Page 51 of Merry Mayhem
Thea:Uh, if he WAS into women in comas, that would be a mark in the ‘con’ column, don’t you think?
Andi:I’m going to say yes, being into unconscious women is a big ‘con’.
I roll my eyes.Jesus, Andi.
I realize deep down this is why I texted Andi. She’s practical under her eccentricities. And more than a little grumpy. Especially when it comes to men.
That happens when your college sweetheart turns into a controlling asshole who then cheats on you and expects you to understand that it’s your fault.
Okay, being happily single is also something we have in common.
Because I am. Happily single, that is. I haven’t wanted or needed a man in my life in…ever.
Ruth’s dad was a guy I’d started dating in college, and we ended up with a positive pregnancy test before we’d even met each other’s parents.
He stuck around, helped me through the pregnancy, was there when Ruth was born, helped financially, still does, and sees her here and there, but I have full custody. He and his wife live in Houston. Ruth loves her two half-sisters, her dad, and her stepmom. It’s, overall, a good situation for all of us.
And I’ve hardly done any of this on my own. My family, this whole town, has been there for Ruth and me, and they have helped in numerous ways.
But I haven’t had a man in my life because…I haven’t felt like I wanted or needed one.
And now Josh is here.
I know he’s spontaneous and flawed, and also looking for something serious.
With me.
I had expected the bright daylight and caffeine, and the absence of his big hot body up against mine, to make all of that seem more ridiculous and to help me find a way to say no.
That isn’t happening.
I hear the steps creak and my heart kicks against my ribs.
It’s not Ruth. She’s still asleep on the couch. Which means it can only be done by one person.
A moment later, Josh steps into the kitchen.
He’s freshly showered and dressed in his boots, blue jeans, and a long-sleeved Henley.
His hair is still damp, and it appears he has just shaved.
God, he’s cute.
He’s young, too. He’s five years younger than me. But he doesn’t seem to care about our age difference.
Looking at him now, feeling my heart pound, feeling the tingles race along my nerve endings, I realize I don’t either.
He’s more mature than a lot of the twenty-six-year-olds I know. He’s been through some stuff. Addiction, those consequences, and recovery. He also sees a lot as a paramedic and firefighter, I’m sure. He left his comfort zone and moved to a new place, a whole different world and culture in Louisiana from Nebraska. He realized he needed to change his life, and he did.
I don’t think that five years between us matters.
Hell, he might be more mature than I am in a lot of ways. I’ve never lived more than sixty miles from home. I now live and work in the same town where I grew up. I’m definitely not what anyone would call spontaneous.
“’Mornin’,” he greets, giving me a smile that slides over me like warm butter over a pecan caramel roll and makes my lower stomach clench.
God, I want to kiss him.
“Hi,” I say. My voice sounds husky. “There’s coffee. And the rolls are there on top of the oven.”
