Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 105231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
“Uh-huh.” She made no move to grab her bag.
“Can I get it, Goldie?”
“Sure.” She let out a huge yawn, taking a step back with the force of it and nearly stumbling.
“Whoa, baby.” He slid his arm around her back, holding her against him as he grabbed her handbag.
It was tricky, but he managed to pull out her key with one hand and opened the door. Then he swept her up into his arms and carried her inside.
“Yay!” she cried. “This is my favorite ride at the fair!”
Whoa.
She threw her arms back.
“That glass of champagne you had really went to your head, huh?” he muttered, trying to keep hold of her and shut and lock the door.
“Not good with alcohol,” she muttered. “Lightweight. Rarely drink. But the bubbles are so ticklish. I like them. Plus, I haven’t really eaten.”
“You didn’t eat dinner tonight?” he asked, concerned as he carried her into her bedroom.
Was she going to remember this tomorrow?
Damn it. He’d hoped to have a serious talk with her tonight. He guessed it would have to wait until tomorrow.
“Didn’t eat all day! Not sure about yesterday. Can’t remember.”
Fucking hell.
The woman was a menace. Didn’t she take care of herself at all? Anger filled him and he had to dampen it down. It was no use scolding her now.
He’d get that joy tomorrow.
“You should eat. I’ll make you a grilled cheese.” He set her down on the bed and watched as she lay there, her eyes closed.
A small snore escaped her.
Right. He guessed everything was waiting until tomorrow.
24
The smell of food cooking woke her.
Blinking, she stared up at the white ceiling and tried to remember where she was.
Hotel? Cabin?
Apartment. In New York. Right. Her apartment. Where she lived alone.
So who the heck was cooking food? And what were they cooking because it smelled really good.
She sat up and groaned as her head started thumping.
Ouch.
She stared down at herself, surprised to find she was wearing her pajama top without any bottoms. Why hadn’t she put on any bottoms? And why couldn’t she remember going to bed last night?
Also why did her mouth feel as dry and as nasty as a monkey’s butt?
Oh, God.
It rushed back to her. The exhibition. The stupid glass of champagne. She loved champagne. Unfortunately it had it in for her and she had no idea why.
So mean.
So how had she gotten home and into bed? There was only one person she could think of who would do all of that for her.
The one person she really didn’t want to show any vulnerability in front of.
Shit.
She sat and turned, letting her legs rest over the side of the bed. Then she noticed a bottle of water on the nightstand. Attached was a sticky note that said: Drink. There was also a packet of painkillers with another sticky note that said: Swallow.
Jeepers.
Part of her wanted to disobey those clear orders.
But she kind of thought that was just punishing herself. So she took the painkillers and headed into the bathroom to relieve her bladder and brush her teeth. Twice.
After washing her face and taking a shower, she got dressed in a comfortable velvet pink sweatpants and hoodie set, then stepped into the main living area of her apartment.
Where was he?
He had to be here, right? The apartment was filled with the smell of food and coffee.
Glorious, lovely coffee.
She headed to the coffee pot and poured herself some, adding a large dose of creamer.
“Wish you looked at me like that,” a deep voice said from behind her.
She jumped and nearly let go of the coffee mug.
Travis winced. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you knew I was in here.”
She bit her lip as she saw where he had been hiding.
In her pantry.
Bollocks.
How did she explain the overflowing pantry? It was more food than one person could go through in six months.
He was going to think she was crazy.
Maybe this is for the best. Now, you can really sever that tie. The fact that you walked out on him the other morning obviously wasn’t enough to make him want to stay away from you.
Well, this will likely do it.
“I hoard food,” she blurted out before he could say anything.
Best to just rip off the Band-aid, right?
His eyebrows rose.
Okay, obviously he wasn’t expecting her to just come out and say it like that. But he had to be wondering, right?
“That’s why there is so much food in my pantry. You had to be wondering if I was preparing for the apocalypse or maybe a zombie invasion, right? And in a way I kind of am and I’m kind of not. See, I’m not like this all the time. Just when I get really stressed about stuff. In fact, for years I was good, I could cope without hoarding. I had a therapist, and techniques to use when the demands in my head became overwhelming. But, somehow, that’s all gone out the window and I feel like I’ve gone back to square one and it’s fucking terrifying.”