Read Online Single (Stockton Beavers #1) by Collette West - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Collette West
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certainly wasn't. I cram my feet into his mom's fuzzy bedroom slippers and sigh. I can either leave Stockton like I was planning on doing or I can keep lying to Luke's face. But if I go out there and tell him the truth about me, there's a very real possibility that he'll tell me to leave and never come back. And after today, there's no way I can put his mother's care back in the hands of their elderly neighbor, not when I can step up and do something about it.
Slowly, I open the door, and I'm taken aback to find him standing there, holding a tray with a china tea set on it.
"What's all this?"
He crinkles his brow at me. "An apology."
"An apology? For what?"
"For last night, for today, for everything." He gestures toward the two large throw pillows he has propped up against the wall. "Please, take a seat."
I wrap my arms around myself. "You want me to sit on the floor?"
He juts his chin toward the end of the hallway. "Just so I'll be able to hear Mom, in case she gets up again."
"Luke," I protest. "She's fine. She's sound asleep. You don't have to—"
"I know. But it'd just make me feel better," he says, handing me a saucer with a beautifully painted cup on top. "Do you mind?"
I step out of the steam-filled bathroom, feeling very self-conscious. "Playing tea party, are we? Looks like someone's trying to butter me up for something."
He shrugs. "Mom always did things right. And I know this is how she'd like to thank you…if she could."
I'll be the first to admit I've never been attracted to shorter guys. But there's something intensely intimate about being able to look directly into Luke's eyes like I am now. It's disconcerting because there's nowhere to hide. They're clear and open and honest, the eyes of someone who, despite all his problems, is at peace with himself. And for a moment, I can't bring myself to look at him.
Sensing my discomfort, he lowers the tray onto the floor and eases himself onto one of the pillows. "Your tea awaits, milady."
I smile awkwardly, having no choice but to join him. He crosses his legs, and his shorts, which before were hitting him almost at mid-calf, have now ridden up to his knees where they belong—which is about where this tiny robe is on me. As demurely as I can, I bend down next to him, first with one knee and then the other, before quickly bringing my legs back together again.
"Did anyone ever tell you that you look pretty in pink?" He winks at me.
"Yeah, well." I glance down at the loud floral pattern on his Mom's robe while filling my cup. "In case you haven't noticed, black's more my color. It makes me feel strong and powerful, not like a wilting flower floating atop a fruity drink."
"So you're a girl who never liked pink?" he teases, taking the teapot from me.
I deliberately take a sip before responding, "I swore I'd never wear pink again." I stare at him over the rim of my cup. "And look at me now."
Just like I told Landry I was done with hot, young baseball players…and here I am .
Before coming to Stockton, I got rid of everything that was tying me to my past—including my favorite pale-pink sweater a certain someone gave me for Christmas one year. But he wasn't the man who broke me. He was just one of my many reckless rebounds in my vain attempt to forget the one who did.
Luke gives me an appraising glance. "Well, you don't need to wear black in order to impress me. I'm already impressed by you."
And my guard immediately goes up. Please don't tell me he's coming on to me . But there's no heavy-lidded trace of lust or hint of flirtation in his eyes. Instead, they seem to be glowing with genuine admiration for me, reinforcing the sincerity of his compliment. And that vexes me more because I don't deserve his kindness.
"You're impressed by someone who wipes wrinkled asses for a living?"
And there it is, my inner tough girl, ready to reassert herself whenever I get the least bit scared. I don't know what comes over me, but whenever I feel cornered, my
Slowly, I open the door, and I'm taken aback to find him standing there, holding a tray with a china tea set on it.
"What's all this?"
He crinkles his brow at me. "An apology."
"An apology? For what?"
"For last night, for today, for everything." He gestures toward the two large throw pillows he has propped up against the wall. "Please, take a seat."
I wrap my arms around myself. "You want me to sit on the floor?"
He juts his chin toward the end of the hallway. "Just so I'll be able to hear Mom, in case she gets up again."
"Luke," I protest. "She's fine. She's sound asleep. You don't have to—"
"I know. But it'd just make me feel better," he says, handing me a saucer with a beautifully painted cup on top. "Do you mind?"
I step out of the steam-filled bathroom, feeling very self-conscious. "Playing tea party, are we? Looks like someone's trying to butter me up for something."
He shrugs. "Mom always did things right. And I know this is how she'd like to thank you…if she could."
I'll be the first to admit I've never been attracted to shorter guys. But there's something intensely intimate about being able to look directly into Luke's eyes like I am now. It's disconcerting because there's nowhere to hide. They're clear and open and honest, the eyes of someone who, despite all his problems, is at peace with himself. And for a moment, I can't bring myself to look at him.
Sensing my discomfort, he lowers the tray onto the floor and eases himself onto one of the pillows. "Your tea awaits, milady."
I smile awkwardly, having no choice but to join him. He crosses his legs, and his shorts, which before were hitting him almost at mid-calf, have now ridden up to his knees where they belong—which is about where this tiny robe is on me. As demurely as I can, I bend down next to him, first with one knee and then the other, before quickly bringing my legs back together again.
"Did anyone ever tell you that you look pretty in pink?" He winks at me.
"Yeah, well." I glance down at the loud floral pattern on his Mom's robe while filling my cup. "In case you haven't noticed, black's more my color. It makes me feel strong and powerful, not like a wilting flower floating atop a fruity drink."
"So you're a girl who never liked pink?" he teases, taking the teapot from me.
I deliberately take a sip before responding, "I swore I'd never wear pink again." I stare at him over the rim of my cup. "And look at me now."
Just like I told Landry I was done with hot, young baseball players…and here I am .
Before coming to Stockton, I got rid of everything that was tying me to my past—including my favorite pale-pink sweater a certain someone gave me for Christmas one year. But he wasn't the man who broke me. He was just one of my many reckless rebounds in my vain attempt to forget the one who did.
Luke gives me an appraising glance. "Well, you don't need to wear black in order to impress me. I'm already impressed by you."
And my guard immediately goes up. Please don't tell me he's coming on to me . But there's no heavy-lidded trace of lust or hint of flirtation in his eyes. Instead, they seem to be glowing with genuine admiration for me, reinforcing the sincerity of his compliment. And that vexes me more because I don't deserve his kindness.
"You're impressed by someone who wipes wrinkled asses for a living?"
And there it is, my inner tough girl, ready to reassert herself whenever I get the least bit scared. I don't know what comes over me, but whenever I feel cornered, my
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