Don't Promise (Don't 3)

And that’s what she would do again. Leave.

But for fake’s sake, I couldn’t stop thinking about her, or about what had happened in that cove on the beach. She was infuriating, stubborn, quick-tempered, argumentative, and temporary. Had always been—I just didn’t know it back then.

I picked up another prickly sheet of unused paper and laid it rough side down on the next board.

I had plenty of experience with summer flings. At twenty-six, I had spent my share of summers fucking vacationing girls at the beach and I knew the drill. Someone always got too attached, no matter what the upfront agreement was. And it was never me. The last time I’d even thought about feeling something toward a woman ended the day she drove over the bridge.

I sanded deeper and longer strides into the plank. This was the way it had to be.

Thrashers groupies followed me to every city. They waited for me in hotel lobbies and outside of the locker room. And hell, they were smart women. Beautiful women. Women who would have done anything to make me happy. And for night I let them. But that’s all I could give them—one night.

There was no reason to get involved with her further. She had called me out on the revenge sex, and I’d managed to stay away for a few days. Our trip down memory lane was over.

Flashes of her long legs crept into my mind. Those lips, and the way she dug her nails into my back. The way she purred under my touch and leaned into my body every time I got close. That innocent look she still had. The good girl image with bright blue eyes that screamed a purity so damn alluring I wanted another look. Another touch. Another taste of the girl I had made mine all those years ago. Because when it came down to it, she had been mine. She was mine first. She had been untouched and naïve. She’d needed me. She’d depended on me. And I’d protected her as if she were a treasure. My treasure.

Oh hell, what am I doing? I tossed the paper on the floor and grabbed me keys. There was a hot-tempered blonde I needed to see.

17

Sierra

There wasn’t much else I could do. I realized I had to accept defeat. I may never finish clearing out the house or sell it. Maybe I should call one of those estate companies and have them liquidate everything for me.

The thought of having complete strangers go through Aunt Lindy’s personal items didn’t feel right. I couldn’t do that to her.

I may have let her down the last few years of her life, but I didn’t have to let her down in death.

My shoulders sank as I stared into the bottom of my glass of wine. I sat on the back porch, watching boats cruise past.

I wondered how many times she had done this before she’d died. Sat in this exact wicker rocker and watched life sail by. I took another sip and reached for the chilled bottle next to me.

It was the kind of sunset I was going to drink through. I didn’t see any other way.

I heard the familiar sound of tires on gravel and looked up when Blake’s truck rolled into view.

I hadn’t seen him in a few days. I thought it was for the best. Things had gotten too messy. Too complicated. Too hard.

“Thought you’d already have your suitcase on the porch,” he barked, walking toward me, taking huge strides.

“Hi to you too,” I sassed.

But my chest tightened when I saw him. His T-shirt clung to his chest and it was hard to look away from the sculpted lines of his arms. Damn it. Why did he always have to be so hot?

“So you’re just going to run away again?” he accused. There was fire in his eyes.

He stood six inches from me and I could feel the heat radiating from his glare. It poured off his body in ripples of fevered anger.

I made the mistake of looking up.

“How did you know I was leaving?”

“Just answer me. Are you taking off and selling Lin

dy’s house?”

I placed the wine glass down and rose to meet him. “What difference does it make to you?”

“Because I actually give a shit about this island. I care if developers come in and get ahold of this property. I know you don’t. You can’t get out of here fast enough.”