Almost Doesn't Count by Angela Winters Read Free Book Online Page A

back on. “You expect me to believe you’re the only person on the planet that happens to? This isn’t the first time you’ve done this.”
    â€œI’m sorry.” She sighed, reaching out to him. He leaned away. She felt awful. She regretted pushing away. She should have just gone through with it even if it wasn’t what she really wanted. “I just feel sluggish. I can make it up to you in the morning.”
    Justin didn’t respond as he got out of bed.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” she asked. “I know you’re mad, Justin, but shit, I’m sorry. Maybe in the morning, we can . . .”
    â€œDon’t do me any favors,” Justin said as he snatched his laptop. Without looking at her, he turned and left the room. “I’m gonna be downstairs. Don’t wait up for me.”
    â€œCome on,” she called after him. “It’s not that serious.”
    â€œYou started it, Sherise!” He slammed the bedroom door behind him.
    Now she really regretted not following through. What was wrong with her? She had resolved to make love to Justin before leaving Cady’s room just moments earlier. She wanted him, but it just fizzled. She wasn’t feeling it from herself. Or was she not feeling it from him? It couldn’t be him. He was upset that they weren’t making love.
    â€œWhat is wrong with you, girl?” she asked herself as she reached over to Justin’s side and turned off the lamp. She was in need of some serious groove therapy.

3
    B illie wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but she hadn’t been expecting what she got. As she entered one of the smaller conference rooms in her law firm offices where her new pro bono client was waiting for her, she stopped at the door. Standing at the other end of the room, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows of the room overlooking Farragut Square, was Ricky Williams.
    He turned to her and started walking toward her. He was a very good-looking, milk chocolate–colored man with a clean-cut, clean-shaven look. He had piercing black eyes, a strong nose, and rigid jaw. His short dark hair was cut close to his head and he looked a few inches over six feet. He was sharply dressed in casual khakis and a blue and white striped button-down neatly tucked inside.
    â€œYou must be Billie Carter,” he said in a deep voice.
    Billie quickly pulled herself together and met him halfway. She shook his hand as firmly as she could. He had a strong grip. “Yes, I am. And you must be Ricky Williams.”
    â€œWell,” he said. “You’re . . . I saw your picture on the law firm Web site and, well, it doesn’t do you justice. You’re very pretty.”
    â€œThat’s nice,” she said, feeling a little uncomfortable. No, a lot uncomfortable all of the sudden. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
    â€œI don’t know if you’re going to feel that way for long,” he joked.
    She gestured for him to sit down at the conference table behind him. “Are you telling me that you’re a nightmare client?”
    â€œI’m probably nothing like some of the people you’ve defended.”
    She joined him, sitting at the corner of the table, placing her file folders down. She studied him for a second. No, he wasn’t at all what she’d expected. “So you’ve been researching me?”
    â€œI know you used to be a public defender,” he said.
    â€œWell, this isn’t a criminal case,” she said, “so that—”
    â€œNot yet,” he interrupted.
    Billie paused, intrigued. “You planning on breaking the law?”
    â€œI feel like it’s already been broken,” he said. “Not by me, but by the government. Just don’t get your hopes up. I’m not.”
    â€œI always get my hopes up,” Billie said. “It’s a personality flaw. I believe in my client. I fight for my client. And I