Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 83211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
He hands me the gauge. He’s … angry, maybe. It’s a look I don’t think I’ve seen on Banks’s face before. Yet I don’t think he’s angry with me.
“At least get the fuckers to pick you up,” he says. “Make them show you a little respect.”
My heart swells at the unexpected burst of kindness from Banks.
“What do you want me to do with this?” I ask, twiddling the gauge between my fingers.
“Put it in your glove box and keep it. Then you’ll have one.”
“I don’t want to take yours.”
He grins. “I have a hundred of them. It’s fine. Trust me.”
We exchange a soft smile.
“What’s the verdict?” I ask. “Do I need a new tire? Just some air?”
“It’s fine. You just need your computer reset.”
I grimace. “That sounds expensive.”
“It’s not. Just bring your car by my shop this week, and I’ll reset it for you.”
I gasp. “Banks Carmichael, are you doing me another favor?” I swat his shoulder. “Look at you, being so sweet.”
“Hardly. I’m saving myself a step because you’ll mention it to Ashley, and she’ll mention it to Maddox, and he’ll mention it to me like he does every damn car issue.” He pauses and stands tall. “Well, that makes sense since I am the resident car expert.”
I giggle. He’s so adorable when he wants to be.
He’s about to speak when an engine starts, and a car comes down the road from the cul-de-sac. It slows when it gets to us.
“Hey, Banksy,” a man who looks like an older Banks says. “You must be Sara.”
I nod and wave. “I am.”
“I’m Kixx, the father of this brood. This is Damaris.” He juts a thumb toward a beautiful lady in the passenger’s seat.
She’s waving too. “Dinner is at three. You’re welcome to come. We’d love to have you.”
“Thank you for the invitation,” I say.
Kixx looks at Banks. “Going to the grocery store. We’ll be back shortly.” He looks at me again. “Nice to meet you, Sara.”
“You too,” I say.
With a beep of their horn, they’re gone.
Banks looks at me and shakes his head, a grumpy smile on his lips. “No, Sara. You cannot have my parents too. They’re mine, dammit.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. He’s a petulant child who’s just had his favorite toy taken away. I can barely hold back a snort.
How this man goes from this to the sexy fucker at Moss’s last night is beyond me. I’m not mad about it, though. Not even a little bit.
“Don’t worry, Banks. I won’t be there this afternoon.”
“Good. When did you say you’re moving again? I need all the attention back on me.”
I laugh. “Tuesday.”
“Great.”
“Good,” I say.
He watches me for a long moment, a playful smile on his lips. Instead of volleying with me anymore, he turns toward his house.
“Later,” he says.
“Later.”
I watch him go and assess the softness in my chest. It worries me. I’m not soft.
But why do I feel like too much time with that man will make me that way?
Better get my guard up and fast.
7
Banks
Mom thrusts a package of toilet paper into my chest. “Here.”
“Oof.” I take them from her. “How did you know they were mine?”
“Because I didn’t order them.”
“Could’ve been Foxx.”
She lifts a brow and sighs. “Everyone else in this family has their own Prime account except you.”
I lift a brow right back at her. “Because I’m minimizing my environmental impact. There’s no sense in all of us having an account when we all live right here and can share.”
Mom shakes her head.
“What?” I ask. “If you didn’t want us being so close, you shouldn’t have bought us all houses on the same street. It’s all your fault when you think about it.”
Dad comes down the hallway, a kitchen towel over his shoulder. He stops when he sees me holding the package. “One question.”
“Shoot.”
“Why can’t you just stop at the store on your way home from work and grab a package of toilet paper?”
“Easy,” I say. “Two reasons. One is that you don’t think about needing toilet paper until you need it. As in, when you’re on the toilet. So ordering it when it’s on your mind is better than running out. You feel me?”
Dad just stares at me.
“Two, have you ever tried to get toilet paper and paper towels at the store? It takes up your whole damn cart. I either get food or I can get toilet paper and paper towels. There isn’t an option for both.”
“You could get smaller sizes,” Dad suggests.
“Wait.” Mom holds a hand in the air. “Back up. When did you start going to the store? You actually have food in your house?”
I set the package by the back door. “I went once and that was my experience. I’m trying not to repeat it.”
Dad shakes his head.
“You go in thinking you’re going to grab some lunch meat and call it a day,” I say. “But no. There are forty-six-thousand kinds of turkey. Then there’s the family reunion happening at the deli counter. Ten minutes in, and I’m ready to offer to tell Uncle Bob to fuck off myself and I don’t even know the guy.”