Can’t Hurry Love, Nadine Millard [10 best novels of all time .TXT] 📗

Brooke had been with Damon the night of the wedding. But he looked so good…

That was the problem.

Damon Wakefield was handsome as all get out, but he didn’t set her blood on fire the way Josh did.

He was wearing dark jeans and a light-blue shirt almost the same colour as his piercing eyes. His blond hair was slightly mussed and made her think of running her fingers through it. She was pathetic when it came to this man. She knew it, and she was afraid that he did, too. Which was exactly why she needed to get rid of him.

“I can get my own drink,” she answered sharply. “And if you don’t mind, I don’t want 107 to come in here and think I’m with you.”

“107?” He frowned.

“My date,” she explained, even though she shouldn’t, because he’d just make fun of her. “Our profiles matched, so we both got the same number.” She waved the label she’d been given at the door at him before sticking it firmly on her chest.

“So… you just stand here like an auction piece and wait for him to come and claim you?”

Beth scowled up at him, hating how ridiculous he made it sound. “It’s romantic,” she insisted.

“It’s ridiculous,” he countered firmly. “You answer a few generic questions and what? Your perfect match appears with a number tag?”

Beth really tried not to let his mocking get to her, but the truth was that it stung. She wanted to yell at him that if he just wanted her the way she wanted him, she wouldn’t be standing here looking for a number tag. Thankfully, she had more sense than that. Not much more, granted. But some more.

“You know, I feel sorry for you, Josh Larson,” she said instead.

His smile was so smug that she wanted to reach up and smack it off his face. She wouldn’t, of course, but boy, was it tempting.

“You feel sorry for me? I’m not the one wearing a number, Beth.”

Humiliation swept through her, and she could feel her cheeks heating. Why did he have to ruin this for her? Why wouldn’t he just leave her the hell alone?

“Yeah, you,” she spat, a lump in her throat making her voice tremble. “You’re so damned cynical. What is it? You don’t believe in love? So, you think nobody should even try to find it?”

He went stiff as a board, and his eyes darkened with something she couldn’t identify. But she was too upset to care.

“You don’t want me. You have made that painfully obvious more than once. So, what? You just like torturing me? What did I do to deserve that? Or maybe you just want everyone to be alone and miserable like you.”

He stepped forward unexpectedly, his body only inches from hers. She couldn’t have moved away if she’d tried.

The air seemed to crackle between them suddenly. It was as if he’d been wearing a mask and just let it slip. There was a world of pain in his expression. So much so that she reached out a hand to him before common sense made her drop it.

“I wouldn’t wish misery like mine on anyone, Beth,” he said softly, fiercely. “Especially not on you. I don’t want you miserable. That’s why I won’t—“ He cut off with a curse and ran his hands agitatedly through his hair.

Beth wanted to scream with frustration. Demand that he finish whatever it was he was going to say.

“You don’t deserve anything but happiness,” he said dully, the fire gone from his eyes. “You deserve someone who wants you as much as I do. Someone free to give you what you want.”

Well, what the heck did that mean?

“Josh—“

Before she could continue, his eyes lifted over her shoulder, and the tortured look was replaced by a grin that he didn’t even try to hide.

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

“I think Mr. 107 is here,” he whispered, looking far too amused for her peace of mind.

She threw him a scathing look, determined to put him and his cryptic remarks and dimpled smiles from her mind.

This was it.

This was the moment that she’d meet the man of her dreams.

The man who’d save her from thoughts of Josh Larson and memories of his kiss.

The man who’d be every fictional character she’d ever lost her heart to come to life.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Beth squared her shoulders and turned.

Then looked down.

“Oh no,” she whispered before she could help herself.

The snort of laughter behind her did not help her mood.

Gerald Linney. The nineteen-year-old kid she used to babysit was standing in front of her looking like he was being strangled by the bowtie he wore with his chequered shirt.

“Beth Carroway?” He gulped, beaming from ear to ear. He stuck out a handful of wilting daisies. “I can’t believe you’re my match.”

“Neither can I, Gerald.” She smiled weakly as she took the flowers. “Neither can I.”

“Maybe you should have taken off the glass slippers after all, Cinderella.” The sound of Josh’s voice in her ear made her want to throw something. “Would have helped with the height difference.”

She closed her eyes, wishing the ground would just open up and swallow her.

The sound of Josh’s laughter rang in her ears as he walked away.

“Paige. A word?” Beth’s jaw was sore from having her teeth clenched so tightly forever. She’d managed to shake Gerald off by telling him she needed to visit the bathroom.

All around her people seemed happy pairing off and dancing, laughing, smiling. Why? Why did it seem to be happening for everyone but her?

Gerald Linney? Really?!

She’d spent the last hour listening to him talk about his PlayStation over a Coke because he wasn’t old enough to drink alcohol. And that was only after he’d spent twenty minutes trying to convince her to buy him beer.

It didn’t help that Josh stayed in her line of sight and spent the whole time grinning over at her like this disaster was the funniest thing he’d ever seen.

Even now she could feel his