Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92067 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92067 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Her gaze has gone back to the television. She’s not completely zoned-out again, but it’s enough that I can plan my attack—which I do. I gently reach over and pull her body down and move her exactly where I want her. Halfway through, I feel her body tighten, but I ignore it. I move her pillows where they’re plopped up, but her head is on them. Once that’s achieved. I grab her hand, link our fingers and pull so that she’s forced to rest her arm against my stomach. I do all of this without pausing to take her in. I do it as if it’s nothing out of the ordinary—which it’s not. Still, I know Gabby has trouble being alone with anyone now—especially men. That’s another tidbit that she shared with me back in my room late one night when I let her drink her sorrows away in a safe place. It occurs to me she was pregnant that night. Of course, she didn’t know, had even taken the morning-after pill. She said the doctor told her the baby was healthy, so I push my worries aside. I go back to concentrating on the here and now. I need Gabby to rest. The woman has been pushing herself way too much. I know why, I’ve done similar. It doesn’t mean I have to like that she’s doing it. She has a baby to take care of.
“King, maybe you should go—”
“The Rock,” I mutter, turning my attention back to the television.
“Huh?”
“Another kick-ass Cage movie. Arguably his best. The Rock,” I explain.
“Oh.”
“Your turn,” I continue. I’m going to get her to relax if it kills both of us.
“Raising Arizona.”
“Seriously?”
“That’s the funniest movie ever made. It was hil-lar-eeee-uss,” she says, drawing the word out and pronouncing it not exactly right but in a way to exaggerate it even further, making me smile.
“It was pretty good,” I allow.
“You know it,” she insists and then she settles into her pillow, turning on her side and watching the television. I chance a look at her to notice there’s almost a smile on her lips. It doesn’t touch her eyes, but I’ll take it.
“Face Off,” I counter.
Her grin deepens. “I’m sensing King is a man who likes his movies full of guns and car chases.” She’s not wrong, so I say nothing. “I think you need to broaden your horizons, so I’m going to say Sorcerous Apprentice.”
“Say what?”
“It’s action and adventure, but you get to throw magic in there. It’s also about a love so deep that it lasts no matter the obstacles. Plus, it’s a love that’s not even about sex. It’s emotional and therefore, the movie is a classic.”
“I will accept your choice because it’s a pretty cool movie. That said, I’d like to warn you that you are slowly going off the deep end here and you need to rein it in. If you try to name that freaking PIG movie, you lose your movie rights for a week.”
This gets me a giggle. “Did you even watch that movie?” she asks.
“Nope, and I don’t want to.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Woman, he plays a truffle hunter. I’m not even sure I know what a truffle hunter is. I do know that I’ve been in a lot of woods. I’ve seen deer hunters, rabbit, squirrel, elk, and even bear hunters. What I have not seen is a fucking truffle hunter.” My rant gets me a full-on laugh, and this one manages to reach her eyes. Goal achieved.
“You’re a nut,” she mutters—still smiling.
“I’m right,” I argue.
“Whatever you say, crazy man. It’s your turn to pick again.”
“Gone in 60 Seconds,” I say at once.
“Gross,” she mutters.
“Why is that movie gross?” I ask, fighting my own laughter.
“Two words.”
“And those would be?”
“Angelina Jolie.”
At that, I can’t keep my laughter in. “What the fuck is wrong with Angelina Jolie?”
“Name one movie she was in as the main attraction that was worth watching,” she grumbles.
“Is this where I tell you I don’t watch a lot of movies?” I laugh.
“This is where you tell me I’m right about Angelina Jolie.”
“I’ll semi-agree. How’s that?”
“How can you semi-agree?” she asks, her forehead curling in confusion.
“Woman, I can’t paint a broad stroke on her when I’ve only watched two of her movies in my life.”
“Which two?” she asks. I give her a look and she rolls her eyes. “Okay, besides Gone in 60 Seconds, which movie?”
“The Bone Collector.”
“Oh, that’s a good one, but because of Denzel, not her. He doesn’t know how to make bad movies. He elevates horrible movies into passable movies based solely on his talent and total alpha aura.” I stare at her, and I know I’m doing it like the woman has developed three heads. “What?” she asks. “It’s the truth.”
“You’re whacked,” I laugh.
“I’m not—” She stops talking abruptly, her hand going to her stomach.