Promise by Dani Wyatt Read Free Book Online Page B

beautiful. How does she not know?
    “That’s for sure.” I see the hint of a sardonic smile.
    She lights up the room with those three words. What used to be an inexplicable need to protect her is now something vastly different.
    My dick is thickening, and my blood is roaring downward. Parts of me want to separate her from every remnant of those faded blue scrubs and whatever might be underneath. I want so much more from her, things I didn’t know I could want.
    Something intangible. Like a mist you are trying to lasso and convince to follow you home. I can’t put my finger on it; she’s almost a different species. Something I’ve never encountered before, and I am as much confused as fascinated.
    She spins her head around to look at me like I said something. I’m so damn lost in this strange new world, I can’t be sure my dumb ass didn’t just utter some ridiculous nonsense and I just don’t remember.
    “Did you need something? You’re staring.”
    She shoots both barrels at me. Both eyes, locked up and on, and her words are losing that professional politeness. I am officially a creeper in her eyes.
    Great. An entire night of planning the conversation like a twelve-year-old fangirl, and you’ve got her thinking stalker inside of twenty words.
    “Sorry. I—” My damn neck decides to speak its peace too, and she’s not looking away.
    Four twitches later and I see her pull up one side of her lips, and I swear her eyes sparkle.
    Yes, sparkle.
    I shrug, trying to keep it casual. “—I’ve been away with a bunch of men for the last eighteen months. We turn savage. Forget our manners. Please, accept my apology and try not to judge me too harshly. I’m doing my best to re-enter polite society.”
    She stands straight. That curve in her lip goes flat but her eyes are still with me, and I hold onto them like precious cargo.
    “Your father told me about you. He’s proud of you.” She says it like she’s telling me the temperature of the room, leaving no room for disagreement.
    If her eyes weren’t enough to make me lose touch with reality, those words are.
    “Really? He said that, huh?” I chuckle.
    I know she is being polite. There’s no way on hell’s flaming buffet he ever, ever would tell someone he’s proud of me.
    “He told me—” She stops as my Dad’s eyes open and he coughs hard. “Blood check, Mr. Fitzgerald.” She immediately changes gears. Her voice softens to a near whisper, and her hand settles gently on his shoulder.
    My father responds to her polite, professional tone by holding his hand out, his eyes closing again.
    She’s not like Rebecca. She’s not like any of the others who have spent more than a night in my bed.
    I like women. No, I love women.
    I’m not a dog. Maybe in the canine family, but not a dog. . I like the idea of a relationship—in theory. I’m just not skilled at the execution. . . . In fact, I suck at it.
    How do I know? Because Rebecca pointed it out in a ten-page manifesto that I left back in the desert along with a million tiny pieces of my humanity.
    Promise isn’t just a woman. In fact, I still see a little girl there.
    She’s not like any others. She’s not like anyone I’ve ever met before.
    There is compassion in how she cradles my father’s hand in hers. She’s not rushing, not eager to perform the task at hand and move on to whatever is next.
    She sees him. Really sees him, and it breaks my heart because they’ve both been invisible. They’ve both been forgotten in so many ways.
    The tell is in the way she looks down, the way my father pushes people away even before someone gives him a reason.
    She knows what it feels like to be the leftovers that no one wants. The fringe that no one wants to see.
    I see all of that in the way she holds my father’s hand for a good minute longer than necessary.
    “I want to hire you to read to my dad.” I blurt it out because I can’t hold it back.
    Her eyes open into bluish, full moons and dart from side