Read Online Necessary Restorations (The Walsh Series) (A) by Kate Canterbary - Free Book Online
Authors: Kate Canterbary
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that issue is simply asinine. So all her angst is fired at me right now.”
“Oh,” I said, trying and failing to manage my reactions. “So there are a lot of women in your life.”
“That’s one way to interpret it,” he said, frowning. “I’m not exactly hanging out in the women’s shoe section at Nordstrom or getting advice on eye shadow, if that’s what you’re thinking. I mean, not usually.”
I shook my head, attempting to brush aside Sam’s response but I couldn’t ignore the dread building in my chest. I didn’t get along with families.
The fireworks eventually ended but we stayed there, watching the city lights. I couldn’t usually manage this kind of quiet, but today had been the enjoyable type of draining. Yawning, I felt the humidity sapping the last of my energy.
“All right,” he said. He pushed to his feet and collected the empty bottles and caps. “I should go.”
“Do you like movies?”
Sam glanced at me, his brow furrowed as if it was a ridiculous question. “Yeah. Don’t most people?”
“Some don’t,” I said. My ex-husband hated movies. If it wasn’t performed live and on stage, he wasn’t interested, and it was unbelievably comical how a fifteen-minute marriage was still dominating my thought process nine years later. “Stay. Watch a movie with me.”
He squinted at me, repressing a smile. “Is that what friends would do?”
There was an opening and an out in that question, but neither were quite right. Friends didn’t kiss in alleys and wake up together, half-naked, but more than friends didn’t exist for Sam. He was crystal clear about it last night, and I didn’t need to hear that story twice.
But while I still didn’t understand it, I was the magnet to his metal and I was opting for something over nothing.
“Friends do whatever the hell they want,” I said. “Obviously, you need a friend to guide you and teach you some of the non-rules. You’re very lucky to have me.”
“As a friend? ”
“Of course, ” I said, my voice overly cheerful to hide my lie. “What else would we be?”
He gazed down at me, pausing as he considered this. There were any number of things we could be together: tennis partners, duet singers, international jewel thieves, the top-ranked music reviewers for The Phoenix, but I didn’t suggest any of that. It was too easy to slip lovers into that list.
He extended his hand, and when my palm connected with his, he pulled me tight to his chest. “All right, my friend. You pick the film.”
He was on the sofa, his limbs tangled with mine, and asleep within the first half hour of Stepbrothers. I laid there, listening to the movie and feeling every inch of his beautiful body pressed against me and narrating every filthy fantasy I could imagine as his chest rose and fell.
What if I snuggled into him, my bum tucking against his shorts and the form-fitting boxers just beneath? Would he pull my hips tighter against him, grind into me, harden on contact?
What if I reached out and stroked him? Or traced his tattoos again, following the dark lines down the path of his body? Would he melt into my touch, or pull away?
Friends could kiss and friends could have mostly-clothed sleepovers, but friends couldn’t grab dicks.
As I fell asleep, I nestled into his chest and laced my fingers with his.
Just like friends.
We did it all over again the next day. This time, we broke past the city limits and headed west to Lenox and the Tanglewood Jazz Festival. The event was paired with a gourmet food and wine tasting, and I was happily astonished to see Sam talking with chefs and sampling the goods.
Late in the afternoon, the wine was getting to my head and it was still hot and cloyingly humid, and we went in search of a quiet patch of lawn to relax. I’d always loved lying on the cool grass and listening to the earth. It was almost as if I could hear a rhythm, a heartbeat, that quiet symphony for those who chose to listen.
“So what kind of
“Oh,” I said, trying and failing to manage my reactions. “So there are a lot of women in your life.”
“That’s one way to interpret it,” he said, frowning. “I’m not exactly hanging out in the women’s shoe section at Nordstrom or getting advice on eye shadow, if that’s what you’re thinking. I mean, not usually.”
I shook my head, attempting to brush aside Sam’s response but I couldn’t ignore the dread building in my chest. I didn’t get along with families.
The fireworks eventually ended but we stayed there, watching the city lights. I couldn’t usually manage this kind of quiet, but today had been the enjoyable type of draining. Yawning, I felt the humidity sapping the last of my energy.
“All right,” he said. He pushed to his feet and collected the empty bottles and caps. “I should go.”
“Do you like movies?”
Sam glanced at me, his brow furrowed as if it was a ridiculous question. “Yeah. Don’t most people?”
“Some don’t,” I said. My ex-husband hated movies. If it wasn’t performed live and on stage, he wasn’t interested, and it was unbelievably comical how a fifteen-minute marriage was still dominating my thought process nine years later. “Stay. Watch a movie with me.”
He squinted at me, repressing a smile. “Is that what friends would do?”
There was an opening and an out in that question, but neither were quite right. Friends didn’t kiss in alleys and wake up together, half-naked, but more than friends didn’t exist for Sam. He was crystal clear about it last night, and I didn’t need to hear that story twice.
But while I still didn’t understand it, I was the magnet to his metal and I was opting for something over nothing.
“Friends do whatever the hell they want,” I said. “Obviously, you need a friend to guide you and teach you some of the non-rules. You’re very lucky to have me.”
“As a friend? ”
“Of course, ” I said, my voice overly cheerful to hide my lie. “What else would we be?”
He gazed down at me, pausing as he considered this. There were any number of things we could be together: tennis partners, duet singers, international jewel thieves, the top-ranked music reviewers for The Phoenix, but I didn’t suggest any of that. It was too easy to slip lovers into that list.
He extended his hand, and when my palm connected with his, he pulled me tight to his chest. “All right, my friend. You pick the film.”
He was on the sofa, his limbs tangled with mine, and asleep within the first half hour of Stepbrothers. I laid there, listening to the movie and feeling every inch of his beautiful body pressed against me and narrating every filthy fantasy I could imagine as his chest rose and fell.
What if I snuggled into him, my bum tucking against his shorts and the form-fitting boxers just beneath? Would he pull my hips tighter against him, grind into me, harden on contact?
What if I reached out and stroked him? Or traced his tattoos again, following the dark lines down the path of his body? Would he melt into my touch, or pull away?
Friends could kiss and friends could have mostly-clothed sleepovers, but friends couldn’t grab dicks.
As I fell asleep, I nestled into his chest and laced my fingers with his.
Just like friends.
We did it all over again the next day. This time, we broke past the city limits and headed west to Lenox and the Tanglewood Jazz Festival. The event was paired with a gourmet food and wine tasting, and I was happily astonished to see Sam talking with chefs and sampling the goods.
Late in the afternoon, the wine was getting to my head and it was still hot and cloyingly humid, and we went in search of a quiet patch of lawn to relax. I’d always loved lying on the cool grass and listening to the earth. It was almost as if I could hear a rhythm, a heartbeat, that quiet symphony for those who chose to listen.
“So what kind of
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