Page 72 of The Right Kind of Wrong

She was at least self-aware enough to admit that.

“Well, I do very much want to move forward,” Blake said with a wry smile, and for a moment, Monroe wondered if there was more in those words. Something for her own benefit, even. She pushed the thoughts away, refusing to entertain the idea, as Blake added, “Even if I’m not sure that I agree with your entire assessment.”

Monroe held her hands up then, shrugging. “I’m just calling it like I see it.”

Throughout their conversation, Blake hadn’t stopped brushing Maisie’s forehead and temple. Monroe watched as Blake’s hand finally stilled, drawn to the lack of movement, like a metronome had been stopped.

Somehow, the simple action—or lack thereof—made the mood of the room change. Monroe was suddenly aware of how close their faces were to one another. The way Maisie was cradled between them, sleeping soundly. The soft, hazy glow of the darkness and the few candles that were almost extinguished from use.

“Well, I do like what you see. For the record,” Blake said softly, studying Monroe’s reaction.

She could only take in a shaky breath, wondering how, whenever she was around Blake, all of her defenses seemed to be at their lowest, despite her best efforts.

And yeah, she knew that she was in trouble when she let out with a halting breath, “I do, too.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Blake Bettencourt - 8:00 a.m.

Any interest in Slider’s this morning?

Blake had already been up for a few hours, finishing some coursework for the second summer session that had started this week.

Then she’d showered, made breakfast, and now, she was trying not to act like a complete weirdo by lingering at her front window to catch Monroe leaving. To have a reason to talk to her.

Which meant that she was holed up in her bedroom, deciding what to wear—a surprisingly difficult task.

Her mind was wandering, but she was also hyperaware of the fact that she could, possibly, see Monroe, depending on how their text exchange played out.

She knew that Maisie was going back to daycare today, after staying home on Monday and Tuesday, which meant that Monroe would be back on her regular schedule of dropping Maisie off and then getting to work on the pieces for her show.

When Blake had been over on Saturday, she’d almost asked to see them.

Something had held her back, though. She assumed that if Monroe wanted to share them with her, she would.

But even if Blake wasn’t going to push about some things, she had accepted that she couldn’t seem to stay away.

She wanted to dig in. To be closer to Monroe. To put herself as close to the proverbial fire as she possibly could, the risk of getting burned be damned.

That was exhilarating and terrifying, in equal measure.

Which was the main reason why she was staring down at her bed, where three different shirts were laid out as she tried to decide which one to wear.

She’d never felt like this before. Embarrassingly, it was the way she imagined teenagers felt when they got their first crush.

The newness. The importance. The pull toward the person, whether it was a good idea or not.

For weeks, Blake had been circling around the word.

Attraction.

She was deeply, insanely attracted to Monroe Lockhart. With her soft curves and her blue eyes and her dark hair that would probably feel incredible wrapped around Blake’s fingers.

And her lips. God, those lips. Blake held her fingers up and pressed them against her own mouth, wondering what it would feel like to kiss Monroe.

The idea had taken root, and now it was all that she could think about.

So . . . yeah. That was where she found herself these days.