Up to Date (Better Date than Never Book 8) Read Online Free PDF Page A

him to the bottle. Or that he’d make time for me.
    “You’re a runner?” Greg asked, breaking the awkward silence.
    “Every evening.” Since the front door was still open, I pushed it shut, then wiped away the rest of my sweat. Ick. Not that it mattered what I looked like since I wasn’t interested in dating him. I kicked off my shoes, then turned back around to face him again. “It’s the best time to run.”
    “I beg to differ.” The corner of his mouth rose. “Every morning is the best time to run. That’s why I’ve made it a habit.”
    Greg was a runner? Interesting. . . .
    I stepped forward, shook my head, and suppressed a smirk. “There is nothing more beautiful than watching the sunset as you run.”
    “Wrong again.” He took a step toward me. “The sunrise is the most incredible sight you’ll ever see.”
    Mary Ann made an exasperated sound. “If you’ll both excuse me, I need to make a phone call. Yeah.”
    My mouth twitched at Greg’s determined expression. “You sure are stubborn in your erroneous beliefs.”
    “And you’re cute with your mistaken conclusions.” His gorgeous eyes danced and he came even closer. “I’m trying to picture how amazing you’ll look when you realize I’m right.”
    I raised a brow. “Is that a challenge?”
    He grinned, standing only a few inches away now. “Definitely. I can’t run tomorrow morning, though, because I work graveyard tonight.”
    My mood deflated immediately. Ah, work. Where had I heard that excuse before? That’s right. All. My. Life. “No worries. We’re each entitled to our own opinions, so let’s just leave it at that.”
    His face fell. “Did I say something wrong?”
    “No,” I lied, avoiding his eyes.
    “Ginger . . .” He sighed, then surprised me by gesturing to the wall across from my couch. “That picture is amazing. You’re very talented.”
    I followed the direction of his gaze. The rectangular painting was four-feet by two-feet with swirls of white and an arch of yellow across the deep-blue background. I’d painted the scene when my dad had promised to go to rehab. “You remembered I’m an artist.”
    His eyes met mine. “I remember everything we talked about that night.”
    “Me, too.” Butterflies danced in my belly. I couldn’t believe I’d just admitted that to him.
    “Your painting’s very emotional.” He circled his hand around the white swirls, then stopped next to the curved yellow strokes. “This feels like the promise of a new day.”
    “More like a broken promise.” Every muscle in my body froze as I realized what I’d blurted. I’d gotten way too comfortable with Greg somehow and I so wanted to take my words back.
    His brows came together. “Who broke a promise to you?”
    “Ignore me.” I waved a hand, trying to dismiss the seriousness of what I’d admitted. “Just the artist being dramatic. It’s practically required if you want that title, you know.”
    He reached up, his fingers brushing my cheek. “I don’t want to ignore you.”
    My heart melted. I wanted to forget reason and give him a chance. Give us a chance. But I knew that wasn’t practical.
    I stepped back. “It’s late. I need to get cleaned up and ready for bed.”
    His expression filled with confusion. “You’re avoiding me, but I can’t figure out why.”
    “Don’t be silly.” I strode to the door, grabbed the handle, and pulled it open. “Thanks again for changing our light bulb.”
    I mentally cringed at how lame that sounded.
    “It was a strenuous task, but glad I could help.” He lifted his tool bag, followed me to the door, then stopped at the threshold. He turned around and leaned close to my ear, his breath tickling my skin. “We’re going to take that run, you know. It’s just a matter of when.”
    Tingles danced across my chest and I had the distinct feeling he wasn’t just talking about running. My throat went dry and I swallowed. “Good-bye, Greg.”
    He straightened, the corner of his