Free Outside The Lines by Kimberly Kincaid Page A

with a shrug. “We’re not dating again, if that’s what you’re asking.”
    “ Jesus, you’re so formal.” Aaron’s wicked smile did double-time. “You might not be dating , but something tells me Jules isn’t ruining your Rock-of-Gibraltar composure by keeping things all business. So do you want to tell me the truth here, or should I use my aforementioned imagination?”
    Shit. If Blake didn’t give him something to go on, Aaron would probably have half a porno written in his head in about fifteen seconds. “ Okay, fine. We might’ve, uh, gotten a little carried away this morning in one of the conference offices at the hospital.”
    Aaron’s quick burst of laughter echoed off the ball-scuffed walls of the racquetball court. “Damn. Here I thought you were all calm and composed.”
    “I told you. Kryptonite.” Yeah. He really needed to forget about her shoes, too. Freaking ankle straps should be against the law.
    “Relax, Superman. At least one of us is getting laid,” Aaron said, but Blake cut the notion to the quick.
    “Sorry to break the illusion, my friend . We got interrupted.” Blake kept the by-who part to himself, knowing full well he wouldn’t live it down until he was ninety if he admitted he’d been cock-blocked by his own mother.
    “Argh, you’re kidding me,” came the sympathy groan , but thankfully Aaron didn’t follow it up with a bid for details. “So how’d you leave it with her?”
    “I didn’t, really. It was pretty awkward, and Jules kind of rushed off before we could talk about it. She’s still…” Guarded. Headstrong. Mine. “Hard to read,” Blake choked out, and where the hell had that thought come from?
    “Why don’t you just ask her?”
    “Huh?” Blake shook off the surprise of his clearly addled brain to peg his cousin with a stare.
    “You mean to tell me that with all those fancy Ivy League degrees you’ve got, you can’t figure this out? I mean, you dig her, clearly she digs you. For the love of God, man, it’s not that complicated. Go find the woman and talk to her. Clear the air one way or the other.”
    Blake opened his mouth to argue, to let loose a laundry list of reasons why impulsively going to find Jules to hash this out headlined the list of Flawlessly Shitastic Ideas .
    But then his mind coughed up a memory, eight years old but still sharp around the edges, of the note Jules had left on his kitchen table, full of vague excuses why she couldn’t move to New York City with him, why they couldn’t get married and why she didn’t want to see him again. Angry, confused, and okay, yeah, desperate, Blake had called her apartment for twelve hours straight, determined to find her and get the truth.
    But she never answered, and he’d realized he might well have the truth, right there in his fingers. Reading her words had been devastating enough.
    Hearing her say out loud that she didn’t love him would have ruined him, and so rather than fight for her, he’d packed his belongings and let her go.
    No w ay in hell was he doing that again.
    “You know what , Aaron? That is a brilliant idea.” Blake capped his water bottle and snatched up his racquet with way more speed than finesse. “Sorry to cut out on the rest of our game, but I’ve got to go.”
    “ Yeah, yeah. You can thank me later.” Aaron shooed him toward the door, but the grin on his face canceled out his feigned irritation.
    “I will,” Blake said, his eyes on the door. “Right after I finish what I started.”
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

 
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER SEVEN
     
    Jules leaned across the narrow work table bisecting her cozy apartment kitchen, the muscles in her forearm tightening with sweet, familiar tension as she grated the last of the mozzarella cheese from her fridge. Her burn had healed down to a slightly tender patch of skin, still protected by a large Band-Aid when she cooked, but that was a lot more manageable than the gauze and tape of last