When Stars Collide (Second Chance Romance #2) - Sara Furlong-Burr Page 0,15
hurl myself at him, jump into his arms, and wrap my legs around his waist, just like every chick in every episode of The Bachelor ever made always did. That idea, though, was promptly extinguished when I mentally calculated the distance between his waist and the ground, concluding that I would never be able to get sufficient air and would probably end up straddling his thighs, instead.
Reluctantly, I managed to contain myself and even made my way to the opposite side of the column undetected, leaning my body against it in the same fashion he was.
“Excuse me, sir. Have you seen my incredibly sexy boyfriend, by chance?”
From out of the corner of my eye, I caught just the hint of a smile from him. “Incredibly sexy, huh? Could you describe him for me?”
“Well, he’s tall … like freakishly big. We’re talking Paul Bunyan lumberjack huge. You would think he’d be, I don’t know, a basketball player, but he can't even walk across the room without tripping over himself. The man’s basically all legs and feet. And then there’s that hair—dark and disheveled, like he woke up and said, ‘Screw it, the world is gonna get the hair I give to it.’”
“He certainly sounds dreamy,” he scoffed. “A giant, clumsy, big-footed, unkempt, lumberjack Sasquatch. You’re right. What woman wouldn’t want that?”
“Right? And then there’s his eyes.”
“The kind that haunt your nightmares?”
“The kind you hope to see in your dreams.” I met him on the other side of the column, watching him watching me. “They’re the kind that stare so deeply into yours, you swear they can see directly into your soul. The kind that see you for who you really are, yet they love you regardless.”
Peter caressed my cheek with the back of his hand, his fingers becoming entangled in my hair as he leaned down to kiss me lightly on the forehead. “I’ve missed you.”
“God how I’ve missed you, too.”
“So much so that you’re sending nudes to your boss?” He laughed, wrapping his arms around my body in a tight embrace, meant both as a hug and as an assurance that I wouldn’t be able to free my arms to punch him in the face.
“One more wisecrack out of you and I may very well board the next flight back to New York.”
“I’ve got it all out of my system now.”
“Good.” I adjusted the straps of my carry-on bag and slung it back over my shoulder. One good thing about our short weekends together was that I never needed to carry more than my small canvas bag that contained only the essentials.
Peter’s fingers searched for mine, finding them and then fusing our hands together. “Although, I must ask—”
“Yes, I am wearing the same bra and underwear I was wearing in the infamous photos.”
He groaned. “Great. Now I’m not going to be able to think straight on the ride to Charlie’s.”
“Charlie’s?”
“Yeah, Luke called right before I left to pick you up. He and Elle want to meet up for dinner, if that’s okay.”
“Elle probably wants to discuss wedding bullshit.”
“Wedding bullshit,” he repeated, chuckling. “You’re going to be one bang-up maid of honor.”
“You know what I mean. Elle has probably already made out a to-do list with a corresponding timeline for completion of each and every one of the tasks on it. Basically, my life has already been planned out for me for roughly the next eight months.” Peter took my carry-on bag from me as we approached his car. “I’m going to be up to my ass in satin, tulle, dress fittings, decorations, bridal showers, cakes, wedding photos, speech writing, and …” I paused to accentuate the last part with an exaggerated shiver, “lots and lots of smiling.”
“You’re right, that does sound pretty awful,” he agreed, opening my door for me. “All I have to worry about is my tux fitting and trying not to run away with one of the strippers at Luke’s bachelor party.” He winked at me, shutting my door before I had the chance to respond.
*****
Charlie’s was a quaint sports bar tucked inside of a strip mall on the outskirts of Roanoke. From the license plates on the walls, to the posters depicting local sports teams, and the greasy cheeseburgers the size of dinner plates, it screamed Luke Hutchins.
“Tomorrow’s the big day, right?” Elle asked, shifting in the booth she shared with Luke. “You’re finally going to meet Jackson, the mini Monroe.”
“That bad, huh?” I replied, squeezing Peter’s arm.
“He’s a great kid,” Luke added. “Thankfully, he has