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

by Emma St. Clair

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

With Eli, I’ve started spending more time in the room. Mostly because he invites conversation, pushing me into feeling almost comfortable around him. Also because I just like being around him.

“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” Eli says, finally. “And the kind words. But I still don’t think this is something you can help with.” He stops, then meets and holds my gaze with an intensity that freezes me in place. “That is,” he continues, those blue eyes blazing, “unless you want to marry me.”

Damn he actually said it.

I don’t like the woman, not even a little bit. But it’s imperative that I pretend to like her. Not only to keep this job, but also because I need her recommendation for vet school. Which means I can’t punch her for the way she’s looking at Eli.

Only one. A quiet, unassuming woman who’s pretty in the kind of way that sneaks up on a person. One whose smiles and blushes I count, who makes me happy. I like Bailey. Legitimately. She’s a sweet woman. Shy. Kind. Thoughtful. She treats me like a normal guy. Didn’t even know who I was or that I play hockey, which means points for her.

She takes the tiniest step closer to me, like I make her feel safer. Good. I like that.

Can I help it if the man makes me shine brighter? Feel lighter? And blush like a schoolgirl with a crush?

Chronic-Ills of Narnia? Get it—chronic ills? Chronicles? Such a missed opportunity.”

“I am of the opinion that if you really want something, you sometimes have to make your own luck, even if it’s risky.”

“Who’s taking care of you, Bailey?”

Awwwww hes concerned for her.

Eli’s words settle over me, soft as snowfall, only warm not cold. “No one,” I murmur. “I could,” Eli says, and now I’m really not sure if I’m dreaming. Because this is the exact kind of thing I wish someone would tell me. “I would.”

I’m not letting Bailey anywhere near him. My instincts earlier may have been a bit on the caveman side, but they were also correct. This apartment complex is not safe. “Who are you?” I demand. Do I use my most intimidating voice? Absolutely I do.

Awwwww he's protective of her. It's cute.

“But … yes. If you need someone to do this so you can stay, so your mom can stay, I’ll be that person for you, Eli.”

I enjoy Bailey. Nuh-uh. I love Bailey. I care about Bailey. Nope. I love her. I like Bailey. No. I love Bailey.

Eli’s big hand curls around mine. He links our fingers together, settling our hands on top of the papers so I can’t look. It’s a weird angle to hold hands, but I’m not complaining. I like the way my small hand looks wrapped in his, seeing his neatly trimmed nails next to mine with their chipped pink polish and chewed off ends. I like the warmth and steadiness of him. Maybe a little too much.

“But whose name will be on the back of my jersey?” His face darkens, and it only makes me push more. “Maybe Van? He’s a fun guy.” 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.”

Period.

His smile melts away, his eyes blue flames as he stares. “I want to see you wearing my name.”

“My name looks good on you,” he says, and then he lifts his left glove to the glass.

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

Her lips brush my ear as she says, “What took you so long, hockey player?” “You miss me or something, Leelee?”

I expect her to say something smart back to me, keep up this teasing dance of words. Instead, she surprises me again when she’s flat-out earnest. “Yeah. I think I did.”

“One more thing—you will never be too much for the right woman. You’ll be exactly enough.”

Period.

I’ve found one of the hardest things about losing people you care about is the guilt of remembering the things they weren’t so great at. Thinking about their flaws and disappointments makes me feel like a traitor.

“I like the way you look with a blush on your cheeks,” he says, his gaze moving across my face. “Especially when I’m the one who puts it there.” “You do?”

“Yeah. I do.”

It is. Even harder as my feelings grow. Because I’m not just lying to Maggie and others about what Eli and I really are to each other, but in a way, I’m lying to him about what I want us to be. I’d prefer to steer us away from this conversation before I do something stupid, like make a declaration in the darkness.

Then tell each other the truth abojt your feelings for each other.

“He’s a lovesick puppy and would do anything for you.”