Didn't Expect You (Against All Odds #2) - Claudia Burgoa Page 0,63

see why he’d choose this house. It has a fantastic view, the commute is short enough to travel to Seattle every day, and the silence is relaxing. But, is it this place or us that gives me peace?

There’s an intimacy we share when we don’t say words that calms me. Maybe that’s the biggest reason why I am here.

Being at home, trying to organize my thoughts, my future, and my present felt so lonely. Nate makes everything bearable even when all I’m doing is pondering about what’s coming up next and running scenarios to decide what’s the best way to go.

With him, I feel as if I’m not alone trying to survive. Before yesterday, I felt like it might be easier to sink than breathe and stay afloat.

He’s not pulling me out of the water. He’s handing me a float that I can hold onto until I know where I’m heading. That’s what I decide to focus on for the foreseeable future: Nate, the friend.

I refuse to acknowledge the way his touch makes my skin tingle. It’s not easy to ignore his smoky-gravel voice as heat spreads along my body. He’s too alluring to ignore. His charm can be spellbinding if one isn’t careful, but I am. I keep telling myself that if I can get past this attraction, we could be the best of friends.

“Penny for your thoughts,” I offer, wondering why he’s been less chatty than usual.

“Why do people offer their two cents when they are about to speak but just a penny when they want someone else’s thoughts?”

I chuckle and grab some of the freshly baked bread we bought on our way back from the city.

“Probably because when you offer your two cents, it’s advice, a critique, or life-changing. While in my case, I have no idea what you’re thinking and it might not be worth my time?”

“Way to kick my pride,” he jokes and winks at me. “Stop wounding my ego, woman.”

“Just keeping you grounded. I don’t want to inflate your ego so much that you won’t fit in the house,” I tease him.

“My ego grows with touch, not with words.” He smirks widely. “Let me know when you’d like me to demonstrate.”

“Well, now I have to ask,” I say, diverting the conversation to a safer subject because I’m not discussing his length, girth, or stamina. Not when I’m having trouble not picturing him naked. “If my memory serves me correctly, I recall you propositioning me the night we met.”

“And the offer is still open, sweetheart,” he answers, crossing his arms as he watches me.

“Don’t you have, like, friends with benefits or…someone to go out with? I mean, it’s Friday, and you’re stuck with the pregnant lady who cramped your style in the middle of one of the best restaurants in the city.”

He’s about to speak when I add, “After all, you’re the famous Nathaniel Chadwick. Playboy, adrenaline junky, and businessman.”

“That’s not exactly how they describe me,” he corrects me and laughs when I roll my eyes. “Our outing was—I’d be lying if I say that you looked cute at the restaurant, but it wasn’t pretty. However, I enjoy your company more than I enjoy the company of many people. To answer your question, I was a serial dater before Bronwyn, and after her, I was sleeping my way through the world. I stopped because it gets fucking old and lonely.”

I scrunch my nose and agree with him, “It does get lonely. Not that I sleep around, but the couple of times a year that I managed to find a guy, it never lasted more than a night or a weekend. If you still love your ex, why don’t you…?”

I stop myself because I doubt suggesting going back to her is the way to go, but what is it that he needs to do to move on with his life?

He combs his hair with one hand and lets out some air before he speaks, “Why do I keep getting bombarded by things like questions, packages, or discussions that end up bringing up my past?” he asks, aggravated. “It’s not only your questions but also the memory of my old home in New York. I loved my house in Brooklyn. It was far enough from the city, but close enough too.”

It sounds like he had to move because she lived close by, and that’s shitty. “Did you sell it?”

“I didn’t have the heart to kick Bronwyn out of it,” he answers. “It’s still mine, and she’s probably