Truly Madly Yours by Rachel Gibson Page B

they would remain single until the ripe old age of twenty-nine.
    Twenty-nine . As far as she could tell, she was the only one of her school friends who wasn’t at least engaged. In February she would turn thirty. A thirty-year-old woman with no home of her own and no man in her life. The home she wasn’t worried about. With three million she could buy a home. But the man. It wasn’t that she needed a man in her life. She didn’t, but it would have been nice to have one around sometimes. She hadn’t had a boyfriend for a while and she missed the intimacy.
    Her gaze was drawn again to the dark silhouette of the man lighting rockets from a pipe near the water’s edge. He turned at the waist and looked over his shoulder in her direction. A funny little tickle settled in the pit of her stomach, and she quickly glanced up into the night sky.
    The town sent up a finale so spectacular it lit the lake like dawn and caught the canopy of Colonel Mansfield’s pontoon boat on fire. The people loved it and showed their appreciation by setting off their own bombs from beaches and balconies. Happy Dragons, Cobras, and Mighty Rebels burst in fiery showers of sparks. Legal fireworks like Whistling Pete’s, modified to screech and take flight, buzzed the night sky.
    Delaney had forgotten what pyromaniacs the people of Truly were. A shrieking missile whizzed past her head and exploded in a red shower on Louie’s deck.
    Welcome to Idaho. Land of potatoes and pyros.

    Chapter Five

    The Miata’s door handle dug into Delaney’s behind as Steve pressed into her front. She placed her hands on his chest and ended the kiss.
    “Come home with me,” he whispered above her ear.
    Delaney pulled back just far enough to look into the dark shadows of his face. She wished she could use him. She wished she was tempted. She wished he wasn’t so young and that his age didn’t matter, but it did. “I can’t.” He was handsome, had pecs of steel, and seemed genuinely nice. She felt like a cradle robber.
    “My roommate is out of town.”
    A roommate . Of course he had a roommate. He was twenty-two. He probably lived on canned chili and Budweiser. When she’d been twenty-two, a well-rounded meal consisted mostly of corn chips, salsa, and sangria. She’d been living in Vegas, working at Circus Circus, not even concerned with the rest of her life. “I never go home with men I’ve just met,” she told him and pushed until he took a step backward.
    “What are you doing tomorrow night?” he asked.
    Delaney shook her head and opened her car’s door. “You’re a nice guy, but I’m not interested in seeing anyone right now.”
    As she drove away, she looked into her rearview mirror at Steve’s retreating back. At first she’d been flattered by the attention he’d paid her, but as the night had progressed, she’d become more uneasy. A lot of maturing happened in seven years. Matching furniture became as important as a killer stereo, and somewhere along the way, the phrase “party till you puke” lost its appeal. But even if she’d been seriously tempted to use Steve’s body for her own pleasure, Nick had ruined it for her. He ruined it by just being at the party. She was much too aware of him, and there was just too much history between them for her to ignore him completely. Even when she did manage to forget him for a few moments, she’d suddenly feel his gaze, like hot irresistible tractor beams pulling at her. But when she’d looked at him, he was never looking back.
    Delaney turned up the long driveway and pressed the garage door opener on the dash. And even if Nick hadn’t been there, and Steve hadn’t been young, she doubted she would have gone home with him. She was twenty-nine, lived with her mother, and was too paranoid to enjoy a one-nighter.
    After she parked next to Henry and Gwen’s matching Cadillacs, she headed into the house through the door off the kitchen. A bug light and several citronella candles cast a dim glow