Rory: Hope City, Book 7 Maryann Jordan (best romantic books to read .txt) 📖

want to be friends now? You’ve barely said a word to me in the last six months except to occasionally say hello. You’ve made it abundantly clear that we’re not even friends. Certainly not as close as the woman who was pressed up against you earlier. One of many women I’ve seen pressed up against you over the months. I’m sorry, Rory, that doesn’t spell friendship to me. And it surely doesn’t spell Let’s have a glass of wine and tell each other our secrets.” She heaved a deep breath and lifted her hands, dragging her fingers through her hair, pulling the heavy tresses away from her face. Her features were pinched, and the tension from earlier had settled into her eyes again. “As I said, thank you for bringing me home, and now, I’m tired, and it’s time for you to leave.”

He wanted to stay. He wanted to argue. He wanted her to talk to him, confide in him. And his fingers twitched at his side, wanting to pull her close and offer comfort. Maybe even accept comfort from her. He stared at her face, seeing strength war with uncertainty. Sighing heavily, he nodded. He’d brought her home and seen her safely inside. She was right—he’d made it clear that they were not in each other’s lives, so he needed to leave. He turned and walked to the door, throwing it open, then looked over his shoulder, seeing her still standing in the middle of the room. Her pink dress was modest while clinging to her curves, but her bare feet gave her a vulnerability he’d never witnessed before.

“Good night, Sandy,” he said, his voice soft. He pulled her door closed behind him, waiting until he heard the click of the locks before moving to his truck. Driving home, his thoughts were in turmoil, conflict spearing through him. She was not the girl who flirted and then shut everyone down. There was a lot more to Sandy Carmichael than most people knew, and he hated how shallow he’d been to have listened to others.

Sandy didn’t want to watch him leave. She didn’t want to watch him at all. But her feet seemed to have a different agenda, and she found herself standing at her front window, pulling back the curtain slightly. Her gaze landed on Rory as he walked to the corner and climbed into the driver’s seat of his truck. It roared to life, and he pulled out onto the street. She stayed rooted to the spot until his red taillights disappeared in the distance.

She dropped the curtain and turned, her gaze landing on Ocee still sitting in the middle of the floor, staring at her expectantly. “I’ll bet you’re hungry, aren’t you?” She walked on bare feet to the back of her small townhouse, moving directly to the refrigerator. Filling the cat’s food dish, she leaned against the counter and stared. He finished quickly, and as he moved away to lick his whiskers, she was reminded that she’d had nothing to eat since lunch. When she’d stopped at the pub, it was only for a drink, and then she’d planned on coming home, getting takeout on the way. Now, it was hours beyond when she would have normally eaten, but the idea of food was not interesting.

She reached into the cabinet and pulled down some crackers, nibbling on a few just to quiet her rumbling stomach. Not caring whether it was wise or not, she poured a glass of wine and carried it upstairs, flipping off the lights downstairs as she moved through the rooms.

As she ascended the stairs, the shakiness returned to her legs. The strength of her irritation at Rory had fled, and the memories of the evening at the Celtic Cock moved to the forefront of her mind. She stepped into her bedroom, her private oasis. The headboard of her queen-sized bed had come from her grandmother’s house. Warm wood polished over the years. She purchased expensive sheets, loving the soft feel, but the quilt that rested on top was also from her grandmother. The nightstand held a stained-glass lamp, emitting gentle light as well as shards of color across the walls.

She set her goblet of wine onto the nightstand before going into the bathroom. She avoided looking into the mirror, quickly undressing and stepping into the shower after piling her thick, long hair into a messy bun on top of her head. Too tired to deal with washing her hair tonight, she scrubbed her body, hoping she could scrub images of the past from her mind as well.

She dried with a thick towel, moisturized her face, then caught a glance of her reflection in the mirror as she reached up to turn off the light. Staring, her gaze roamed over her face. She knew she’d been blessed with looks, both accepting the curses and benefits of attractiveness.

As a teenager, she’d been so foolish, thrilled to be the cheerleader the high school athletes wanted to date. Raised to be a polite lady, she’d never fallen into the trap of being a mean girl, but she still used her looks to full advantage when getting the most handsome boy to ask her to prom.

College hadn’t been much better. She dressed well and went to class in full makeup, knowing the appreciative glances from some of her professors probably helped her grades. Parties where she laughed and danced, drank and chatted, sure that everyone she met was friendly. She winced and flipped off the light, moving directly to bed. Under the covers, she sipped her wine, her book lying unopened on her nightstand as darker memories crept from the edges of her mind to the forefront.

She closed her eyes and could see the face of the woman from the Celtic Cock, expression slack and words slurring. Staring at that face, it morphed into her own. One from the past. A vision she couldn’t seem to escape. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she was barely