The Plus One (A Brush With Love, #3)

by Mazey Eddings

Indira’s fingers closed around his hand for a moment, and he couldn’t look away from the spot where she touched him. He had the bizarre feeling that he’d fall backward the second she let go.

But the comfort was as scary as chaos. Jude felt both sharply. Painfully. Both existed outside of the safety of numbness.

Was being roasted her love language?

“Memories of you are inevitable,”

All of this was uncharted territory, and he knew—absolutely knew—he’d fuck it up. But he’d be damned if he didn’t at least try.

She held a magnifying glass up to the most hidden parts of his soul and still smiled, happy to simply know him.

was a unique type of pain to love something and not have it love you back—but he was learning it was okay to let go of things you love if they no longer serve you.