Ashlyn
My heart races as I bring Jake outside and take a seat on the patio lounge. He sits in a nearby chair, stretching his legs out.
“Your gran’s been eyeing me.”
“Has she?”
“Yeah. I have to hand it to her, she’s pretty spicy.”
I burst out in laughter, unsettling my wine.
“So, tell me, Ash, what’s life been like for you?”
I cock a brow. “Been like?”
“Small-town guy like myself doesn’t ever see much of the world. I thought I would. I thought I was going to be some major pro football player. But that was never in the cards for me.”
Jake was made for sports, from his taut, lean-muscled body, to his strategic mind. A car wreck took his career from him, though he seems to have recovered well.
I guess my troubles pale in comparison.
Finally, I say, “It’s been big, I suppose. Big job. Big travel. Big opportunities. I’ve been truly blessed.”
“But it doesn’t seem like you mean that.”
My eyes dart to his, and we lock gazes. His intense blue eyes narrow, like he’s reading me as one would a book. I’d much rather he read with his hands than those steel-blue beauties.
I exhale slowly and take a sip of wine, trying to appear unfazed.
“I don’t mean to pry, but it seems an awful lot like your success hasn’t been as much of a blessing as you’ve let on.”
“Who am I to complain? I’ve reached the peak of my success, and I’m not even thirty.”
“Success isn’t all about selling those books and movies, Ashlyn. I think you know that.”
“Tell me then. What does success look like to you?”
He chuckles. “I’d be the wrong person to ask, but I’d like to think I do have a few things going for me. Good friends. Loving family. Sexy physique.”
To my epic humiliation, I laugh so hard wine snorts from my nose.
Jake is beside me on the lounge in the blink of an eye. “Here, let me get that.” He blots my
nose with a handkerchief. “It’s clean, I promise.”
Being so close to him sends my heart thumping, and I worry he’s going to somehow feel it, like it’s beating so fast the air reverberates from it.
“I’ve noticed you favoring your right leg,” he says, his warm breath washing over my neck.
I blink, trying to figure out what it is he just said but failing miserably because I’m so distracted by his imposing figure.
“I think the other day, when you fell, you may have strained your knee. I doubt it’s torn, but if you’d like, I can take a look. I’m trained to assess injuries.”
Jake Clark wants to touch my leg, and this might be the way I die.
Obviously, this is completely innocent, and he’s just trying to be helpful, but in my overly-imaginative brain, this is how 50 Shades of Grey starts.
He repositions himself, taking a seat at the edge near my leg. “It’ll be quick.”
