Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 98643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“I know, I know,” Brooks said evenly before he removed the spoon from my hand. “It’s just when I think of you and an investment banker, it’s… surprising.”
I turned so I was facing the sink. I began washing my hands as my mouth continued to spew complete and utter bullshit.
“Yeah, well, he may wear suits and shit, but he’s a freak in bed,” I insisted. “I mean, we’re talking toys and cuffs… that man got the full Jules treatment,” I said with a nod. “Why do you think he decided to stay in Casper two extra days? Only time we left the motel room was to get some more condoms and lu—”
I froze because in the process of turning around so I could be looking at Brooks while I convinced him that I was still “the same ole Jules,” my eyes connected with Flynn’s. He was standing in the open door several feet behind Brooks and he did not look happy.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I muttered under my breath.
“Did you say something—” Brooks began to say even as he shifted his weight with the intent of looking behind him.
“Nothing!” I practically shouted. Brooks jerked his eyes back to mine. I could tell he thought I was going nuts, but the last thing I needed was for him to see through all my lies. “I heard something,” I yelled before catching how loud I was being. “Uncle Curtis, was that you calling for Brooks just now?” I called over my shoulder. I didn’t even wait for a response before steering Brooks toward the stairs. “He’s coming, Uncle Curtis. I told him about the boxes of receipts you needed help with.”
When he heard the word receipts, Brooks began shaking his head. “No more receipts!” he called before he began plodding up the stairs. I knew my cover would be blown the second Brooks reached his uncle, and with Flynn still watching me like I was a tiny pebble he was trying to remove from the sole of his heavy boot, I couldn’t risk Brooks or Uncle Curtis seeing us anywhere near each other.
My prayers that Flynn had magically disappeared didn’t work, so I did my best to act cool as I ignored him and returned to stirring the stew.
“Curtis told one of the guys you needed help carrying some pots down to the bunkhouse?” Flynn asked coldly before he entered the kitchen and moved toward me. I held my breath as his hands reached out, but all he did was take one of the massive stockpots off the stove. I turned off the flame on the smallest pot that held the stew for the family which included Curtis, Brooks, Xavier and me. When I went to reach for the second stockpot, Flynn grunted, “Leave it. Thing probably weighs more than you do. I’ll come back for it.”
If the man had left out the snide remark about the stew weighing more than me, I probably would have happily left both pots to him. But his pissy attitude and condescending tone pressed all my buttons—and not the good ones.
“It’s fine,” I announced. “I’m stronger than I look.”
Flynn made a little grunting sound but otherwise ignored me. I picked up the pot, which was in fact very heavy, and practically waddled out of the house. Flynn was several steps ahead of me. He carried the pot like it weighed nothing more than a cup of coffee.
As slow as I was moving with the stockpot, it was made all that much worse because I had a delicious view of Flynn’s ass and the flexing of his back and arm muscles.
I expected Flynn to merely leave me behind, but when he slowed his steps, I eventually caught up to him. I felt like I was going to pass out.
“Stew?” Flynn asked pointedly as he looked down at the pot of stew before shifting his gaze to me. The asshole was calling me out on the pretend guy I’d made up to Brooks.
“Stewart,” I corrected. “What about him?” I asked as sweat began pouring off my forehead. It was all I could do not to let any of it end up in the stew that was causing the sweat in the first place.
“Convenient,” Flynn said simply.
Was the dick actually implying that I was lying?
You are lying, you twit.
“What does that mean?” I snapped while simultaneously ignoring the voice of logic in my brain. I was out of breath and my arms ached, but I refused to show any of that to a man who could wield so much power over me, whether it was with a sensuous kiss or a cruel rejection.
Flynn didn’t answer me, which was good because I wouldn’t have been able to talk anymore at that point anyway. I had to preserve my oxygen so I didn’t keel over in front of the dick. I was reliant on following Flynn once again, and what had probably only been minutes seemed to turn into hours.