Not the Rebound Guy by Abby Knox (popular books of all time .txt) 📗

speaks up. “Listen, Karen. My emergency contacts are Eliza and Garrett.”

“Who the hell is Garrett?”

Eliza waves her hand in the air to get her mother’s attention. “This, this is Garrett. Garrett Strong, this is my mom.”

“Mrs. Little.” I nod and stick out my hand automatically.

Eliza’s mother doesn’t accept my hand at first. “I repeat. Who are you to my mother?”

“I’m her neighbor.”

I pray that Betty keeps her mouth shut to prevent Karen from flipping her lid. But she doesn’t.

“Until Eliza came to see me, he has power of attorney in case things go south.”

She gapes at me. “Excuse me?”

I look up over at Eliza in time to see her flinch, waiting for the shouting to begin.

I wince. “I was hoping to explain this to you over coffee one day,” I say to Karen.

Karen then turns back to Grams and says, “Why would you give a total stranger your information like that? Why would you put someone in charge of you, who’s not even family?”

“You know this isn’t good for my stress, Karen. Why don’t you calm down, and we can talk about some things?” Betty says.

Eliza’s voice is unsure and unsteady, very unlike her. “You want us to stay?”

“No, honey,” Grams says. “I’ll have the nurse call one of you and let you know when the surgery is. Just this time, please make sure your phone is not on silent while you’re messing around so you can hear me when I call in case of an emergency this time?”

My whole entire body turns beet red, and I can’t even look at Eliza. I offer a “yes, ma’am,” and we steer ourselves away from the scene.

When we pull into Grams’ driveway, I offer what is sure to be the first of many apologies.

“I’m sorry I never took the time to reach out to your mom and tell her about the power of attorney thing. Betty didn’t want me to, even though I intended to contact Karen. I was waiting for the right time. Betty said her daughter—your mom—could be difficult. I’m sorry I put you and Betty in an awkward position.”

Eliza holds up her hand. “Garrett, it’s not your fault. I know exactly how Grams is, and choosing you makes perfect sense to her. It makes sense to me, too. It’s hard to go against her wishes, and it’s difficult to talk to my mom. But now, that’s done. And no matter what my mom says, you’re a part of the family as far as I’m concerned.”

I chuckle. “You need more sleep. I’ll wake you when the nurse calls.”

She stretches, yawns, and says, “First, I need a shower.”

Chapter Nineteen

Eliza

I can barely keep my eyes open, let alone my knees from buckling. I’m so tired and sore from sleeping on hospital furniture.

But the shower is exactly what I need first.

Having a man surrounding me, holding me under the spray, doesn’t hurt either.

His chest is the perfect place to rest. I close my eyes and lean into his strength. Garrett feathers his lips over my forehead, a sweet, caring gesture. At the same time, he massages my body everywhere with the lathery loofah.

When he moves behind me, his arms slip around my ribs, hugging me against his frame. I can feel his erection against my backside. And despite my exhaustion, my body wakes up again.

And instantly, I feel guilty about it.

Who am I to be thinking about sex while Grams is in the hospital awaiting brain surgery?

And yet, all I want to do is bask in his comforting touch. There’s nothing I can do at the moment but care for myself and my needs. And what I need is to have zero distance between myself and this man.

His words in my ear send vibrations of warmth throughout my body. “You want me to wash your hair?”

This man who has already given so much of himself is asking to do still more for me.

“It’s kind of a lot of hair,” I remind him.

“Eliza.”

“Okay, yes. Please.”

I’m aware of experts who only provide scalp massage and shampoos. Garrett could become a legend in that profession. His fingers rub gently and slowly through my scalp, massaging the exotic-smelling shampoo through my wet hair. There’s something so decadent about someone doing this for a person. And intimate. In New York, I’ve occasionally splurged on a scalp massage along with my regular hair appointment.

I’m imagining having full-time access to this man, his fingers, his general expertise with my body. Would I uproot my life for this?

Don’t ask that right now; you’re too tired, I remind myself.

Of course, he moves on to the conditioner without being asked, and begins to work it through my long locks.

“People pay good money for this. You would be legendary.”

Garrett’s hands stretch out each lock, paying particular attention to moisturizing the ends. How does he know how to do this? “I imagine it’s a lot of money. Especially since I’d be getting naked and all.”

I groan as he finishes up with the conditioning and stick my head under the spray. Through the water, I splutter. “Too bad. I’m not sharing. You’re mine.”

Obviously, my eyes are closed while I’m rinsing my hair, so I get a shock when the brick wall of his warmth disappears for a second.

I wipe the water from my eyes, and when I open them, Garrett’s chest is now in front of me.

I look up to meet his eyes, and my body floods with a needful ache. The usual sparkle in his soulful, friendly eyes is gone, replaced with a fierceness. I gasp.

“Say it again.”

Teasing, pretending I don’t know what he means, is out of the question.

“You’re mine,” I repeat, matching his intensity. That’s it. I tumble headfirst into it. Not because I’m too tired to argue. But because I’m too tired to deflect and buy myself time.

The passion in his kiss burns through what’s left of my walls. I don’t know what will happen, other than he is mine and I’m his. This is a good thing that hit us