Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 118(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 118(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
“Just a place to lay my head.” Landon shrugs, and I know he’s downplaying it to make me feel comfortable. Maybe he isn’t the bloodsucker I thought he was. Heck, this whole day isn’t turning out how I thought it would. Which is an incredibly good thing.
"I hope this is okay and you're not being nice to me out of pity." I don’t want to be a charity case. I can’t figure out why Landon would want to do that, but then again, I didn't foresee Bob Wilson wanting to put a baby inside of me either.
"No, you're not here out of pity." Landon stands, and I notice he's changed out of his slacks and buttoned-up shirt into a T-shirt and sweatpants. He still holds an air of authority, even when dressed casually. "You slept for a while, so you need to eat."
He's not asking if I'm hungry; he’s telling me I need food. I don't think he wants to phrase it as a question because I could protest. He's worded it to get what he wants, and that seems very lawyer-like, but in this regard, he's doing it in a sweet way that has me nodding in agreement.
"I could eat." I try to rub some of the sleep out of my eyes when I notice he’s taken my shoes off.
Sleeping so deeply gave me a sense of safety, and now that I’m awake, everything is fine, more than fine.
“Any allergies I should know about?”
“No.”
“All right, I’ll make us dinner.”
“You’re going to cook?”
“You think I can’t cook?”
“I didn’t say that,” I rush to correct, not wanting to be rude. He’s been nothing but kind to me. “I just thought you were well, you know, and ah…”
“I’m teasing you. Yes, I’m going to cook for us.”
“Can I watch?” He holds out his hand for me to come with him, and when I take it, he pulls me to my feet.
“You want a drink?”
“Water?”
Landon releases my hand but places it on my lower back, guiding me toward the kitchen. “How about water and some juice? You’re still pale.” He pauses to look at me, and then to my surprise, he brushes his thumb across my cheek. The gesture is somehow sweet yet intimate.
"Is this your way of saying I look like crap?"
"You could never look like crap." He pulls a chair out from under the giant kitchen island, and I take a seat. His fingers drift up my back before he steps away, heading for the refrigerator that I mistook for a cabinet until he opened it. This place really is fancy, but I think having an icemaker is living large.
"Now I can't take credit for everything. I didn't make the orange juice." He pours me a glass, and I can tell that it's fresh. "Steven helps me keep this place together and stock things for me."
"Like a house manager?"
"Yeah, but I'm on my own for the next couple of weeks. I guess other people get to take vacations," he says teasingly.
"I am definitely not other people."
"Shit, I didn't—”
"I know," I say and then give him a smile.
"Do you eat meat?"
"Yes." Although not often, because it’s too expensive. "What time is it?" I glance around for a clock, not seeing one. It's then I notice that along the entire wall behind me are windows. Thank goodness they are covered because I’m guessing we’re high up, and I’d rather not know.
Landon pulls a container of steaks out and begins to prepare them. "It's almost ten."
"What?" Holy crap. I start to get up.
"Where are you going? Do you have plans?"
I pause, looking up at him. "No, it's just late."
"So?" He shrugs. "We're both adults. We can stay up as late as we like."
"Right." I laugh and settle back into the seat. "I guess I'm not used to being in a man's house so late."
“Good.” Landon goes back to cooking, and I’m not sure what to make of the comment. “You’re a dog walker, right?”
“Yeah, kind of.”
“Kind of?”
“I’ve done odd jobs since I can remember. When my grams was alive, things were tight, so I started running errands for people in our building. The dog walking slowly got more popular, and it came with a nicer clientele. Okay, maybe not nicer, but I was getting clients who had disposable income, so they paid more. Now it’s all gone down the drain because of Bob,” I huff. At least I don't have to have his baby. “I was thinking about being a courier again, but my bike got stolen, and the seat really hurt my vagina.” It’s not until the word "vagina" comes out of my mouth that I realize all that I have rambled on about. “Sorry,” I cringe. “TMI.”
“Not at all.” Landon is full-on smiling. “It’s probably best to stay away from being a bike courier. You know, for the sake of your vagina.”