Today we have Cindy Miles here to share an excerpt from her newest release, STUPID LOVE.
Excerpt for Stupid Love by Cindy Miles
Memory Thibodeaux would not get out of my head.
I damn sure hadn’t planned on that happening.
With my hands clasped behind my head, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling fan as it whirred above me. Guess I thought if I stared long enough, I’d get sleepy. Forget about long black hair. That smart mouth. A lazy smile. And violet blue eyes that lit up whenever she spoke. Forget about witty conversations, a soft heart that would take time to escort an aging Ranger into a baseball game. Forget it.
It didn’t work. My mind just kept replaying the night on the bridge. Memory’s crazy ghost story and even crazier stunt.
And that brief, momentary kiss that had caught me off guard.
My insistence that we just stay friends.
I groaned out loud. Draped my arm over my eyes. I knew that kiss was just Memory being spontaneous. I hadn’t known her very long, but I knew her well enough to know that. Yet when she’d kissed me? Pressed her mouth against mine and leaned into me? Yeah, she’d gotten my attention all right. And here I was at three o’clock in the fucking morning, unable to sleep because of it. Was I an idiot? My head so easily turned by a pair of long legs and sexy mouth? I’d had gorgeous women before, but I couldn’t remember them annoying the hell out of me like Memory Thibodeaux did.
No doubt about it—I knew it was a bad idea to put too much thought into Memory Thibodeaux. Hell—I knew she liked to play the field. Knew she liked to party hard. Knew she didn’t take life too seriously.
But for some reason, I sensed something else lingering inside of Memory. I saw it in her eyes, no matter how fleeting, when she looked at me with that long, curious gaze. Like she was trying to pick me apart.
Or shut me out.
It’d been two days since that night on the bridge. And for two damn days she was on my mind. In my sleep. During the day at school. And at work.
Just then, my cell buzzed on my nightstand. Thinking it might be Mom, I grabbed it.
Memory’s goofy, cross-eyed face appeared on the screen just before her text message, and something surged through me. Excitement? What the fuck? I squinted against the neon light and read her message.
Memory: I bet you’re wide awake, thinkin’ of me. Yeah?
“Jesus,” I muttered out loud. I closed my eyes and let the hand holding the phone fall against my chest. “Jesus.” Maybe I shouldn’t respond. Maybe I should just let her think I was asleep. I waited for a few seconds. The cell buzzed again. Damn. I sighed, held the phone up. Looked at the screen.
Memory: Hellloooo??? 🙂
In the dark, I let out another breath. Persistent girl.
Me: Memory, it’s 3am.
Memory: So? I can’t sleep, thanks to you.
Me: Why thanks to me?
Memory: Because you’re under my skin, Jace Beaumont, that’s why. Damn your hide.
A smile pulled at my mouth. Here I was, grinning like a damn fool in the dark at some words from a girl I’d just met. I knew it was stupid to engage her on this, but here I was, engaging. And just like I’d regretted a long night of drinking with a next-morning hangover, I’d regret this middle-of-the-night conversation with Memory. One way or another.
Me: All right, Ms. Thibodeaux. I’ll bite. Why am I under your skin?
Memory: That’s the thing, see? I just can’t figure it out. I think you annoy me.
That actually made me chuckle out loud. So Memory Thibodeaux didn’t possess an internal filter. Why did that surprise me?
Me: Is that so?
Memory: Yeah, that’s def so and here’s why. You know—in the event you might want to correct the problem. 🙂 First and foremost, you didn’t take the bait. I actually kissed you and you did Not Take the Bait. Annoying. Frustrating. And quite preposterous if you want the truth of it and because of that hesitation I’m stuck. With you in my head. So in this, Mr. Beaumont, lies the problem. That and you should consider loosening up a bit. 🙂 You’re way too tense, boy.
I blinked. Stared at the text message, re-read it.
No filter didn’t quite fully cover it.
Yet I smiled again. Was that part of the attraction? No filter? Was I a sucker for punishment or what?
Me: Do you always speak your mind so bluntly?
Memory: Absolutely.
Me: Not a bad way to be I guess.
Memory: So? What do you intend to do about this problem, Mr. Beaumont? I can’t afford too many sleepless nights on your behalf. I need my beauty rest, you see.
Me: I guess we’ll just have to wait and see how things go, Ms. Thibodeaux.
Memory: I guess we will, Mr. Beaumont. Now stop botherin me, will ya? I have an eight o’clock class. Sheesh. 🙂
Me: ’Night, Memory.
Memory: ’Night back, Jace.
I set my phone on the nightstand and continued staring into the darkness. I could hear Memory’s unique accent, even in text. She was…very likable. The kind of personality people gravitated toward. Lively. Unpredictable. Fun.
Memory Thibodeaux was dangerous to a guy like me. It’d be so easy to fall for her. She was…Christ. She was beyond beautiful. And what made her that way, to me, anyway, was her larger-than-life personality. The way her eyes sparkled. The wide smile that showed a daring spirit. And her ability to stop in the middle of a parking lot to escort an elderly man with a cane into a ball park without letting him know she was helping him instead of visa versa. She was…fucking perplexing as hell.
Dangerous.
I flipped onto my stomach, punched the pillow a time or two, then tried to settle my thoughts and go to sleep. And after much tossing and turning, finally, I did.
When the alarm went off at seven thirty it felt as though someone had poured a bag of sand in my eyes. And dammit, the first conscious thought I had was of the text conversation I’d had just a few hours before.
It almost put me in a mood. A foul one.
If Memory Thibodeaux had just left me alone, would I have forgotten about her? Instead, here I was, scratchy-eyed and wondering what she was doing at that same moment. Don’t be a fool, Beaumont. Don’t.