Playing Mr. Perfect (The Bradens at Ridgeport #1)

Pepper

I toss my suitcase on the bed, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The low-cut, easy-access wrap dress I’d hoped would drive Clay mad clings to my body, my favorite black lace thong and matching bra going to waste beneath it. My heart hasn’t stopped racing, or aching, since we met for dinner, which is when it hit me that my time with Clay was over, and it wouldn’t be fair to pretend otherwise. That ache shows in my eyes. They look so dull, I have to turn away.

I hated saying goodbye to him, and I hated doing it in front of everyone else, which shouldn’t matter, since I wouldn’t have told him that his kisses were the best I’d ever had anyway or that I can’t stop thinking about last night or how much fun it was to spend time with him. I force myself to begin the arduous task of packing, tugging open the dresser drawer, absently unfolding and refolding my clothes, telling myself it’s just as well. It’s not like he’s my forever person. This was just a fling.

My stomach knots up. It didn’t feel like a fling.