Read My Mind

by Natasha Preston

  “You’re both crazy. We’ve seen him out, like, twice.”

  “All right.”

  I grit my teeth. What the hell are they both talking about?

  Okay, as much as I want to run to Reid’s house and beg him to let me get lost in manuscripts, I won’t. That feels so wrong.

  Nothing with a penis should be near me right now; I know that for sure. Not even the smokin’ hot neighbour who owns all the books.

  “I might get drunk and have Brody pick us up,” Wren says.

  “Of course, you should get drunk and get Brody to pick you up. Why else do people get married?”

  Her lips curl into an adorable, longing smile, and I know she’s thinking about the drunken night she married Brody. At least she can now look back on that day with fond memories. At the time there were many freak outs.

  “So, you’re single for the first time in years,” Indie says.

  “I’ll probably get more sex. Liam was rarely in the mood.”

  Wren scrunches her nose. “Not in the mood to have sex with you. What a wanker. If I was attracted to women, you’d get it.”

  “Thanks, mate. You, too. I’d do both of you.”

  “Am I about to witness an orgy here?”

  I turn around and see Mr Lowe walking towards us. Spencer runs his hand through the mop of waves on the top of his head. He’s an outstanding actor, and so bloody gorgeous. You can’t help but stare.

  “When did you get back? Indie didn’t say!” I get up and give him a hug because I bloody love this man.

  “Last night. I surprised her again.”

  “We should leave,” Wren says.

  He raises an eyebrow. “No, stay. She wore me out earlier and neither of us are planning to get any sleep tonight, anyway.”

  My teeth snap together.

  “What? What did I say?” he asks. Wren and Indie have clearly given him ‘the look’ behind me.

  “Nothing, Spence,” I reply.

  “Liam?” he asks.

  He’s good. “We broke up today.”

  “He’s boring, and you deserve better. Not in the mood.” He rolls his eyes. “I could have a leg hanging on by a tendon, blood pouring everywhere, and I would still fuck Indie if she told me to.”

  “Erm, thanks,” Indie says.

  I point at him. “See! That’s what I want. Not the blood thing, though.”

  “Then, well done on ditching the loser,” Spencer says.

  “How come he gets to say things like that without you hitting him?” Wren complains.

  “I don’t want to spill my prosecco.” And I’m currently having an internal freak out because I’ve just realised that I’m a twenty-one-year-old single woman, living at home with my parents. Going backwards scares me, even if it is to go forwards.

  Both my besties have it together. They have men who adore them and focus heavily on the orgasms. If I didn’t love them, I would hate them.

  What a failure I am.

  At least I’ve finally done something with uni. Better late than never.

  Wren and Indie see me as this strong woman with a solid sense of self. I am, in a lot of ways. But I’m also a total fucking chicken when it comes to relationships. I’m the girl who wants a man to take over the reins a little.

  “Shall we do shots?” I ask, grimacing as a wave of panic swallows me whole.

  Eight

  Reid

  It’s ten p.m. and I’m taking the rubbish out before I forget again.

  It’s at that moment Spencer Lowe pulls up outside Mila’s house in a Range Rover that almost takes up the entire road. I can see her sitting in the front; her black hair tied above her head. She’s laughing as Spencer helps her out of the car.

  She stumbles and lands against Spencer’s chest. He steadies her and laughs.

  “Reid!” she shouts, pointing my way. “Hi, neighbour.”

  Oh, Christ. She’s drunk.

  I cross the road as she pushes away from Spencer and walks towards me. I know it’s only because she’s off her pretty little face, but I like it. Though, it doesn’t quite have the same affect that her leaving Liam would have.

  “And what have we been drinking this evening?” I ask.

  She throws her hands into the air. “Tequila!”

  “It was prosecco,” Indie says, leaning against Spencer’s car.

  “I love prosecco,” she tells me. “Do you love prosecco?”

  “It’s not my favourite. Come on, let’s get you home.”

  “No, I don’t want to go home. Everyone always wants me to go home. You know what I want? I want sex.”

  Fuck. Me.

  I swallow.

  “Okay, babe, you need to sleep,” Indie says.

  “No, I don’t! I’m so sick of sleeping. Do you know how overrated it is? Massively. You know what I told Liam I wanted, like, two years ago? I wanted him to sneak in my bedroom and do naughty things to me in the middle of the night? Has he ever woken me up like that? No.”

  I know what’s going to be on my mind for the rest of forever.

  Her room is so easily accessible, thanks to a low roof under her window.

  What is wrong with that guy? I would have been through that window the day she mentioned it.

  “Mila, inside!” Indie says, laughing behind her hands.

  “I don’t want to. Let’s go swimming! You two have a pool!”

  “Mila!”

  “No, I’m not going home. My parents will say things.”

  Things about her being drunk? Unlikely since she’s twenty-one. About Liam, maybe? Something has clearly happened tonight. She’s been drowning her sorrows.

  “Come to mine,” I say without thinking.

  “Yes!” She points at me, her eyes wide. “I can read your books. He has loads of books. Loads.”

  She tells Indie and Spencer that as if they can’t afford books. I’m pretty sure they could buy the publishing house that employs me.

  “The editor likes books?” Spencer asks.

  Mila, too drunk to pick up on the sarcasm, nods enthusiastically. “Loads. You two go home and have all your sex. I’m going to perv on Reid’s books.”

  Perv on my books…

  Indie raises her eyebrow at me.

  “I’ll sober her up and make sure she gets home.”

  “I don’t want to sober up,” Mila grumbles, but I pay no attention.

  Spencer nods. “All right. Make sure she gets back.”

  I get the impression that he doesn’t quite trust me with her. She is the last person I would ever hurt.

  “Come on, Mila,” I say, and she stumbles right into my chest. The world stops spinning for a second.

  She steps back and laughs. “The path slopes.”

  “The path. Right.”

  We walk across the road. Rather, I walk while she skips in zig zags.

  “Why don’t you want your parents to talk to you?” I ask, laughing at her long waves of black hair bouncing as she goes.

  “They’re going to state the obvious. Do you know how annoying that is? Everyone states the bloody obvious all the time. Fucking know it alls.”

  I think we’re talking about Liam here. They’re never going to make it if her family aren’t crazy about him. She’s too close to her parents and brothers.

  “I’m guessing you find it very annoying.”

  “I do!”

  Chuckling, I open my door, and she goes right ahead. I follow her into the living room. She throws herself down on my sofa and looks up.

  Huge eyes and full lips.

  My pulse quickens.

  “What have you been drinking?” she asks, leaning forwards to grab my bottle off the table. “Tequila!”

  “That’s rum, Mila.”

  “Same thing.” She waves her hand and takes a swig.

  I grab the bottle and sit down. “Okay, less of that.”

  “Ooh, that’s actually nice. I don’t like rum.”

  “What’s going on?”

  Wea
ring a pout that I want to bite, she leans back against the sofa. “Nothing. I’m merry.”

  “You’re drunk.”

  She laughs and bites her lips. “I want someone who can’t get enough of me, you know? In the end, I felt like it’s me.”

  “It’s not you. Have you seen you?”

  She smiles shyly, which is completely out of character. “Thanks, Reid.”

  “I’m serious. I don’t like to think of you being unhappy.”

  “Why does it bother you? I’m just the weird neighbour.”

  No, you are much more than that.

  “No one should be in a relationship that makes them feel the way you do. He doesn’t see what he’s got, but someone else will.”

  “Can I have the rum back?”

  I shake my head. “I’ll make you a latte.”

  “I do like lattes.”

  She curls up on my sofa and looks around the room, really taking it in. This is the first time she’s been in my house. I have no idea if she’ll remember it tomorrow.

  There’s no danger of me forgetting.

  I hate him for doing this to her—for making her think that there’s something wrong with her. There’s no chance I’d have much self-control if she was mine.

  While she waits, I go into the kitchen and make two lattes. The machine has never felt as slow. I almost go back into the living room to check that she’s okay, but she can’t get into any trouble in there. At least, I don’t think she can.

  When the drinks are done, I walk back in and blink.

  Mila is sitting cross-legged on my sofa, minus one layer of clothing on top. She has the smallest, tightest black top that accentuates those breasts perfectly. I breathe through my nose.

  I put the drinks down, my throat dry, and I lick my lips before I turn to her.

  She widens her eyes.

  “I would be tragic if I wasn’t so awesome.”

  Laughing, I sit down next to her. “No part of you will ever be tragic. Lost, maybe, but never tragic. Why do you stay when you’re so unhappy? I don’t understand.”

  Sighing, she shrugs. “I don’t know.”

  “Are you scared?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re Mila Thomas. You don’t care what anyone else thinks. You’re not afraid to be exactly who you are, and you don’t apologise for it.”

  Her lips part. “Reid…”

  I shake my head, clenching my fists as the desire to sweep her up in my arms floods through my body. “Don’t settle, Mila. Not you.”

  I pass her the latte and she takes a sip, her eyes peeking at me over the top of the mug.

  There isn’t much that I wouldn’t do to know what she’s thinking right now. Does she agree? What happened tonight to make her get wasted?

  I can hardly blame her for not opening up when there is so much about my life that I have no intention of sharing. Not yet, anyway. She might be gone tomorrow and never come back. There are no guarantees in life, I know that first-hand, but I can’t give too much of myself before I’m sure of someone.

  No… before I know that they’re sure of me.

  “Are you hungry?”

  Her mouth curls around the lip of the mug. “I’m getting the drunk munchies.”

  “Are you a sweet or savoury person?”

  “I’m a sweet and savoury sandwich person.”

  “You want a sandwich?”

  “No,” she laughs and lowers the mug. “I need savoury, sweet, and then savoury again.”

  “Nothing’s straightforward with you, is it?”

  “Seems to always work out like that.”

  “As if you have no control over it.”

  “Control is an illusion. Except, maybe, when it comes to you. Does it take a lot of effort to be in control all of the time?”

  To not let my head take over? Yeah, that takes a monumental amount of effort.

  “I’ll go grab you some crisps and chocolate.”

  I feel her gaze burning into me as I get up and leave the room. She wants me to answer her question. I have nothing for her yet.

  My grandad would tell me to leap. He was so in love with my nan. It was plain for everyone to see how much he adored her, and he wanted everyone to experience what they had. But she died, and although he kept breathing, he went with her that day.

  I think it must have been a relief for him when he finally went to be with her, but both of those days and their love story haunt me.

  It takes an hour, two lattes, a share size bag of sweet chilli crisps, and a share bag of Maltesers—that she was reluctant to share—to sober her up. The glassy tone to her eyes has disappeared and she’s no longer trying to get us both to do shots of tequila.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, wincing as she puts her now empty mug down on the coffee table.

  “For what?”

  “Being a drunk idiot in your home. Wait. Actually, I’m not sorry. I like being drunk, and I like your house. It’s full of books.”

  There she is. “Glad to see you’re feeling better.”

  “Can I read a manuscript now?”

  “Mila, it’s almost midnight.”

  “Am I keeping you up?”

  “No.”

  She sits taller. “Cool. There’s no problem then.”

  Nine

  Mila

  Reid takes me through to his office. He opens the door, and I breathe in the paperbacks like a true book junkie.

  Oh my God, I could live in here. I look around, my heart pounding as I take in the wall of bookshelves, the big desk with printed freaking manuscripts, and the big bay window with a seat built into it. His direct view from the desk is his wall of bookcases, but if he looks to his right, he’ll see outside.

  It’s perfect.

  I run my hand over the paper when a manuscript catches my eye. “Erm, what’s this one?”

  “That’s something a little different. The author has potential. It’s unfinished, but I get it a few a chapters at a time.”

  “Do you usually do stuff like that?”

  “Not often. More so before I built up a larger client base. I don’t think anyone else at work does, but I’ve found some real talent that way. Sometimes an author just needs a bit of guidance.”

  “Will you publish it?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Can I read it? I mean, it must be good if you’re taking it in parts.”

  “I’m surprised you asked.”

  “Yeah, me, too. Which one is better?”

  He shrugs. “Red Grave is one I’m working on right now. It’s finished, so you wouldn’t have to wait.”

  I tap my fingers on the pages of the completed stack next to the untitled manuscript. “All right, I’ll read this first. Hey, do you have a TBR list you’ll never finish?”

  “I’ll die with over three hundred books I want to read.”

  “Such a depressing thought. Have you always loved books?”

  He visibly shudders. It’s not cold in here. “Only since I was ten.”

  “Why, what happened when you were ten?”

  “Why all the questions?”

  Well, colour me suspicious. Why is he so shady about why he started reading? “Isn’t that what people do when they want to get to know each other?”

  He looks at me for a second like he’s unsure why I’ve been here up until now.

  I wait, listening to the soft ticking of a rather cool, large clock on the wall. Each number is from a printing press.

  Nothing but silence joins us in this room. Nada. I’m not having that question answered, then. I bite my lip and watch his expression turn guarded. I’m half expecting him to throw me out for asking personal stuff.

  “Fine, keep your secrets,” I say on a sigh. I sit down on his leather chair and pull Red Grave towards me. He goes to the bay window and takes a seat.

  Reading is like breathing. I devour the words quickly, in awe of this author who is currently going through the publishing process. They sat and wrote this, and Wi
lson Press want to turn it into a book. It’s so inspiring, and I’m soon absorbed in the story.

  “Are you skim reading? You’re getting through it,” Reid asks.

  I glance up. “No, I just read fast, and this is good.”

  “I’m glad you think so.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to read.”

  He grabs a paperback that’s sitting beside him on the bay window. Kicking his feet up, he gets comfortable with his legs crossed at the ankles. I watch him open the book and continue.

  That is so hot, I salivate.

  Who doesn’t want to watch a gorgeous man reading? Everyone else can keep their firefighters. This is my porn.

  God, should I be alone with him when I’ve only been single for a matter of hours?

  Why the hell not? It’s not like he’s going to take me over his desk or against those bookshelves.

  Yep, I should leave.

  But I don’t want to.

  This is my favourite room in the entire world. It’s comfortable, full of paperbacks, and it smells amazing. It also comes with a free fitty show.

  Reid turns the page. His forearms are muscular. Couple that with books, and I’m done for.

  I continue reading, sinking further into Reid’s comfortable chair. I feel the smile touch my lips. A good book is exactly what you need while sobering up. That, and a greasy breakfast, which I’ll have in the morning.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asks. His rough voice sends a shiver down my spine.

  I startle at my body’s response to his fucking voice. “Huh?”

  “You’re scowling.”

  I smooth my forehead. “Oh. Nothing really.”

  “It didn’t look like nothing.”

  “It is, promise.”

  He can never know that I’m sitting here thinking about how hot he is.

  “The book not holding your interest anymore? There are four chapters in the middle that seem flat.”

  “I’ll let you know when I get there. Hey, what are those pictures on your wall?” I ask, noticing the cool prints.

  “One is a waterfall, the other a wooden bridge, and then—”