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His gaze bore into her with an intensity that stole her breath. “What happened?”
“Oh, um, it just didn’t…I couldn’t…” Panic rose in Avery. She was so scared that Keaton would know that she hadn’t walked down the aisle because of him. That was how his stare made her feel, like he could read her mind. “Um, the morning of the wedding I caught Jude, my fiancé with someone else.”
She felt a little shitty blaming her wedding cancelation on him since she’d been going to see him to tell him she couldn’t go through with it. But, then again, he had been banging their nanny, so she wasn’t going to feel too bad about it.
Keaton’s jaw ticked and she noticed his hands fisted at their sides. Was he upset for her? Was he mad that her fiancé had cheated on her? Was that even possible after how she’d treated him?
His nostrils flared as he said, “I’m so sorry.”
“Oh, it’s okay. I wasn’t…that upset.”
“Keaton!” Maura Simms, one of the producers, called out from the end of the hall. “There you are! I thought we lost you!”
Keaton closed his eyes as a long sigh escaped his lips.
Maura rushed down the hallway and when she reached them, her eyes bounced between Keaton and Avery. “Is everything okay?”
“Yep, great!” Avery said, a little too brightly. “Well, it was nice seeing you again!”
Avery turned on her heels and walked double time down the corridor. For five years she’d wondered if she’d built up what they’d shared into something it wasn’t. If she’d fabricated or romanticized her feelings for him, or the connection that she felt when he looked at her. If she’d over-exaggerated the way every cell in her body lit up at the sound of his voice, like it was tuned into a frequency only he could access.
Now, she could say without a doubt, that was not the case. If anything, time had diluted her memory of his effect.
5
Keaton satup in bed with a start as a beeping sounded in his head. His pulse was racing, his blood was pumping, and his mind was foggy as he looked around trying to get his bearings. He was in bed and from the tent in his lap, his heart rate wasn’t the only thing that was up, and the beeping was coming from his alarm.
He hit the snooze and laid back down, closing his eyes as he inhaled slowly. When he did, flashes from the dream he’d been having popped into his head.
Flowing, thick red hair. Long, lean legs. Full, plump lips. Large, blue eyes.
For years he’d dreamt of Avery, but now that he’d seen her again the dreams were even more vivid. More of his senses were active making the encounters feel real. He couldfeelthe silky softness of her skin andhearthe sweet lilt of her voice. Her features, which over the years, had gotten less pronounced were now clear as a bell.
The scattering of freckles over her turned-up nose. The small scar that she had on her chin from when she was five and she fell and hit her chin on the corner of her grandma’s fireplace, she’d had to get five stitches. The perfectly curved arch of her full eyebrows that framed her heart-shaped face. The sexy slope of her neck to her shoulders. The cupid’s bow on her top lip, and the fullness of her bottom lip. The sway of her hips as she walked.
He was floating in her beauty, somewhere in between awake and asleep, when his alarm went off again. He reached beside him and turned it off before sitting up. His legs swung over the side of the bed and his feet hit the floor. A low growl sounded below the covers beside him.
“Good morning to you, too Mojo.”
He inhaled as he stretched his arms up. It was so strange; he knew that it had just been a dream but he could swear he could smell her. She was that potent. Even two days after running into her, she still lingered in his sinuses.
When he lowered his arms, he scrubbed his hand over his face and stood as a yawn claimed him. Sleep had not been his friend since he’d run into Avery and known she was back in town. He’d thought she’d occupied his mind before, but now, it was nearly impossible to go more than a few seconds without thinking about her.
He’d zoned out during classes yesterday. Thankfully, Kade McKnight, who had dominated the world of MMA for ten years before retiring, had picked up the slack. He’d stopped by yesterday and was supposed to just be observing, but when he’d seen Keaton wasn’t mentally there, he’d stepped in.
“Mojo, come on,” Keaton barked.
The chihuahua didn’t budge. He was truly the laziest dog Keaton had ever known. He’d tried, unsuccessfully, to take him on runs around the lake. He’d trot along beside him for a little bit, but inevitably he’d protest by laying down and rolling on his back. Keaton had tried to coax him up with promises of treats, but in the end, always ended up carrying him. Since he only weighed five pounds soaking wet, it wasn’t the weight that bothered him. It was the fact that Mojorefusedto walk or run that was frustrating.
“If you want breakfast, you need to get up,” Keaton grumbled, knowing full well that if Mojo didn’t come into the kitchen, he’d end up bringing his breakfast to him and serving him in bed.
He’d had the dog for two years and he wasn’t sure when it had happened, but instead of Keaton training him, Mojo had trained Keaton.
Halfway to the kitchen, a ding rang out alerting him he had a message. When he looked at it, he saw it was from Jessie reminding him that Good Morning Chicago was this morning. He also had a message from Maura with an updated call sheet.
Keaton walked past his living room and his chest tightened. He was going to have to move into the castle to live there during filming, which meant he wouldn’t be spending his nights on his recliner watching sports on his seventy-inch flat screen. He wouldn’t get to sleep next to his five-pound bed hog. He wouldn’t be able to shower under the waterfall shower head that had a hydra massage feature. He wouldn’t be able to shut his front door and ignore the rest of the world by going into what his aunt coined as his social hibernation recharge. He wouldn’t be able to eat at 5:00 p.m. sharp every night, which allowed him five hours of fasting before his 10:00 p.m. bedtime, which, in theory ensured him a better night sleep because he wasn’t digesting his food. He wouldn’t be able to attend the promotion ceremony for his twelve-to-fourteen-year-old class the following week.
He loved his house. He loved his privacy. He loved his routine. He loved teaching his classes.
