Only When It's Us (Bergman Brothers, #1)

by Chloe Liese

Rolling his shoulders back, he straightens fully. All I can think is, Wow, that’s not just an asshole. That’s a tall asshole.

I thought I was past grieving what I lost, but maybe grief isn’t linear. Maybe I can accept what I’ve lost and still mourn it. Maybe I always will.

I didn’t tell him that my fear is a tsunami building in its power, and I’m not sure I’ll stay intact when it finally crashes into my heart.

It takes mental preparation to look at her without betraying that complex knot of feelings that tightens my chest. It also has the added benefit of pissing her off.

The emotion in his voice is a mortar blast ripping through my ribs, wrecking my heart.

It’s another damn forearm striptease as he rolls up soft, worn flannel. This one’s Christmas-tree green, checkered with white and wine red. It’s festive as hell. He looks like a yuletide wet dream.

There’s no shame in grief. You’ll grieve as long as you need to. There’s just room for caution when it’s compromising your well-being.”