You look… uh…” I trail off and swallow, then shake my head, trying to stop from blurting out every description that comes to mind.
Stunning? Incredible? Sexy? Like that thigh-high slit could kill a man?
“Sorry,” I say, tearing my gaze away only to have it land right back on her dress. Onher. Willpower’s never really been my thing. “I’m not sure how to…” I make a vague gesture between us.
“I’m not sure how to do this, either.” She sounds almost sheepish. “It’s weird, right?”
“Uh, weird isn’t…” My eyes trace a path over her bare collarbone, her neck, her jawline.
Don’t look at her tits.
Too late.
Fuck, they’re perfect.
“Weird isn’t what came to mind, honestly.”
In the dim back seat, her light eyes are shadowed and unreadable, and I can only hope the darkness masked the path mine justtook. Because it sure as shit isn’t hiding the fact that I sound like I just crawled out of a swamp.
“I mean, you look…” I clear my throat, willing myself to string together a full sentence. “You look beautiful.”
I hear more than see the smile on her face. “Thank you. And you did, in fact, clean up nice.”
My ego practically purrs in response. “Told ya.”
“And you shaved.”
I instinctively rub my chin. “Yeah.”
“Uh, sorry, I—” she cuts herself off, breaking eye contact like she’s trying to shake off distraction.
I know the feeling.
“Alright,” she says as she shifts in her seat, brushing my knee with hers, “we only have an hour to get you up to speed, so I should probably launch right in.”
“I’m a fast learner. Hit me.”
7
CAROLINE
It all comes pouring out. I tell Miles about working for my father back in Seattle, starting Found Family with Adrian, and how Dad had thrown his weight behind our little charity from the very beginning. I don’t go into details about his substantial annual donations, focusing instead on the basics Miles needs to know before stepping into a room with my father in it.
It all seems a bit over his head, but I think Miles gets the gist: this fundraiser is important to me, Adrian, my dad… and I owe it to my father to fall in line right now.
Which brings us to how I got wrapped up in a scheme to pretend Fletcher and I were still together—even after I’d found all those texts, confirming his flagrant cheating.
“So, that shitweasel didn’t bother to cover his tracks?” Miles works his jaw for a second, like he’s trying not to grind his teeth as he mulls over what I just told him.
“I guess?” I shrug, trying to brush it off, though I know I shouldn’t. “Or he figured he didn’t need to, maybe.” It still stings. Fletcher isn’t a man lacking in intelligence; it hadn’t been a careless oversight but achoice. He’d been uncaring. Callous. I catch myself shrinking into my seat and consciously sit straighter. I don’t want to dwell on it or let Fletcher get to me—let him ruin my night with Miles.
“And your parents know all this. About Fletcher cheating and shit.”
“Yes.”
He looks gobsmacked. “And they still wanted you to go along with this thing? Pretend to be with your lying fuckwit ex for show?” When I don’t argue, he lets out a disappointed-sounding sigh. “Shit, that’s brutal.”
