Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 81584 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81584 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
“You don’t get to decide when I’m ready.”
“Wasn’t tryin’ to.”
“I’ve wanted to be with you since that first night,” she spat. “It doesn’t have anything to do with what’s been going on back home.”
“I hear you.”
“Really?” she asked dubiously. “Because you’ve still got that fucking look on your face.”
“Not sure what look you’re talking about.”
“That, oh no, I made a mistake look.”
“Don’t think it’s a mistake, baby,” I replied. “Just don’t want to do the wrong thing here.”
“The wrong thing would be assuming you know better than I do what I’m ready for. I’m a grown adult. I’ve been dealing with stressful shit, yes. I haven’t been taking good care of myself—I know that.” She crossed her arms over her bare chest. “That doesn’t mean that I’m broken or something.”
“I don’t think you’re broken.”
“It happened. It sucked. If I never had to think about Scott again, I’d throw a fucking party. Now, I just want to move on. With you. Are you in or out?”
“There’s that fire,” I breathed, a smile pulling at my lips.
“Yeah, great,” she bitched, throwing her hands in the air. “Now, instead of post-coital cuddling, I want to smack you because you’re being an idiot.”
My smile fell. “Carin’ about your state of mind doesn’t make me an idiot.”
“I’m fine,” she barked. “I was actually great when I woke up this morning. I didn’t have to go to work and deal with the creep. I’d finally made the decision to get the fuck out of that place and let the chips fall. I felt lighter than I have in months, and I opened my eyes to you sitting there looking all hot with doughnuts.”
“And now you’re yellin’ at me.”
“Now, I’m pissed.”
“Well, you can be pissed. That’s not gonna change the fact that I damn near imploded when you walked up yesterday lookin’ like you hadn’t slept in a month and a strong wind would blow you over.” Bending down I grabbed a rubber band out of my jeans pocket and tied my hair back from my face. “I’m gonna fuckin’ marry your ass, so if I wanna worry about how you’re doin’ and debate whether or not we should slow this down so it fuckin’ lasts—you’re just gonna have to deal.”
I hadn’t raised my voice. I didn’t want to yell at her for any reason. But the last few words were forced out through clenched teeth, and her eyes were wide with surprise.
“You’re gonna marry my ass?” she asked quietly.
“Feel like I’m makin’ it clear, and you just keep missin’ the point.”
Her lips twitched before a full-blown smile spread across her face. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
“I’m going to get dressed,” she announced, walking toward me. “Before I jump you again.”
“I choose option two,” I replied as she reached me, rising up on her toes so she could kiss me long and deep.
“No way,” she said, dancing backward. “I’ve never taken the Pacific Coast Highway. I want to see it.”
She grabbed her bag off the floor and carried it into the bathroom, swinging her bare ass from side to side.
After I’d recovered from the view, I pulled my clothes back on, rolled last night’s up in a ball and shoved them into my saddlebag, and pulled out my phone as I waited.
I had a text from Mick asking me to call him.
“Gray,” he answered.
“What’s up?”
“Found him last night,” Mick replied. I watched the bathroom door. “He was out at a bar with a couple friends. Closed the place down. Caught up with them outside and gave them all a well-deserved lesson. Made sure they understood their little friend was responsible for the good time they were havin’.”
“Got away clean?”
“Full masks, no cuts, drove one of the beaters from the garage—no plates.”
“Good.”
“He held up all right, but I have a feelin’ tonight will be a different story. By the end there, he was lookin’ a bit scared.”
“No face shots.”
“Got it.”
“That it?”
“How’s Frank?”
“She’s currently singin’ something in the bathroom while she gets dressed.”
“What’s she singin’?” he asked in amusement.
“Does it matter?”
“She’s singin’ Fleetwood Mac, you’ve got a problem. Anythin’ else, and you’re good.”
“The fuck are you talkin’ about?”
“She only sings Fleetwood Mac if she’s upset. Never fuckin’ fails, man. She’d stay over with Myla, and everyone could hear her in the bathroom. Used to drive the boys crazy when they were teenagers because it’d get stuck in their heads for days.”
“Doesn’t sound like Fleetwood Mac,” I replied, grinning.
“Good news. I’ll keep you updated, yeah?”
“You got the email I sent you?”
“Yup. Impressed by the scope of what you had on him.”
“I had some time.”
“Clearly.”
“She stopped singin’.”
“Then I’ll let you go. Have fun.”
Mick hung up just as Frankie strode out of the bathroom in the jeans she’d worn the night before and a black tank top.
“I’m ready,” she announced, dropping the bag on the bed.