Perfectly Charming (A Morning Glory Novel Book 2)

by Liz Talley

  “Should we eat?” Ryan asked, brushing her hair behind her ear. Such a tender move. Everything about him was sexy and tender. Exactly what she needed.

  “We could,” she said, but she didn’t move.

  “Jess?” he asked softly.

  “I don’t want this moment to end,” she said, curling her fingers into the back of his shirt.

  His answer was to gather her against him, holding her, hands sliding along her back. His touch was both comforting and intoxicating. She could feel the hardness of his body, the scent that was Ryan’s alone—a distinct, pleasant cologne mixed with a soapy clean and a salty sea breeze. His heart beat strong in his chest, and the skin at his throat where she burrowed her nose was so warm and alive.

  They stayed still, holding each other for almost a full minute.

  Finally, Jess released him and stepped back. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said.

  “Guess we should try to at least taste that horrible casserole,” she said, moving back toward the kitchen. She slid the casserole back into the oven to allow the cheese to melt and finished assembling the salad. Ryan poured more wine and slathered butter on a loaf of fresh-baked bread. After Logan had dropped her off without an offer of a follow-up date, she’d climbed into her car and gone to the store for dinner fixings even though she’d implied something altogether different to Ryan. She was glad she’d made the effort for him.

  Poor Logan. She hadn’t been the best date. Mostly because she’d been lusting after his friend. Of course, she hadn’t been obvious about checking Ryan out, but perhaps the undercurrents had been there. Either way, the man had gotten the message she wasn’t interested. Which made her feel like a heel. And then there was Morgan. Jess knew her next-door neighbor had picked up on attraction she and Ryan shared, because the woman kept narrowing her eyes and giving Jess that look—the one she’d already given a few times, the one that precluded the warning she’d given the day before.

  He’s not for you.

  Jess gave a sidelong glance toward Ryan, who looked totally focused on covering every square inch of the split loaf with butter. Man on a mission. He was boyish, charming, hot, and as an added bonus, kind. Maybe he wasn’t the right man for Jess, but did she want the right man? She was coming off a broken heart. Everyone knew the rebound relationship was temporary. Like a shooting star, it burned hot and bright before fading into nothingness. So how was he not for her? Exactly. He seemed perfect for her. They had two and a half months of temporary insanity before she went back to Morning Glory or another job, and he stayed here and played at being frat boy. They had a mutual past, a gratifying friendship, and the sexual chemistry was better than the actual chemistry they’d tried to make in high school years ago. Ryan would bring her back from the dead, and she’d be better off when she left Pensacola than when she’d arrived. She’d be almost whole again. That had to mean he was totally made for her … for a while, anyway.

  “You want me to put this bread in with the casserole?” he asked, presenting her a tray of perfectly buttered bread.

  “Sure. I almost have the salad ready.”

  Ryan slid the bread in and then leaned against the counter and watched her. He had slipped his shoes off when he came in earlier, and she noted he had nice feet—tanned, trimmed toenails, strong with crinkly hair atop. His shorts were khaki cutoffs, which made her wonder if the man had taken scissors to every pair of Dockers he’d owned. He was perfect for her. He was perfect for every woman. Morgan was a dumb ass.

  She’d set the table, and they ate there, the sexy rainy-day music soft in the background. The wine was good, the salad average, and the buttered bread perfectly crusty and buttery. The casserole was … cheesy.

  “I like this casserole,” Ryan said, lifting his fork with the last bite.

  “Liar.”

  “I ate the whole serving, didn’t I?” he said.

  “Because you’re a nice guy.”

  “No, I’m not. I have you fooled.”

  “You probably could have bent me over the counter when you walked in, screwed me sideways, and walked back out the door. But you didn’t. And you ate that subpar casserole. Face it. You’re a nice guy.”

  He lifted his eyebrows. “Um, what kind of dates have you been on?”

  She laughed. “Only one. With Logan earlier today.”

  He sobered. “You haven’t gone on even one date since you and Benton split?”

  “Well, the divorce was only final last month. Up until then, I concentrated on how to breathe.”

  Ryan set his fork down. “Was it that bad?”

  How could she explain the loss? Were there words? “It wasn’t good.”

  “That’s not what I asked.” His expression narrowed, focused on her. Gone was the boyish charm, the soft patience. In its place, a discerning clinician.

  “You remember how crazy I was over him. The man had a lot of flaws—I knew that—but he was this guy I belonged to from the moment I saw him shooting hoops in the junior high gym.”

  Ryan folded his hands. He didn’t respond but instead watched her.

  Jess felt naked, and not in a good way. “I don’t know why he stopped loving me. Maybe I got lazy; maybe I focused on all the wrong things in our life. I wanted a family, and I got a little fixated on babies and nurseries. Okay, my Pinterest board looked like Baby World upchucked on it. Maybe it wasn’t even wanting a child. I’m a creature of habit, and perhaps my routines became so dull Benton stopped caring about me. Or maybe it was all him. I don’t know. But the thing was, I never saw anything that would make me believe he’d changed. Not really. So when he came home and told me he was seeing someone else and didn’t want what we had anymore, it was as if a wrecking ball smashed through the wall, taking out everything I thought I had. So, yeah, it was devastating.”

  Jess paused, not wanting to seem so pathetic, because she could see the sympathy in his eyes. She hated that look. “But my issues—or my inability to move forward with you or anyone else—really aren’t about losing Benton. I lost myself during the marriage.”

  “How can you lose yourself?”

  “Well, you forget you were once a person who had her own dreams, who existed before. You bury the person you are under expectations, plans, standards—all these things you think you’re supposed to be—until one day they’re gone. Then you lie on the floor, broken, realizing you’d built a castle out of air. Nothing was real.”

  “Do you still love him?”

  Dreaded question. “A part of me always will love Benton, because he was part of my life. Part of my story.” She paused for a moment. “I liked the life I had. It seemed easy, exactly what I had always wanted. Losing that was just as hard as losing him. But I’m no longer in love with Benton. Any leftover feelings I had for him died when I signed my name on the divorce papers. Those pages were cold, hard proof that what we once had was no more. I looked at him over the table, tapping on his phone as if being there was a bother, and my love shriveled up. I still hurt and felt the betrayal, but the active love … it turned to ash and blew away.”

  “I feel that way about my old life. I mean, it’s not that strong of a comparison, but it’s as if I cut off part of who I was. Sometimes I forget I got rid of that Ryan. It’s like the phantom pain people say happens when they lose a limb. I forget and think that part of me is still there and then I remember and—”

  “Regret?” she murmured.

  A shutter closed on his face. “No. I don’t regret my decision to leave who I was behind. That’s not what I meant. That man who lived and breathed test results and bacteria cultures and getting papers published wasn’t living. He had no friends, no adventures, no hope for love. That man had to go.”

  Was losing her marriage like losing her arm or leg? She didn’t think so. One day she’d be fully functional again. Maybe it was more like experiencing a horrible catastrophe … or a drought. At the moment she was replanting her life, giving it water, sunlight, and nutrients
. Spring was around the corner, and she’d be whole again soon. Ryan could give her that.

  Her gaze landed on the wilted begonia Ryan had brought her over a week ago. Already with some liquid fertilizer and some culling, it had begun to grow again. “Maybe so, but the main thing I want you to know is I’m not hung up on my ex-husband. This reticence to jump into intimacy comes more from the quest to find myself again beneath the rubble. Not Benton.”

  “I can help with that. Say we leave these dishes here—which is very hard for someone like me with OCD issues to do—and try for a double over there on the couch?”

  His charm was back. “Is water wet? Does a fish swim?”

  “You realize there are species of fish that are ambulatory? Take the snakehead, an indigenous fish from Asia that can live out of water for three days. They’ve been found here in Florida.”

  “Guess that phantom limb comes back at the oddest times, huh?” she said, dropping her napkin next to her plate.

  “I make my living by finding fish, so I have to study …” He clamped his mouth closed and pushed back his chair. “Come over here, and I’ll show you just how nerdy I am.”

  “You promise?” she asked, smiling, glad to tuck the serious conversation away in favor of a little fertilization … for her garden. Her silly analogy made her laugh.

  Then Ryan’s arms were around her … and then the couch was beneath her … and then they worked really hard on perfecting that double.

  And after a few minutes, Jess wondered why the man hadn’t played baseball before. He seemed to have a knack for getting around the bases.

  Chapter Ten

  Ryan’s vibrating phone woke him. He reached for the offending device, noting his neck was stiff, among other things. He pried open his eyes and wondered where in the hell he was. The light cast on the room poured in like thin milk, and something anchored him to a … couch?

  Jess.

  The memory of last night hurtled into him. Jess. Casserole. Binge watching The Office. They’d fallen asleep … and he’d never gotten close to third base. He carefully inched his arm from beneath Jess’s head and paused for a moment to watch her sleeping in the faint early light. Her hair rioted around her relaxed face. Her mouth was open, hand tucked beneath her chin, and her ass cradled his morning erection nicely. Ryan didn’t want to move, but his positioning was awkward, and if he allowed his little friend to stay nestled against Jess’s ass, it could lead to a grand slam without the other team even being awake.

  Yeah, he was totally geeked up for this girl.

  Ever so carefully, he eased from between Jess and the couch, wincing as his knee cracked as he spider climbed over her. She never moved. Then he slid his vibrating phone from his pocket.

  Late.

  He had to get moving if he wanted to pick up a charter for the day. Mondays were typically slow, but since he’d avoided the marina yesterday, he needed to hustle some business.

  Jess vaulted into sitting position with a gasp.

  “Oh shit,” she breathed, scrambling off the couch. Then she looked at him, eyes wide. He realized he’d surprised her by being there. “Ryan.”

  “We fell asleep.”

  She rubbed her face with both hands and started chanting, “Shit, shit, shit.”

  “Go shower. I’ll make coffee,” he said, not knowing if she even drank coffee but wanting to do something to help her. He had overslept, but his was not a shift job.

  “No time. I have to go.”

  “You mean I have to go,” he said, trying not to smile at how cute she looked when panicked. He figured she didn’t appreciate his amusement, since she bolted for the darkened hallway. “I’ll let myself out.”

  “Sorry,” she called back, the light in the bathroom coming on followed by the shower starting up. “I’m beyond late. I should have been at the hospital thirty minutes ago.”

  “Call you later?”

  The only answer was the sound of the bathroom door slamming shut.

  “Or not,” he said to the still-dark room. Stretching, he picked up the throw they’d snuggled under while watching TV and folded it. Switching on a lamp, he made his way to the kitchen, where he looked for coffee. Seeing none, he poured a glass of water, consoling himself with the thought of the french roast he’d have when he got back to his place. As he gulped the water, he realized he’d never spent the night with a woman before. Slept with someone? Sure. Slept over at her house? No. And the irony of it was he and Jess hadn’t done anything more than have an old-fashioned make-out session on the couch. He hated irony most of the time. Sneaky bastard.

  He heard the bathroom door bang open and the sound of feet scurrying down the hall. “I’m leaving, Jess.”

  “’Bye,” she called. Another door shut.

  With nothing left to do, Ryan scratched a have a nice day note on the pad by the cordless phone and let himself outside.

  The beach highway was silent, and seagulls sailed overhead, swooping to capture breakfast. The sound of the waves on the beach made him itch to cross over and walk along the ocean, but since he, too, needed to make hay, he stuck to the concrete path that linked the units and skirted the tennis court. As he passed by the entrance to the pool, he saw someone approach the gate.

  Morgan towel dried her hair, obviously having just finished her daily laps. “Walk of shame, huh?”

  He stopped, dread pooling in his gut as she moved closer to him. The pain in her eyes plucked strings of guilt. Crap, he didn’t want to hurt Morgan; after all, she’d been such a good friend to him. Here in Pensacola, friends were family. Morgan was his little sis … even if she wanted to be more to him. “Not a walk of shame. I fell asleep on Jess’s couch last night.”

  “Right,” she said wrapping the towel about her waist. This morning she wore a one-piece, similar to Olympic swimmers. The simple Lycra flattered her figure and made her look younger. “I could see the writing on the wall with that.”

  “What do you mean?” He played dumb. He wanted coffee, not confrontation.

  “Oh, don’t play stupid. You can’t keep your eyes off the nurse. Dude, it’s almost embarrassing.” Morgan sounded disgusted. She relatched the gate and started down the path, heading back in the direction from which he’d come.

  “Hey,” he said, touching her arm as she passed. “I thought we’d talked about this.”

  Her brown eyes snapped. “You think highly of yourself, don’t you? Like I’m so into you. Don’t worry. I’m cool. Logan asked me out, and to be honest, I think he and I suit way better.”

  “Morgan.”

  “What? I told you … I’m cool. We’re friends. You said that’s what you wanted, and obviously I’m not your taste. And that’s cool, too. I get it. She’s temporary, and you have commitment issues.”

  “I don’t have commitment issues.” Or maybe he did.

  Morgan arched an eyebrow. “Dude.”

  “I don’t.” But he didn’t sound convincing. How could he tell her he’d made a plan well over a year ago that consisted of spending a set amount of time screwing around, playing at being … well, a player? When he’d decided to move here, engaging in casual sex seemed a no-brainer. He’d do all the things he’d never done. He’d make up for lost time. But for some reason, standing there as the world awoke to a new day, facing his friend and neighbor, the rationale sounded overly hedonistic. Infantile. Ridiculous. “Maybe I do. I don’t know.”

  Morgan laughed, patting his arm in a sisterly fashion. “At least you’re honest. I can respect that. I’ll see you later.”

  “Yeah. Later,” he said, moving in the opposite direction, preoccupied with the lightbulb moment he’d had. One question loomed large—had he been wrong to think casual sex made sense?

  When he’d left the old drunk and the dog in front of his Pasadena apartment building, he’d grappled with a plan for how to find the life he should be living. The initial impulse was to jump in and get dirty fast, but because he didn’t know much about the world outside academia, h
e’d first needed to ascertain exactly what normal people considered a good life. To do that, he consumed a steady diet of pop culture. Setting aside biochemistry journals, he bought copies of Us, GQ, and Cosmopolitan (and understood exactly why his lab partner had seemed so disappointed in the two minutes of sex in which they’d engaged). He forced himself to switch the seldom-watched television from National Geographic to channels that showed programs called Teen Wolf and Gossip Girl. Instead of spending late nights in the lab or playing chess with the chess heads, he went to bars. After a month, he created a spreadsheet with all the data he’d collected. By his calculations he’d missed 8.45 years of frolic, of which included drunkenness, flirting, promiscuity, and illegal pranks. Taking into consideration his advanced age, he’d projected engaging in two years of intensive frat boy lifestyle in order to catch up. Only after would he consider reevaluating his career choice and location.

  But he hadn’t taken his heart into consideration.

  Not that he was falling in love with Jess. That would be illogical. Though he had history with her, he didn’t know her well. Not really. So that wasn’t the issue.

  But the heart thing. That was an outlier he hadn’t planned for. An unexpected variable that could destroy his experiment. Wait. Not experiment. His life.

  Still, wasn’t that what he’d wanted? On that walk he’d seen the messy, wonderful, hurtful, precarious aspects of living. He’d set forth a plan, but he’d not allowed for what it truly meant to plunge his hands into life. In other words, could a person plan what happened to his or her heart?

  “Whoa,” he said aloud, scaring a woman wearing hot-pink shorts, a fanny pack, and hair so stiff and mushroomlike she was likely solely responsible for the hole in the ozone. “Sorry.”

  “That’s okay, young man,” she said, heading for the sidewalk alongside the highway. Off to exercise.

  And he needed to get some coffee. That could be the problem. Perhaps his plan for creating a better life for himself would be clearer once he was caffeinated. If not, he could hypothesize about modifications. Success in the scientific field came not from sheer determination but from a willingness to adjust, redirect, and pursue strange niggles. Gut feelings and specious inclinations often led to the greatest discoveries. So examining his plan was needed.