Page 6 of Falling for Keeps

Her laugh runs through my veins. “We like a good theme.”

“You must read a lot.” I cringe.

“When I can.” Her smile is amused. “I’m trying to renovate my house right now, but it’s slow moving.”

“I bet you look good in a tool belt.”

She shakes her head, but her smile hasn’t dimmed. “Did I say slow? I meant glacial.”

“What’s holding you back from getting it done?”

Emma considers this. “Responsibilities, I guess. Filling my calendar with too many other things.”

“I understand. My responsibilities are nine years old and need constant affection. I’m pretty sure I’m never doing anything right.”

“Your daughter?” she asks.

I lift my cup and take a sip from the straw. “Yeah.”

“I’m sure you’re doing better than you think.”

This woman is a stranger—though she doesn’t feel like one—and I want to believe her. For tonight, maybe I’ll choose to believe her. But I know reality is singing a different tune. Penny needs more than a dad who’s throwing spaghetti at the wall and waiting to see if it sticks. She needs a dad who knows what he’s doing.

I am not that man.

Music rises in volume as someone goes hard on “Ice Ice Baby” at the karaoke machine, forcing me to lean closer. I get a whiff of apple, a scent that seems to fit Emma perfectly and beats the stale beer wafting from the sticky floor. Dim lights are making everything feel cozier and washing the whole bar in a pinkish glow. When my thighs lean against her knees, she quits sipping her drink and looks up, her serious eyes deepening to a dark brown.

She’s into me. I’m not being cocky about it; I can just tell. No one looks at your lips that often unless they want to kiss them.

Maybe I need a win. I’m ready to dive headfirst into a short-term liaison with this woman, and that’s not something I do. In fact, I’m feeling guilty enough not to make a move until I know we understand each other.

“I’m not from here,” I blurt out, “and I’m leaving tonight.”

She grows still. “Okay.”

“I wanted to make sure we’re on the same page.” I’m not planning to leave this bar with her—I don’t do one-night stands—but I want to kiss her. To get totally, utterly lost in her.

Her brown eyes rake over my face. I can’t tell what she’s thinking, but her mind is definitely spinning. She makes a decision, because she lifts her drink and takes one long, slow sip before setting it back down and leaning closer to me. “I understand.”

Those words are heavy. Something about the way she says them, her voice low and eyes pinned to me, conveys more than merely acknowledging I’m not interested in anything real or deep. I feel like a major tool, but it’s the situation and I can’t change it. “I really like you.”

Her smile turns almost condescending. “You don’t need to do that, Carson. I already said it was okay. You can’t help not living here.”

“No, but I can walk away.”

“Then why don’t you?”

She’s right, which widens my grin. “I’m not leaving until you do.”

“What about your friends?”

“What about them?” I ask, leaning closer again. I’m only inches from her now, and the busy bar, loud music, and low lights make me feel like we’re alone, even though we’re completely surrounded.

“I…don’t remember.”

I’m struggling with thoughts, too. My hormones are raging like I’m a twelve-year-old kid and Wendy Peffercorn just gave me mouth-to-mouth.

There is nothing I want more right now than to see if Emma tastes like apples too, or if that’s only her scent.