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JULIET
Well, that was something. I’ve been back in Seaglass Beach for a few months, but running into King hasn’t gotten any easier.
Luckily it doesn’t happen all that often. Total bad luck that I ran into him this morning.
Literally.
He’s still the same old grumpy King. Always serious, no sense of humor. To be fair, I did douse him with piping-hot coffee and ruin his shirt, but still. He’s the one who’s globally in the wrong, not me. You’d think he’d be a little nicer.
No, you wouldn’t.
Nice isn’t King’s style. Politely aloof is more like it. Not cold, exactly. But no one’s describing him as warm and fuzzy anytime soon.
He used to be. With you.
But that was a long, long time ago. Before everything happened and my life spiraled out of control.
Stop. Don’t go there.
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the unbidden memories flooding my mind.
Our spot at the lake. King’s strong arms wrapped around me as I gazed up into his deep-blue eyes. Trusting him fully.
The barn. Our first time together, hiding out with the horses. To this day the warm scent of hay makes my thighs clench.
Lying in the back of his truck at the edge of the woods, cuddling under a fuzzy blanket, and staring up at the thousands of stars in the sky.
With King I always felt safe, protected.
Until I didn’t.
I huff out a shaky breath, my head throbbing. At least I have coffee.
Taking a sip, I shut my eyes and focus on the warm liquid sliding down my throat, trying to ground myself in the moment to stop the spinning.
Maybe moving back home was a mistake.
I’m not sure if I can live in the same place as him and be okay. I thought I was over it all—over him—but now I’m not so sure.
Every time I see him, my body reacts. Heart banging, chest flushing, heat unfurling deep in my belly.
Basically the exact opposite of what’s going on in my mind. My brain knows it’s a bad fucking idea. We’ll never be together—too much has happened. Unfortunately, the rest of my system isn’t getting the message. Especially from the waist down.
Damn him and his amazing dick.
You still want him.
No, I definitely do not. Sure, his pecs felt pretty damn spectacular when I was patting him dry. Even bigger and stronger than I remembered. And time only made him more handsome—he actually looks good with the salt-and-pepper stubble, the tiny crinkles around his eyes.
So fucking unfair how men get better looking doing the bare minimum skin care, like fine wines or something, while women spend hundreds of dollars on wrinkle creams and serums and still seem to lose the battle with age.
Well, King’s winning, and it’s kind of pissing me off.
He broke your heart. Move the fuck on.
Still, my pussy tingles thinking about him, shock waves of desire rippling through me.
Dammit. This isn’t supposed to be happening. It’s not in the plan.
