Fftt …
Jillian fast-forwarded to the next step.
I want you to go back a moment, to when I asked you to abandon your list. How did that make you feel?
“Like this is a stupid podcast and I’m wasting my time,” Jillian said.
I often get words like empowered, alive, ready for anything that comes my way.
“Then they’re liars,” Jillian announced.
Fftt …
Fftt …
Fftt …
Now for number two. I want you to really think about what your second resolution would be. It can be one from your discarded list or one that stands out in your mind. Without peeking, I want you to envision it.
Jillian chose to quickly write her next rule, then read it back to herself. “Rename Resolutions to Recommendations, so that I can, at any time, ignore them without a trace of guilt.”
And because she felt that was more of a guideline and she made her own rules, she wrote down another resolution. A real make-change, show-what-you’re-made-of kind of resolution that would take her from frazzled single mom to sexy, proud-to-be-single woman.
Taking a fortifying-sized sip of wine, Jillian walked to the pool’s edge and dipped her toe in—just one. Then, with her confidence boosted, she submerged her entire foot before stepping on the top step.
The pool was set to a balmy eighty-seven degrees, and she could see the steam rising off the surface. Feel the nerves floating up in her belly like helium balloons. Hear that Girl on Fire telling her to jump without a life preserver.
Closing her eyes, she undid her robe, letting it slide down to her elbows and reveal her bikini, and jumped. Well, slid down to the next step and said to the stars above, loud and proud, “Lose the negative whispers and lose that suit.”
“While I’m in strong favor of both those statements, you might want to wait until I turn my back,” a very low, very unexpected voice said from the abyss at the deep end of the pool.
Jillian squeaked. Panic rose and grabbed her by the throat, and every horror movie she’d ever watched came flooding back. She moved backward, her robe’s belt catching between her legs, yanking the silky cover-up and sending it into the water, where it slowly sank to the pool’s bottom, leaving her in three scraps of material with teal strings.
Telling herself it was the wine, she closed her eyes and whispered, “Your imagination is working overtime, and you are dreaming.”
“It bodes well for me that you imagine me in your dreams.”
Recognition hit hard, and her eyes snapped open. It was not the wine. She was not even a little tipsy. She was stone-cold sober, and swimming over to her was an Easton, the youngest and sexiest of the brothers—and the only one Jillian let herself fantasize about because, with their age difference,thatwas never going to happen.
Clay, who lived in Seattle, was way too young and therefore had an expiration date—which was why she’d allowed her fascination to only morph into an embarrassing crush. So when he stood, arising from the now waist-deep water that sliced down his body, her mouth went dry.
Like some Greek god, his hard chest glistened with moisture in the moonlight, and a thin patch of wet hair trailed down the plains of his flat stomach, disappearing beneath the water. His hair and lashes were spiked, and his lips were turned up into a grin that had her bathing suit nearly melting off her body.
“Clay?” she asked, squinting her eyes to ensure it was the Seahawks running back swimming in her pool. She gulped. There he was, in only the night’s air and steaming water. “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting to hear what number three on your list is. Number two was a showstopper,” he said, his gaze flickering with amusement and something a little more dangerous.
Interest. Even worse, it was clear that Clay of the chiseled abs and bulging biceps was teasing in a very flirty way.
“If you’d waited another minute, you would have seen the real showstopper,” Jillian flirted back in that flirt for flirt’s sake way Dr. Claire spoke of.
Clay took another step toward her, revealing a pair of board shorts that hung indecently low on his hips and matched his cobalt-blue eyes. “My loss.”
A wave of single-girl anxiety washed over her, causing her to fold her arms across her body—at least concealing the top half of her bikini.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
“Going for a swim before I turn in,” he said. “It seems you’re doing the same.”
