Page 32 of Words of Love

“What for?”

“To separate your side from my side.” He pushed the last pillow into the space between their heads and stretched out on his back. Now they were totally blocked off. He couldn’t even see her.

He could still smell her, though. He didn’t eat a lot of sugar, but her sweet scent was making him crave berries and cream. An unbidden image flashed into his head of Brooke slipping a cream-coated strawberry into her mouth, closing her full red lips around the red fruit and—

Blocking the image, he cracked his knuckles and forced his thoughts to the NFL playoffs.

“That’s a bad habit.” Brooke’s face appeared over the pillow wall, a crease marring her smooth forehead. “It can lead to arthritis.”

She actually looked concerned about the possibility of him developing arthritis twenty years from now.

He turned away from her. “Good night.”

“Night.”

The bed jostled.

“Brooke.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t believe in fate and all that crap.” His jaw muscles tightened. “But there’s no way that shithead was ever meant to be your epic romance. He didn’t come close to deserving you.”

She was silent for a long time. Then her hand touched his shoulder. “Thank you.”

He heard every single one of her movements as she lay back down and settled into her nest. There was something damned wrong with a guy who’d callously throw away everything Brooke was willing to give. Who’d hurt her to the core.

Some people would turn hard and bitter after that. Not Brooke. She’d just picked up the broken pieces and got on with it.

He almost wished he’d been able to do the same thing.