Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
His truck—a dark gray Ford F-150 with an aggressive grille—sits in the driveway, freshly washed and gleaming like it just rolled off the lot. North has too much other stuff stored in the garage to fit the beast in there.
I grin to myself, feeling a little mischievous. He has no idea I’m here, and the element of surprise is always fun. Especially with North, who has this way of keeping me on my toes. I’m glad I get to give a little back.
My boots crunch on the salted walkway as I approach his front door, the sound loud in the otherwise silent neighborhood. I take a deep breath and knock firmly, my knuckles rapping against the solid black lacquered door. For a moment, nothing happens. Then I hear footsteps, followed by the sound of the lock clicking.
The door swings open, and there he is, North Paquette, in all his off-duty glory. He’s wearing a plain black long-sleeve Henley that hugs his broad frame, paired with gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips.
It’s his face that captivates me though. His light brown hair is longish on top and wavy. It has that perpetually mussed look like he’s been running his hands through it and is slightly at odds with his lean, angular face. His cheekbones are sharp, his nose thin and his eyebrows arching over intelligent, sparkling blue eyes that are about two shades lighter than my own. They are currently widened with shock.
“Farren?” he says, his voice rough with disbelief. His gaze darts from me to the backpack on my shoulder. “What are you doing here?”
“Hi to you too,” I say with a smirk, brushing past him and stepping into the warmth of his entryway. “Surprise!”
He turns to face me, his brow furrowed. “I… what—how—why are you here?”
I laugh, setting my bag down by the door. “You’ve got a lot of questions, don’t you? It’s simple, North. I didn’t have any plans tonight, and neither do you, so here I am.”
He shuts the door but doesn’t move from it. “How do you know I don’t have plans?”
I appraise him, trying to figure out if he’s putting me off or just trying to get me to think. It’s difficult for me to think of anything past jumping his bones, because that’s why I’m here. I toss my thumb at the door. “I can go if you want. No skin off my back.”
He shakes his head with a smirk. “I don’t want you to go. Just trying to point out you could have come here to find me not available. And speaking of which… why are you without plans? Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. I figured you’d be hanging with Rafferty.”
I shrug, pulling off my coat and tossing it onto a nearby chair. “We’re doing dinner tomorrow but tonight Rafferty’s got Tempe coming over, so I figured I’d give them some privacy. And I took a gamble you didn’t have any plans…” I trail off, letting the implication hang in the air.
His lips part like he wants to say something, but no words come out. I step closer, grinning up at him. “Are you going to invite me in, or are you just going to stand there looking like a fish out of water?”
“You already invited yourself in,” he mutters, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not much I can do about it now.”
“Exactly.” I glance around, taking in the polished hardwood floors, the open floor plan, and the minimalist décor. It’s very North—clean, modern and understated, with a few personal touches like framed hockey photos on the walls and a well-stocked bar cart in the corner.
He narrows his eyes slightly, like he’s trying to figure out what angle I’m playing. “And what exactly are we doing tonight?”
I close the gap between us. My pulse kicks up as I tilt my head, looking up at him through my lashes. “Whatever we want,” I say, my voice low and teasing. “Unless you’ve got somewhere else to be?”
His gaze softens, his lips curving into a small smile. “No,” he admits. “I don’t have anywhere else to be.”
“Good,” I murmur, and before he can say anything else, I rise onto my toes and kiss him.
It’s not a tentative kiss, it’s full-on, no holds barred. My hands grip his shirt, pulling him closer as I pour every ounce of anticipation and desire into our connection. He’s still, like he’s caught off guard. Then, just as quickly, he responds, his arms wrapping around me and pulling me flush against him.
His tongue slides into my mouth and I groan at the contact. My fingers clutch at his shirt and I shamelessly press my hips against him.
I feel his fingers dig into my upper arms and he pushes me back slightly, hot eyes searching mine. “What exactly are we doing, Farren?”