Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 43375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 217(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 217(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
He shifted close enough to my side that I felt the heat radiating from his muscular body. “Did someone hurt you?”
I swallowed. “Life hurts more than people.”
His jaw flexed, his expression turning gentle, fierce, and protective all at once. “Rylin.”
“I don’t want your pity,” I whispered, needing to remind both of us of the line between us.
“I don’t pity you. I admire you.” His gaze dropped to my mouth, then back up to meet my eyes again. “And I want you.”
Sensual awareness coursed through me, equally dizzying and dangerous. I wanted him too, but it was a luxury I couldn’t afford.
The ground began to rumble, then the glow of the train’s headlights cut through the tunnel. I took a small step closer to the yellow line, my tote clutched to my side. Micah stayed just behind me. Close enough that if I leaned back even an inch, my shoulder would brush his chest.
I cleared my throat, trying to shove back the warmth still rippling through me from his confession. Keeping my gaze forward, I murmured, “Just so we’re clear, I don’t date customers.”
His reply was low and amused. “Good thing I own the place.”
I snapped my gaze toward him. “That makes you my boss, which is even worse than dating a customer.”
He shrugged, his mouth lifting at one corner like he was enjoying our banter. “Raiden’s really the boss. I’m barely middle management.”
Despite myself, a short laugh escaped me. “Micah, I’m serious.”
“I know.” His tone softened, losing its teasing edge. “And I’m also aware that you’re trying really hard to convince yourself of rules you don’t even want.”
I ducked my head so he couldn’t see the pink in my cheeks. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t date anyone until my life is in order.”
The words came out quieter than I meant. More vulnerable than I wanted.
“I can help with that if you let me.”
His voice was so gentle it nearly undid me. His sincerity was obvious. He meant every word.
“I have to go.” I turned to step toward the doors as the train rolled to a stop, but he closed his fingers around my wrist, tugging me back long enough to look at him.
His thumb brushed lightly along the inside of my wrist, right over my pulse point. “Text me when you get home.”
Before I could react, he leaned in. His lips touched mine, soft and slow. The kiss was barely there but devastating enough to light up places inside me I’d never known existed.
Bodies flowed around us as people got off and on the train, the doors dinging a warning that I needed to board soon.
When he pulled back an inch, his breath mingled with mine. “Good night, Rylin.”
I stepped into the train on autopilot, turning just in time to see him still standing on the platform, hands in his pockets, watching me like I was the only thing worth looking at.
The doors slid shut.
I pressed a hand over my racing heart as the train lurched forward.
It had only taken one kiss to crack every wall I’d spent years building.
5
MICAH
By the time I dragged my ass out of bed Monday afternoon, my body felt like I’d taken a hit from a freight train. West Coast games always messed with my rhythm, and last night’s late start hadn’t helped. We didn’t land until almost five, which meant it had been close to six thirty when I made it up to my place and collapsed, face-first on my mattress, still fully clothed. I slept for almost twelve hours straight.
Showered, dressed, and finally feeling vaguely human, I headed straight for the deli.
It had been a week since the first time I kissed her in front of the train. I’d done it again every night until I’d had to leave for our last preseason game. The more time I spent with my girl, the harder I missed her when I was away.
The Tight Line glowed warm in the evening darkness, the last of the dinner crowd trailing out as I stepped inside. The overhead lights were dimmed for closing, while soft, classic rock hummed through the speakers. It was quiet and calm, except for the faint clatter of trays and metal in the back.
My eyes scanned the room quickly, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding when I found Rylin.
Damn, she was beautiful.
She was behind the counter, her hair twisted up in one of those messy knots that showed off the delicate line of her neck as she wiped down the prep surfaces. Moving fast and focused, she furrowed her brows like she was in some kind of internal debate with herself. Her oversized T-shirt—one of ours, with The Tight Line’s logo across the chest—hung loose over her frame, tucked into black joggers that hugged her hips just right. The shirt swallowed her upper half but was somehow more tempting. Making it hard to think of anything except what was hiding underneath the loose fabric.