Page 100 of On A Manhunt: Complete Series

DEX

The only other time I read a romance was on the flight back from Finland. Then, I had hours to kill and nowhere to go. Now, I had Lindy in my apartment, and she wanted me to read her book.

I asked her more than once and every time, she’d said no faster than a mom scolding a two-year-old. She’d come to Denver and wanted me to read it.

So I did. I was definitely an idiot for doing it. A dumbass. A sucker for anything Lindy wanted.

The first chapter was catchy or whatever and pulled me right in.

At first, she’d loomed in the kitchen, then I settled into the story and pretty much ignored her.

It took me two hours–I saw the time on the microwave when I closed the lid–and stood.

Stretched. Fuck, I just gave her two more hours of my life.

Now she was going to leave, and I’d be fucked all over again.

I went in search of Lindy to get this over with.

I found her on my couch. Asleep. I exhaled, died a little inside. Fuck, she was so pretty. Sleeping, she wasn’t sassy or contrary or sweet or anything. She was perfect, at least to me.

And she was here. Why? Why did she want me to read it after all this time? I hadn’t heard a thing from her and now she was in Colorado.

I sat at her hip, ran a hand over her arm. She stirred. Blinked.

“Sorry I fell asleep.”

“It’s fine,” I said, giving her a soft smile. I couldn’t help it.

Pushing up to sitting, she rubbed an eye. “What did you think?”

“I love it.” I gave her a sly smile. “I really like the part where she’s bent over the bed, and she’s being called a bad girl.” I remembered those events very well.

She blushed just how I loved. “You were my muse.”

My eyes widened. “Did you fuck me for research, sugar?”

Her eyes widened and–

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You did!”

“My writing friend said you were my muse and well, yes.” She tipped her chin up, owning her words.

“I love it,” I replied. I love you. “It’s not done though. I thought you said you finished it.”

With a nod, she said, “I did. Or I thought I did. It needed to be reworked.”

“What happens? Do they get their happily ever after?”

She licked her lips and glanced at her hands, which she was wringing in her lap, then at me. “That depends.”

“On what?”

Our voices had gone soft, as if we didn’t want anyone to overhear us, which was crazy since there wasn’t anyone else on this entire floor of the building.

“On you.” Her blue eyes slowly lifted to mine. “And me.” She stood and went around the coffee table. “I’ll be right back.”

I nodded and watched as she went to the kitchen and returned carrying the toaster.

“When I was fourteen, I got asked out on a date. To the bowling alley and the boy’s parents were driving us.”

I imagined pretty Lindy at that age. How shy she must have been. Nervous.

“Bridget was four, if that gives you any perspective. My mom and I talked about boys and what I wanted from them.”

My eyebrows rose thinking that had to have been an interesting talk.

“Not sex because I was a late bloomer and didn’t really think much of it then.

It wasn’t like she tucked condoms in my little purse along with my strawberry lip gloss.

More like since boys were now interested in me, I should decide what I expected from them.

She told me I shouldn’t sacrifice on anything I was looking for in a boy, that he should be all the things I wanted from him instead of being all the things I thought a boy wanted from me. Like they needed to be nice.”

“Okay,” I said, not because I understood, but I wanted to keep her going. And why the hell was the toaster was so important. And why I spent two hours reading her book.

“We made a list. Things I thought, at fourteen, that a boy should be.”

She handed me the toaster and I frowned. Completely confused.

“Flip it over.”

There was a piece of paper taped to the bottom. It was old with wrinkled edges. Lavender in color and had a handwritten list.

I glanced at Lindy. “This is the list? Why is it on a toaster?”

“My mom wanted it on the fridge so I could always see it and be reminded. Like any other fourteen-year-old girl, that idea was mortifying, especially since my dad would see it. Or anyone else who ever came to the house. Like boys or my friends. Anyone.”

That made sense.

“In a teenage girl snit, I taped it to the bottom of the toaster, which was right next to the fridge. I could look at it whenever I wanted, but who else would pick up a toaster and snoop?”

I smiled, imagining the whole thing.

“It’s been there ever since. Through the first bowling date to the others that followed. Through my parents’ deaths and as an adult. All this time.”

I look down at the list.

Kind.

Smart.

Doesn’t smell bad.

Chews with his mouth closed.

Doesn’t go to other girls if he’s talking to me.

Isn’t ashamed of me.

Will stand by me.

Protective.

Likes ketchup and mayonnaise on fries.

“Ketchup and mayonnaise on fries?” I asked.

She smiled and rolled her eyes. “I was fourteen. Then I added more when I was seventeen. Then in college. And… after.”

The handwriting changed a little, along with the color of the ink.

Doesn’t kiss other girls.

Asks permission.

I didn’t want to even wonder why she put that down.

Supports my ideas.

Handles the bad stuff with me.

Loves me no matter what.

Handsome.

Witty.

Then the pen color changed once more.

Has a job.

Doesn’t live with his mother.

Isn’t an asshole.

Likes kids. Wants kids of his own.

Committed.

Needs me.

“I was always looking for a man to meet this list.”

“Your man list,” I stated.

She nodded.

“That dentist? The date I went on? Remember.”

I frowned and even growled a little. “Oh yeah. You came back all bent out of shape about wheat.”

“He met everything on this list.”

That was definitely not what I wanted to hear. “Oh.”

She wrung her hands. “But I didn’t want him. I didn’t even really like him.”

I felt better hearing that.

“You meet everything on this list, Dex. And a few things I didn’t even put.”

I smiled, pleased with myself, but it didn’t matter. Nothing had changed in the time she’d been in my apartment except I longed for her even more and it would hurt like a skate to the jugular when she walked right back out.

“Except it turns out I wasn’t, for you, all the things listed in return.”

“Oh?” I was still fucking confused.

“In a way, I still live with my mother. And father. And… well, I never really grew up.”

I set the toaster on the coffee table and held out my hand. I wasn’t sure if she was going to take it, but I needed to have her close. If this was the last time I could touch her, so be it.

She was sharing a lot, so much more than she’d ever really given me before. But why?

When she set her fingers in mine, I felt the heat of them and something soothed. I settled back into the couch and pulled her into my lap. She straddled me and I set my hands on her hips. Her eyes met mine. She didn’t complain or pull away.

“You grew up,” I disagreed. “All at once.”

She shook her head. “I stayed. At home. I didn’t realize how afraid I was to change anything after they died. I mean, I have a toaster with a list!”

I gave her a small smile. “I love your list. And the toaster. What are you trying to tell me?”

I was afraid of her answer. So fucking afraid.

“I don’t think I can be a good romance writer until I have one of my own.”

“A new toaster?”

“A romance,” she clarified. “Our story, God, it’s the perfect romance, but it’s not finished.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked, barely breathing. It’s not finished. It’s. Not. Finished.

“I want… I want a happily ever after, Dex. With you.”

God, the words I wanted to hear. Fuck, my heart was beating frantically, desperately, for her.

“Nothing’s changed,” I reminded. “I’ve got pre-season training in a few weeks. I’ll be traveling. A lot. Just as you’ve said all along, I can’t be in Hunter Valley. Probably not for any length of time until June.”

“I quit my job,” she said, ignoring my words.

My eyebrows went up. “What?”

She licked her lips, met my gaze. “And… I’m moving away from home.”

“Oh?”

She nodded. “Denver. With, hopefully, my husband.”