A Groom of One's Own (Appies, #3)

by Emma St. Clair

Needles make me sweat in places I’d rather not mention.

Though they’re doing it to look good on resumes and Eli comes in just because he likes dogs, honestly.

I’d just sweep them outside. If they happened to step in front of traffic, that would be on them.

I’m in my spinster era. Every twentysomething has one of those, right?

If my ridiculous babbling can lighten his mood and make this man smile, I’ll gladly contribute to the cause.

“Good to know,” he says, still smiling. Good to know what? That I went to therapy? That being around dogs can help release a cocktail of happy brain chemicals? That I have a real problem with oversharing?

Creepy as it might make me sound, Eli has starred in my dreams a few times.

Someone as good looking as Eli should really possess the personality of a cave troll just to balance out the scales.

I can’t blame her. If Eli were opening those arms to me, I’d walk right into them too.

“Well, I happen to think you look beautiful with a buzz cut, D. You’re a stunner. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”

Why am I suddenly so aware of my hands?

A swell of protectiveness rises in my throat.

Van pulls a chair over from another table and turns it so he’s straddling it backwards. He turns his baseball cap at the same time, as though he needs his hat to match his chair.

He knows what hes doing at least

“I’ve got her,” Eli says, and I like the way that sounds—maybe a little too much.

“You say conniving and nosy but all I hear is caring and concerned,” Maggie says, turning her head so she can give me a wink.

I don’t have a person, as Meredith Gray and Christina Yang called it.

Eli’s heated look turns molten, and he shakes his head slowly. “Mine,” he says firmly, his low voice wrapping like a fist around my heart. “You can only wear my name.”

“Enjoy the game, Leelee,” he says. “I’m playing for you.”

“And you?” Bailey asks, looking down at our clasped hands. “Are you happy?” More than I feel ready to admit. “Yes, Leelee. I’m happy.” An understatement, really.

Alec leans in closer, putting a hand on my back as he says, “But that’s the thing, Hop. Nothing about this seems fraudulent to me. Especially not the lovesick look in your eyes.”

It takes effort to swallow past the lump in my throat. The whole row of my closest teammates spoke up. Every single one.

Bailey’s lips on mine feel like forever, not fraud.

“Awkward together,” she reads. “From our first date. Eli—I love it.”