Page 22 of Sterling Fight

I’m not certain how long I stand there, staring out at the silvery ripples on the distance lake but I finish my double glass of wine.

Wandering toward the dining room, I easily find the bar Judd referenced and the bottle of wine he opened.

“Engagement party for one?” I snark, lifting the bottle and setting down my glass.

I’m not really engaged. I’ve simply agreed to pretend I am.

When I’d normally be the first to demand honesty in a relationship, I’ll be living a lie for the next ten days. And I don’t feel as guilty as I should.

Judd Sylver is a mystery to me, and one I’d like to solve.

The fights. The mansion in the woods. The reserve still beneath the surface and yet, he seemed open enough.

He did save me from my mother. Rescued me from Heather. Brought me to his lair. I’m making it sound more sinister than it is. He did offer to take me back to my mom’s, and I have my reasons for not wanting to rush.

Janet Hurley is a complicated woman. One I’ve learned to navigate with great exhaustion at times. I love my mother, but I don’t always like her. And that in and of itself makes me feel guilty as well.

I miss my dad. He understood me. He appreciated me. And for the next ten days, Judd could be a good distraction from bad memories.

Not that Judd and I will be doing anything physical. Getting lost in one another’s bodies. We’ll just be . . . dating.

I internally groan. I’m a professional dater. Within minutes, I can tell how things will, or rather won’t, go and it’s all been daunting the past few years.

Still, I’m firmly against marriage which means I must firmly be in favor of singlehood. Unfortunately, I’m not embracing being alone as well as I once did.

“You’ll keep me company tonight, though, won’t you?” I say to the bottle of red and take a sip directly from it.

I could have gone with Judd. Maybe I should have gone with him. Maybe it would crack the code of sorrow around him. But I can’t witness someone pummeling Judd. Or Judd punching someone back.

I understand boxing is a sport, but the principle of it is where I’m stuck.

Wandering back into the great room, a chill ripples over my bare arms, and I pause near the couch with Judd’s suit jacket draped over the back. Hesitantly, I run my fingertips along the lapel as Judd had neatly folded the jacket so the back panels tuck beneath the sides. Next, I pinch the outer edge of the sleeve and skim my fingers along the silky material.

Closing my eyes, I envision my fingers running down the length of Judd’s arms. His skin warm beneath my touch. The ink vibrant and telling a story. What exactly is that unicorn beneath faded lines?

I set the wine bottle on the floor, and I pick up the jacket, holding it to my nose. Winter mint and sunshine lingers at the collar. I’d caught the scent as I pressed into his back while seated on his bike, but then the freshness of spring and the fragrance of pine mingled into our ride.

Holding up the jacket, the color reminiscent of Judd’s eyes, I wrap the material around me and tug at the opposite sides, tucking myself inside the silk lining and the hint of heat from Judd wearing this earlier.

If I were bolder, I’d remove my dress and only wear the jacket.

Instead, I pick up the wine bottle and pad on bare feet over the hardwood floor in the direction of the garage. This wing of the house has several doors and it’s time to explore.

My travels are short when I quickly come upon two closed pocket doors. Pressing them open, I pause on the pleasing whoosh they make, then I stare, wide eyed, mouth agape into the room.

Cue a Beauty and the Beast montage.

With my mouth still open, I enter the darkish room with bookshelves from floor to ceiling. Suddenly, I’m Belle standing in the gifted library. This one is even complete with a sliding ladder.

“Holy books, Batman,” I whisper, twirling in a slow circle, trying to take it all in while not able to grasp everything at once. An etched glass window with X-patterned mullions. Rich, mahogany shelves. The extensive number of books. A deep-purple velvet chaise lounge in the middle of the room. If women could have wet dreams, I’m experiencing one.

Stepping closer to the bookshelves, I scan the eclectic mix of titles. A combination of old and new. A blend of gilded gold on leather spines and worn-creased bindings on modern paperbacks. Judd has everything from atlases to romance novels, and I tug a familiar book off the shelf.

Taking the treasured novel and my wine bottle to the lounger, I lean back against the raised arm panel, feeling like royalty. And an imposter.

Glancing down at the pretty ring on my finger, I wonder what the story is behind this piece of jewelry. Despite the significance of it being his mother’s, I sense there is more to the story. Why has Judd been wearing it since he was eighteen? The age feels significant, but my memory wavers. I can’t recall if he wore a chain during the time I knew him.

Maybe it’s simply a keepsake of his mom.