Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
The B&B
I raised my fist and knocked on Brooks’ door. When he didn’t answer right away, I thought about tucking tail and running back to my room—but if I retreated, that would mean I would be alone and being alone meant I would have time to think . . . and I was desperately trying to do anything but that.
I was just about to give up and leave when the door suddenly opened and Brooks stood there in nothing but a towel. Dark hair mussed and damp.
A garbled noise escaped my mouth as I took in his inked, bare chest glistening with water droplets.
“Poet?” he asked, his brow furrowing. “Are you okay?”
I dragged my gaze from his pecs to meet his eyes.
Golden eyes.
Whiskey eyes.
Eyes that had wrinkles at the corners of them.
“Did you say something?” I asked stupidly.
His mouth flickered with amusement. “I asked if you were okay?”
“Oh. I’m fine.”
Really fine.
His brows slashed together in confusion at my appearance.
“I just thought if you weren’t busy you might want to share a bottle of wine and the chocolates I bought.”
His eyes dropped to my mouth. “I’m not busy.”
“Great!” I chirped, hating that I sounded like an enthusiastic cheerleader. “Come on over once you put on a pair of pants.”
I gave myself a mental head thwack. Apparently, I was a rambling hormonal idiot.
He cleared his throat. “I’ll be over in a few.”
I scuttled back to my room and left the door cracked.
The wine was twist-off, thankfully, so I didn’t have to bother with a corkscrew. There were two glasses on the credenza. I was in the middle of pouring the wine when there was a light rap on the door.
Brooks appeared. He was wearing a pair of faded jeans and an old black cotton T-shirt.
I wished he hadn’t gotten dressed.
“I’m doomed,” I mumbled.
“What was that?”
“Oh, nothing,” I said, holding out a glass of wine to him.
“I don’t drink,” he said.
“You don’t?”
“No.”
I frowned. “Then why did you accept my offer to share the bottle of wine?”
“Because you don’t want to be alone.”
I scratched my ear. “That obvious?”
He nodded.
“Chocolate?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“Are you allergic?”
“No, I just don’t have a taste for it.”
I sighed. “So, you’re going to watch me drink wine and eat chocolate?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you watch TV?” I asked.
“No. Is that what you want to do—watch TV?”
“I want to do anything except think,” I said. “So whatever remedy you have for that, I’m open to it—just as long as it’s not talking.”
He raised his brows.
“That came out completely wrong. I didn’t mean anything by it, I swear.”
Amusement stamped across his lavish mouth, but thankfully he let it go.
“Sit. Relax,” Brooks said.
Impossible with a hulking, devastatingly attractive cowboy in my feminine, chintz-draped room. But I sank onto the bed and sipped the wine. “Oh, that’s terrible.”
But then I took another drink.
He laughed. “If it’s terrible, why are you drinking it?”
“Because bad red wine and chocolate is still better than no red wine and chocolate. Get it?”
“Not really.” He gestured with his chin. “Brooklyn College. You went there?”
I touched the faded script that ran across my gray T-shirt. “Yeah. My grandfather is also a professor at the college.”
He gestured to the free side of the bed. “May I?”
“Oh—please.”
He sat down and his large form swallowed most of the space. Even in a king-sized bed, Brooks made it look small. I wondered if he was a bed hog. A cover thief.
Did he snore?
Hmmm.
“What’s he teach?” Brooks asked.
“Medieval English history,” I said. “Actually, he’s on sabbatical right now for the semester. He went to England.”
“Oh. That’s cool.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“You ever been? To England?”
“No.” I frowned. “Maybe I should’ve gone to England instead of coming here. Guess I’m not thinking straight. Not after . . .”
“After what?” he prodded when I hadn’t gone on.
“After I quit my job.” The words leapt from my mouth and hit the air like a truth bomb. “Whew. I said it out loud. Feels weird.”
“Why’d you quit?”
“Why does anyone quit something?”
“You hated it,” he guessed.
I shook my head. “I used to love my job. But then it became the source of everything wrong in my life, you know? So even though I know it was the right thing to do, I’m in full-on panic mode.”
“Ah, explains the babbling,” he teased. His tone was warm, familiar.
I liked it.
“Maybe quitting your job will give you the time and space to figure out what will make you happy.”
“I know what will make me happy.” I reached for the box of chocolates.
“Easy to please,” he stated.
I snorted, my mind immediately going to a double entendre.
“We weren’t supposed to be talking,” I reminded him. “Can we lay off the philosophical discussion of life and the pursuit of happiness?”
“Your wish is my command,” he said as he picked up the remote from the nightstand.
He turned on the TV and then handed me the clicker. I channel-surfed for a few moments and then laughed.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“The Munsters. There’s a marathon.”
“Yeah?” He propped himself up against the headboard. “Well, guess I know what we’re doing tonight.”