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He grinned. “I pay attention to a lot of things about you, Percy Fraser.”
He’s wearing a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt, a coffee cup and a paper bag in one hand. It’s every straight hungover woman’s fantasy standing at the entrance of my room.
“You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known,” he says, and it sounds like coarse sandpaper.
“I think I rubbed off on you, Sam Florek.” “You have no idea,” he replies. “I think I do.”
“I loved you,” he whispers. “I know,” I say. Hurt eyes move across my face. “You broke my heart.” “I know that, too.”
