Giving In: The Sandy Cove Series (Book 1) by M.R. Joseph Read Free Book Online Page B

eyes only meet mine for a split second, and she goes back to doing whatever she was doing. She addresses me without another glance.
    “What are you doing here? You got what you wanted, I’m leaving. Hope you’re satisfied.”
    Why do I suddenly feel bad? That’s not like me. I don’t feel bad for anything. Not even homeless kittens, but when she looks at me, I can tell she’s been crying.
    I push off the door, arms still crossed and go to sit on the edge of her bed.
    “I’m not satisfied, actually. I’m… I’m sorry, okay. I’ve been hard on you, and we’ve only been in each other’s company for a few hours. I haven’t been, well, I haven’t been fair to you.”
    She snorts and gives a small ‘ha’.
    This isn’t going as planned. I better step up my game.
    “No, I’m serious. I’m just not used to girls being so…” She stops me.
    “Cold?”
    And I have to agree with her. That night, as hot as she was, she was cold as ice. I’ve bagged dozens and dozens of girls and very few stick in my mind, she was one of the few.
    I smirk, “Yea, I guess you could say that.”
    She continues to throw shit in her suitcase, this time with a little more gusto.
    Yikes.
    “Listen, your friends want you to stay, so does Porter, and I’m trying to be honest with you.”
    She stops the assault on her clothing and places her hands on her hips, giving me an amused look.
    “Well, I’m guessing that’s a first for you, Officer Cruz.”
    I give my best one-sided smile and fiddle with her scarf that was meant to be thrown in her suitcase, but missed.
    When I don’t answer, she turns back to her closet, picking up shoes and emptying hangers. I bring the scarf up to my nose. I don’t know why. It smells like a chick. It’s soft, silky even.
    Like a chick.
    Actually, it smells really good. I don’t remember how she smelled that night, but I imagine that’s what this scarf smells like. Is this what Harlow Hannum would smell like?
    Does that sound sick? Maybe.
    I throw it in her suitcase, and now I need to plead my case.
    “Look, you’re right. I’m usually the one who’s right in a situation, and I’m not a nice guy sometimes, but I don’t deliberately go around hurting people.” I pause because what I want to say next may not go over very well, but I have to try before Morty is served on a bed of lettuce.
    “Um, your friends and Porter tell me you’ve had a rough year and that you need a break, so I have to convince you to stay.”
    She turns around quickly and her eyes look weird, and she looks incredibly nervous.
    “What did they tell you about me? What did they say? Tell me, you asshole. I need to know.” She’s close to my face, taking a fist and punching the bed next to where I’m sitting.
    What the hell?
    “Nothing. All they said was that you had a rough year. They didn’t get into specifics. Chill.”
    This is getting weird to me. She smooths out her shirt and looks calmer now that she knows what her friends said. She shuts her eyes and swallows so hard, I can hear it.
    “Fine.” She slowly reopens them, but our eyes don’t make contact. She looks at her suitcase, stares at it, and bites her lip.
    “I do need this break. I don’t want to go home.”
    There’s a sadness when she says it, and for some unexplained reason, I kinda feel something I’m not sure of.
    Sympathy? Is that what it’s called? I dismiss it quickly. I stand up when I see her trying to zip up her suitcase and lug it off the bed. When it hits the floor, I still her hand with mine.
    “Stop for a minute and listen. You should stay. I think maybe we can come up with some kind of solution, so we can both live here and enjoy the summer without being at each other’s throats. I’m really trying here.”
    I grab the suitcase from her and throw it back on the bed.
    “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
    She’s so difficult. In less than twenty four hours, I can tell.
    “I’m trying to tell you let’s figure this