The One That I Want (Scorned Women Society Book 3) Piper Sheldon (classic books for 12 year olds .TXT) 📖

I struggled for what to say next. I wanted to learn everything about her but sensed the more I pushed, the more she’d clam up. As we walked, her head was on a swivel as she took in the tall buildings and shops of downtown Denver. Even this late in the evening the streets were still fairly crowded and the warm summer night held that magic of endless possibilities.

“Are you from a big city?” I asked her when she stopped to study a colorful mural painted on the side of a brick building.

She shook her head without taking her eyes off the street art.

“Medium sized?”

Finally, she turned to narrow her eyes at me.

“Small town?” I ventured again.

She hesitated to debate her answer, then said, “Small town. Am I gawking?”

Yes. And it was adorable. “Nah, just curious. You’re hard to get info out of, you know that?”

When she turned toward me, her brows were furrowed and she fidgeted with the cuffs of her leather jacket again.

“Sanders.” I didn’t like how she said my name with such finality. “I’m leaving in just a few hours. It would probably be better if we both understood that tonight can’t go past this.” She gestured to the city around us. “Let’s just keep things light, and no more significant details about our normal lives. Just be in this moment, like you said, okay?”

My gaze roamed over her face, taking in the serious squint to her eyes and her full lips, slightly turned down. She must have felt this connection too. There was no way this was one-sided. But she was holding back, as though afraid to reveal too much. I would respect her wishes, even if I felt an ache start to burn in my chest.

“Fair enough,” I said lightly. “But we’re still getting ice cream.”

“Oh. You had better provide. Never tease a woman with treats unless you plan to deliver.”

“I would never.” I linked my arm back through hers.

“Yeah, you’re way too smooth. I knew a guy like you once,” she said. “A real Romeo.”

“I guarantee you’ve never met anyone like me, baby.” I said it with over-the-top swagger.

She shoved me and rolled her eyes. “You really are too much.”

“So this guy you knew—”

She held up her hand. “Nice try,” she said. “But we won’t ruin such a nice time by bringing up the past.”

“You’re a tough cookie, aren’t you?” I asked her and squeezed her hand.

“Just ask the guy who told me to smile once,” she said. “You’ll have trouble though because his jaw is still wired shut.”

She said it so casually I almost missed the joke. I threw my head back and laughed. When I was done, she was focused on the ground, her hair hiding her face. She reminded me of Skip, in that she didn’t say much, but when she did, it was usually perfectly on point.

“Ah, nuts,” I said as we came to a stop in front of the closed ice cream shop. “I didn’t think this through.”

Little did she know that not thinking things all the way through was very much my MO. Maybe there was some freedom in keeping things light tonight after all. I didn’t have to tell her about how I almost ruined my business this weekend and she could keep looking at me like I was a dessert she rarely let herself indulge in.

She studied the closed storefront. “You’re a terrible tour guide.”

I guffawed. “Okay. Challenge accepted. I know where we can try next. How are your feet?”

She glanced to her shoes. “My feet?”

“Are you good to keep walking?” I asked, she wasn’t wearing heels though, just Chucks.

Her mouth opened and closed with a shake of her head. “Lord, they don’t make them like you where I’m from,” she said.

“Considerate?”

“Something like that,” she mumbled and then added, “I’ve got hours of walking in these bad boys.”

We walked for a while passing storefronts closed for the day and bars with people spilling out. We found a food truck that served fried ice cream and spilt a paper dish under strung lights. We stood close, faces near and she told me about her best friend and a book club she was in. Or at least it sounded like some sort of book club, she was hazy on the details. I told her about Skip and growing up together in a suburb of Denver. Her dry, caustic humor had me cackling more than once. She wasn’t quick to smile but that made it all the more rewarding when she did.

There was something about the way she listened to me that told me she understood me inherently, on some base level. She intrigued me. She kept so much hidden it only drove me to want more.

“My throat is raw,” she said. “I can’t remember the last time I talked this much.”

I took the empty dish and tossed it in a nearby trash can. Our time together was coming to an end.

“No?” I asked. I felt my nerves taking my words.

“I’m not usually a big talker,” she said.

“I am.”

“I gathered that.” She smiled at me. “You’d think not being able to share many details we’d have run out of things to say.” She yawned widely.

But we never stopped talking the whole night. Not once, sometimes we talked over each other, two separate conversations seeming to happen at the same time, back and forth, weaved like intricate knitting. I was so close to telling her I needed to know more. A phone number. A freaking social media account, I’d take anything.

“My flight is in three hours,” she said. “I still have to pack my suitcase and get to the airport.”

My heart constricted. Despite my best attempts all night long, she wouldn’t share more than surface-level details. Skip once told me I could charm Sasquatch into buying a winter coat, but she didn’t crack at all.

“Where’s that flight to again?” I asked, carefully not looking at her.

She tsked. “Nice try.”

“Not even