SHELBY (Second Chance Novels Book 4) by Kemmie Michaels Read Free Book Online

must not have a choice in his clients, or he could drop the problematic ones. My brain is spinning with too much alcohol to figure anything out.
    "Enough about that," he says, dropping the rest of his tension. "Tell me about you, Shelby. What stresses you out?"
    He's more evasive than I am. "Nothing," I shake my head. "Nothing at all."
    He shakes his head. "Liar."
    "Absolutely. And quit stalking me."
    "Why?"
    "Because you bore me," she says with a hint of humor and a micron of a smile.
    We're both sizing each other up now, and I'm actually glad to have this conversation. I feel a tiny smile creeping onto my face. This is the best I've felt in quite a while.
    "Ok," he starts like a challenge, leaning back and looking at me solidly. "If you won't tell me what stresses you, then will you share what makes you smile?"
    "Hmmm," I respond, narrowing my eyes. "I guess so. Let's see..."
    I pause for entirely too long. The realization I have to concentrate on this question brings me straight back down. My Dade-induced smile is gone, and he catches my mood swing.
    "Hey," he says gently, trying to catch my eye, showing his own caring side.  
    I look up at him and try to smile again, but all I can manage is a sad smirk. "Computers," I offer as a sadly pathetic answer. "Computers make me smile."
    I'm stuck in this place, in this moment, considering that my own personal stalker may also be the best friend I have right now. With a single tear welling up in each eye, I tell him most of why computers make me smile, as well as a few personal stories. He shares a few of his own. He points out I'm still not smiling. I shrug before he speaks again.
    "Well maybe my real name will make you smile," he says with a renewed lightness.
    "You're finally going to tell me your name?" I say with my eyebrows up. "Seriously?"
    "Francis. My name is Francis Dade Roarke."
    I fall into a cascade of giggles, not believing he made me smile again. I can't help myself. Francis?!  
    "I can see why you go by your middle name," I manage to say through my laughter. "Francis is a name for scrawny, awkward mathematicians, not hot, muscly men like yourself."
    I rest my hand on his thick bicep as I speak, trying to make the point yet again that I can be his. As always, he offers no reaction to my advances.
    We talk for hours, our conversation becoming increasingly lighter as the hours pass. By midnight, he even makes me gut-laugh. We compared bad-timing pimples from our teenage years, and without realizing it, we allow ourselves to have a relaxed, good evening, even in a place like Joe's.  
    I nearly shake my head when I realize I've sobered up and that most of my first dates don't go this well. Thinking about this as a date makes me wonder yet again why he's brushed off all my attempts at seducing him. Now I realize the issue may be his old-fashioned values. All his stories revolved around family in some way or another. Traditional-Dade would not be looking for a one-nighter, but then I wonder again why he tolerates a bar like Joe's when he should be at an Applebee's. Oh, right, because he's stalking me . Somehow, at this point, I'm not worried about why he's here, I'm simply glad he is.
    Until I get home.
    The emotional hangover is equally difficult with Dade, simply because I want to avoid this exact kind of connection. Finding smiles with Dade simply sets me up for disappointment, and much like my physical conquests, the higher they get me, the harder I fall…until I cave and I go out again.
    A few more hook-ups taint my heart while my time with Dade builds me up. More nights of date-like drinks and conversation at a bar far too dingy to warrant such an evening has me enjoying my time with him too much. Sometimes I avoid him as much as I can, chasing the physical high I've come to crave. Other nights, I let myself relax with my own personal stalker. At times he feels like a boyfriend even though he's not. From the very beginning, and still, Dade makes no attempt to