Page 24 of Beautiful Crazy
“About ten years ago,” he replies.
“But your wife is from here?”
“Yup, we met right after I moved here, and the rest was history.” Sam grins, making a wave motion with his hand as Conway and Davis chuckle and groan beside him.
“Are either of you two married or dating anyone?” I ask as I lift my gaze to them.
I remember Conway telling me he had a daughter in thefourth grade, and he used the termhoneymoon oopsie, but he’s not wearing a ring so it could go either way.
“We’re both divorced,” Davis offers. Hiking a thumb toward Conway, he adds, “This one is twice divorced. Can’t keep a woman to save his life.”
Davis laughs at his own joke as Sam chuckles along beside him. Conway, however, gives him the finger before downing the rest of his beer. “I’m getting another round,” he announces before disappearing in the direction of the bar.
The four of us throw back a couple more beers as we continue to shoot the shit for a while. By the time we all head our separate ways and go home, they exchange their numbers with me, and we make a loose plan to meet up again. I’m glad I forced myself to go tonight.
Pulling into my driveway, it’s a little after eleven. The cicadas are loud in the darkness, and yet, there’s something so soothing about the sound. When I first arrived in town, I thought it was annoying, but it’s started to grow on me. Climbing out of my car, something catches my attention, and when I turn my head, I find Gemma sitting on her porch, her laptop in her lap, and a glass of wine on the table beside her chair.
As if she can feel the weight of my stare, she looks up, gaze meeting mine as a small smile tugs on her lips. “Hey, Mr. Windward,” she drawls in a tone that sends heat down my spine.
“Hey, Gemma,” I call back, waving my hand for a brief wave. “What are you doing out here so late?”
Gesturing to her laptop, she says, “Slaving away on this manuscript.” She breathes out a laugh, grabs the wineglass,and takes a sip. “What about you? You’re getting home pretty late.”
I stuff my hands in my pockets. “Actually went out for a few beers with a couple guys. The contractor I hired to work on my house invited me out.”
“Look at you making friends,” she murmurs with a smile that makes my insides melt. “Conway?”
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
“Oh, Everett,” she murmurs, and I can’t help but love the way my name sounds falling from her lips. “One thing you’ll learn about this town is everybody knows everyone. Conway is the one and only contractor. It was an easy guess.”
My shoulders shake with a chuckle. “Fair enough.”
Thickening tension settles over us as we gaze at each other from across our yards. Wearing a tight ribbed tank that comes to just below her belly button and a pair of shorts that she’s got rolled up once, Gemma looks effortlessly sexy from where she’s sitting.
Images flash through my mind about what it would be like to feel her skin under my fingertips. I’ve got no doubt it would be soft, and I just know she’d smell delicious if I were to drag my nose along the column of her throat. I imagine the way her breasts would feel pressed up against my chest as she held on to me while my lips explored her creamy, smooth skin. The soft sounds she’d make as my teeth grazed her collarbone, or sucked on the spot below her ear.
Realizing I’m standing here, practically drooling over her, I smile, shaking my head of the dozens of thoughts passing through my mind. “Well, I’ll let you get back to work,” I tell her, every part of my body not wanting to goinside, but it’s late, and I worry if I stay out here much longer, I’ll make a fool of myself with my inability to look away. “Have a good night, Gemma.”
She returns the smile, but I don’t miss the way her eyes rake down my body before coming back up to my face. “You too, Everett. Good night.”
As I get inside and lock the door, I let out a deep breath.
This fucking girl.
Twelve
Gemma
“Mom, look!”
Glancing up, using my hand to shield my eyes from the sun, I watch as Sutton throws the ball clear across the yard to Beau. Catching it, Beau tosses it back, the ball landing directly in the center of Sutton’s glove.
“Good job, boys!” I call out, clapping. “You guys are getting so good at that!”
It’s a little after four in the afternoon, and I’ve been sitting on the porch, attempting to work, for the last few hours as the boys play together. Blakely is with my dad and stepmom for the weekend, and Grace had to work, so I’ve got Beau for the rest of the day. I have a dozen things I need to get done, and so far, I’ve checked very little off my mile long to-do list. But one thing Ihavecompleted is writing, and I’m feeling pretty damn good about it. For the last few weeks, I’ve been stuck on the story I’m working on. It waslike I’d hit a wall, but it seems as though I’m over the hump because, as of last night, the words have been flowing.
Movement catches to my left, my breath getting stuck in my throat as I turn my head and look at what it is. Everett’s jogging up his driveway, his white t-shirt removed from his body and tucked into the back of his black running shorts. A red baseball hat sits atop his head, and his chest is glistening with sweat. I watched him leave about thirty minutes ago, but he was fully clothed andnotsweaty then.