Page 68 of Renegade Rift
“Good.” Ford smiles and hell if its boy scout innocence doesn’t wreak havoc on my heart. “Then I’ve only got one more rule I’d like to add.”
“What’s that?” I’m pretty sure nothing he could say would surprise me more than the last condition.
“No matter what happens, nothing changes between us. I’ve really enjoyed spending time getting toknow you and organizing the apartment together. You are an important part of my life, and I don’t want this to end in me losing you.”
And once again he’s proven me wrong, delivering the bucket of ice water I needed to calm whatever the hell it was that just took over my body and made my heart go pitter patter. Because at the end of the day, Ford’s right. This isn’t about us—there is nous—it’s about helping me figure out how to move on.
“I think I can agree to that.”
“Good.” He drops my hand and pushes himself up from the couch. “Then why don’t we get changed into something nice?”
“Wait, you want to start tonight?” I blink, waiting for him to tell me he’s joking.
But he doesn’t. He turns and heads for his room. Before he clears the doorway, he tugs his shirt off, giving me an unrestricted view of the dips and creases of his perfectly toned back.
Baseball players really are God’s gift to women.
Ford looks over his shoulder and winks. “No time like the present. Now hop to it, love.”
That’s the second time he’s called me love.
It’s also the second time it’s made my heart skip.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
FORD
I’m well and truly fucked.
I might seem calm, cool and collected, but inside I’m freaking the fuck out.
What the hell was I thinking offering to teach Juliet how to date?
And then making her promise nothing was going to change between us.
Everything is going to change between us. At least for me it is. How the hell am I supposed to pretend like I don’t want it to change? I can’t just deny the part of me that isn’t dying to make her smile and laugh every damn day because that’s what she deserves.
Especially after witnessing that asshole try to pressure her into inviting him into the apartment. Or watching her freeze up at the sheer thought of being touched more intimately than handholding.
For the millionth time, I’m glad Tyler is dead so I don’t risk being kicked off the team for murdering my own stepbrother.
Fuck.
She’s Tyler’s widow.
As if I needed the reminder.
I’m probably going to hell for this, but at least I’ll enjoy the view on the way down. As long as I don’t drag her down with me.
Which reminds me, I need to reach out to Smitty and make sure the pretentious douche in the khakis won’t be an issue. Tonight, we’ll be fine. Sophie runs a tight ship at the restaurant, and I can almost guarantee our privacy. But all it would take is one person alerting some asshole publication likeThe Foul Linefor everything to blow up in our faces.
I can see the headlines now: Grieving Widow Dates Late Husband’s Brother.
They’ll conveniently leave out that Tyler and I aren’t related just to make it more scandalous.
Every bone in my body hums with the need to protect her. Which is exactly why I offered to do this. Because as much as I hate to admit it, I might not always be there to protect her.
Don’t get me wrong. I want to be. More than anything. But just in case I’m not, I’ve got exactly three dates to show her how to protect herself.
