Her finger releases mine but only travels as far as my belt loop, hooking into that instead. It’s slight, but I swear she tugs me toward her. My pulse races, and blood rushes straight to my dick.
“We will definitely make this summer count. I promise, Stor.”
“Can’t break your promises, Hen.”
We’re so close I’d only have to shift an inch or two and my mouth would be on hers.
Is this really about to happen? It’s a moment I’ve been thinking about since Annabel Stenson ruined everything three years ago.
“I would never?—”
My phone lets out a series of pings that are impossible to ignore.
“Why’s your message tone so loud?” She laughs, but her hand moves to my hip.
“It must have knocked in my pocket. Hang on. I’ll turn it off,” I say, rolling back only enough that I can extract it.
Scanning them, I quickly pray it’s nothing important. There are a dozen messages from Miles, but the last one is from my sister.
CLEMMIE: Yeah, think that’s the guy I saw sucking face with Story last weekend
CHAPTER 16
Story
“This is a stupid idea, Story.”
“I know, Story, but I’m not sure what else to do.”
“Screams desperation if you ask me, Story.”
“Shutup, Story. I didn’t ask you.”
“It’s just going to be the same situation as before.”
“No, it’s not.”
“We’ll see.”
As conversations I’ve had with myself go, it’s not the best. I’ve also never done it while carrying a basket of apples. But here we are. I just really wish Glenda hadn’t witnessed it.
“Are you coming in, dear?”
I wave at her from across the high street, wishing she weren’t quite so loud and there weren’t quite so many people between us. “In a minute, Glenda.”
“Hendricks isn’t here if that’s what you’re worried about.”
For fuck’s sake, does everyone here already know my business? I bet it was that bloody nurse on Thursday night who told everyone.
I don’t want to count how many pairs of eyes just looked at me, likely nudged each other, and debated on whether I was a pathetic loser. Jury’s still out on that one for me. I mean, what’s that saying? “If he wanted to, he would.”
And Hendricks might have given off all the vibes of wanting to kiss me, but whether he did is another matter.He didn’t. And while I’d like to say it’s the first time that’s happened, it isn’t.
I thought he might call, seeing as“he knows my number by heart,”but he didn’t do that either, and it’s been two days. I know being interrupted by a goat technically isn’t his fault, and Churchill needed more painkillers,blah, blah, blah,but he never tried to kiss me again. Not once Churchill was asleep, and not at all during the journey home when he dropped me at my door.
And when he snapped, “I know where you live, Story,” after I mistakenly attempted to give him directions, I put the near kiss down to the heightened emotions brought on by an early evening goat rescue.
“Doesn’t explain what he said to you, though, does it, Story?”
