The Next Day (Foothills Book 2) by Carrie Thorne (mind reading books .txt) 📗

not only found an irresistible lotion of black tea and honey that he’d licked off her the other night in an indulgence that shouldn’t have happened, but she’d picked up a bar of soap that “made her imagine him naked.”

Hell, even if they could make this work, she was so far out of his league it wasn’t funny. Sure, they’d both traveled the world. He’d inhaled the top of the sky in numbing freefall, felt the pressure of the bottom of the sea threaten to crush his skull, broken his heart rescuing the darkest parts of humanity… while she’d reveled in the light, from painting and sketching from hills upon hills of grapevines, to smiling children where smiles were priceless, and even to one of his favorite goofy sketches of her own feet.

Full-on smile taking over his face as he resolved to ask her for the self-portrait foot sketch for the lonely spot on the bathroom wall, he tipped his head back and rinsed the suds from his body. Hand trailing down, goosebumps forming in his wake, he let himself enjoy one of the solo aspects of married life before it was gone. Closing his eyes, he relived the heat, the exquisite pull of her mouth on his cock. Not a trace of shyness, she’d shown him just how sheltered of a life he’d led before meeting her. How much he’d craved her without knowing what had been missing.

After drying off and pulling on an ancient pair of cargo shorts and a black t-shirt, Zane slipped on a pair of sneakers. No way was he sitting inside today. Too much time in his head already.

What, he’d been up for two hours, and had already pushed his body beyond anything he’d done in months, cried his fucking eyes out, debated the safest way to end his mistake of a marriage, then jerked off at the very thought of the woman that he really, really shouldn’t have in his life. Maybe he should go back to the Navy. At least then he knew… well, he knew what to do when he got up in the morning, what his day would look like, and would be so wrecked from exhaustion that he’d sleep through the night.

As his feet hit the gravel at the base of the steps, he saw Freya wandering across the field, her cheeks flushed from her favorite way to welcome the day. She glanced his direction and offered a soft smile that tugged at that stupid pang again, a pathetic hope that her heart was doing the same fricking pitter patter that his was.

Pushing past the burning in the hollow cavern of his chest, he nodded toward his truck and said, “Need a ride into town this morning? I can wait.”

She shook her head as she continued toward the main house. “No, thanks though.”

Firing up the engine, the sound of its powerful rumble vibrated into his veins. Easing down the driveway, he halted at the main road. Staring down the empty road to the left, he ignored the lazy drive that beckoned to him; his brain couldn’t handle anymore quiet. To the right, he could just make out the sign announcing Foothills was only a mile ahead.

Tires crunching over the gravel, he took the right. A couple that had to be pushing a hundred was already out for a walk, decked out with their sun hats, Keens, and what looked to be a picnic in their backpacks, probably headed for the Riverside Trail for a well-deserved scenic breakfast. As he passed a driveway on the left, a guy in a suit behind the wheel of a BMW gave him a neighborly wave, then pulled onto the road behind him as he headed to work.

Nearing town, the driveways became closer together, and eventually there were a few smaller neighborhoods with settled houses on large lots. Across from the downtown park, Zane parked on the side of the street; not enough folks out yet to necessitate parallel parking the beast of a rig. Puffing his cheeks out, he exhaled through pursed lips.

Strolling along, he passed Sutherland’s Hardware, not daring to go in, as he had gotten the distinct impression that Paul would rope him into some temp work in an effort to woo him into the role he wished Asher had taken. Nope. Not living someone else’s dream, even for a man he respected. Smoky scents wafted out of a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, Halseth’s Smokehouse and Pub, but the sign said they didn’t open until eleven. Too bad; something smelled good.

Larissa’s Diner was bursting at the seams with people from all walks of life. A vivacious southern woman was hollering to someone inside as she propped the door open to let in the morning air. His stomach growled, reminding him he’d been too tied up to eat anything this morning.

“You must be Asher’s friend. Come on in,” she waved him in before he had a chance to say no.

“Am I that obvious?”

“Honey, I know everyone in town, and I can spot a tourist a mile off. Plus, you’ve got that look he does. Eyes that have seen too much, a heavy burden on that heart.”

Was she a therapist or a psychic or diner owner? He suspected a little of all three. “You’re not wrong. You know Asher pretty well?” He followed her to a seat at the bar, sliding onto a shiny chrome stool with a blue vinyl cushion.

“Known that kid since he was in diapers.” She strolled around the bar and grabbed a pot of coffee, flipping his cup over and filling it to the brim. “What can I get you for breakfast?”

Rather than opening the menu, he glanced around at the crowded restaurant. “That hash looks great.”

“It’s the best. Avocado gruyere or sausage cheddar?”

“Avocado.”

She scooted away and disappeared into the kitchen. A familiar voice stood out from the crowd behind