Free Tell Me a Story (The Story Series Book 1) by Tamara Lush

“Mmhmm. So have you always liked brunettes?”
    “Yeah. I have. Ever since I was a teenager.”
    “And yet you’ve spent most of your life in Florida. Where the gold standard is blonde, blue-eyed, Hooters waitresses.” I rolled over on my stomach again and stared at him.
    He shrugged. “That type never did anything for me. Now, when I go to Paris? I walk around with a hard-on because of all those little dark-haired women like you.”
    That made me chuckle and I bit his arm. “I’ll remember that if we’re ever in Paris together.”
    We lounged for a bit in his bed, kissing. I saw him get that sleepy, post-sex droop to his eyelids. I was wide-awake, charged with electricity and adrenaline.
    And worry.
    As much as I wanted a repeat performance of Caleb’s considerable talents, I didn’t want to spend the night. It was too intimate, too much, and too soon. It’s not that I didn’t want to cuddle and sleep in his arms. I did. Very much. But waking up next to him in the morning and saying an uncomfortable goodbye seemed even worse. Like it would cheapen what we shared somehow.
    “Caleb,” I whispered. “I’m going home.”
    His eyes snapped open. “You are? Why?”
    I ran a finger down his chest. “I have to open the bookstore early, and um, I think it’s best.”
    He bit his lip and nodded. “Okay. Let me walk you out.”
    See? He didn’t really want me to stay. This was a one-night thing for both of us. The sooner I got that through my head, the better.
    I gathered my things, put on most of my clothes—the stockings and garter ended up stuffed in my purse—and we stepped in the elevator. He cupped my face and kissed me softly as it took us to the lobby. I tried not to glance at the old man behind the desk as Caleb held the door open for me.
    “You don’t have to go, you know.”
    “I know. But I don’t want things to be awkward.” We had arrived at my car and I felt ashamed at how the green paint had faded on the roof.
    “Awkward how?”
    “I don’t want you to think…that I think this is more than what it is…”
    “Emma, here’s what this is: really fucking hot. And I want to do it again, okay? Do you want to?”
    I nodded, trying not to show my elation.
    A grin spread on his face. “Good. I’ll call you tomorrow, then. Get some rest.”
    He planted a soft and lingering kiss on my lips, then a quick brush of his mouth across my forehead, and watched me drive off.

9
    D espite his words , I assumed that would be it. I thought he’d never call or text. Some guys were like that.
    But Caleb called the following night.
    “Hey, doll.”
    Surprised, I fumbled and my cell dropped to the carpet. I was knitting a sweater for Sarah’s rescue mutt, trying to zone out and not think about the incredible sex we’d had the night before.
    We ended up talking for two hours about nothing and everything. Our conversation was flirty but not sexual, smart and not forced. In short, it was sublime. I grinned throughout the call and slid onto the rug, my back against the sofa. My body responded to his voice, sparking when he laughed and glowing every time he called me doll .
    Like I was a goddamned teenager.
    “Want to have brunch tomorrow?” he asked when the clock struck midnight. “I’m flying to Miami late afternoon so I can prepare for an early morning meeting on Monday. But I’d love to see you before.”
    “Of course,” I purred.
    The next morning, Caleb picked me up five minutes early. He kissed me on the cheek, and I flushed hot in his presence. Brunch was easy and fun, and he had all the right answers for everything. Which is why little warning bells started going off in my head.
    “Favorite movie?” I asked.
    “ The Godfather: Part Two ,” he responded.
    “Music?”
    “Jazz. And Arcade Fire.”
    I sipped my mimosa, impressed.
    And one more: “If you could choose anyone to have dinner with tonight, who would it be?”
    He reached for my hand and laughed. “Other than you?”
    Oh, he