Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 33407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
“I like her,” Thea says.
I bite back a chuckle. We’re good friends, but Thea will never admit it. “All I know is she was there, and everything felt…right. Like every time I pick up the guitar or walk on stage.”
“Hmm, that’s good. Do you have any idea of how you’re going to get her talking to you again?”
“Breakfast,” I answer as I flip the bacon.
“Anything else? If you didn’t make a great first impression, that can be really hard to overcome,” she points out as if I haven’t been worried about that all morning.
I pause for a moment, thinking of what else I have to give my beautiful woman. This beautiful house, jewelry…wait, did I look at jewelry yesterday? I want to get her a ring.
“I’ll figure something out. I’ve already found her. Now, I have to find a way to keep her forever,” I reassure her as I hear a soft sound coming from my bedroom. My heart leaps in my chest when I realize my curvy girl is awake.
Chapter 4
Dotty
“Ireally need to manifest a way out of here,” I tell the universe when I open my eyes to discover I’m in Zac Maple’s bedroom.
I’d been hoping that it was all a dream and that I’d wake up on my couch after working too late on another article about Betsy. I’d chuckle and check in with my bestie on the phone then I’d go about another boring, ordinary day.
It sounds like he’s moving around in his house. With the open concept layout that joins the living room, kitchen, and dining room, there’s no way I can sneak out the front door without him knowing. That only leaves a window in his bedroom.
I push myself into a sitting position and lean against his headboard. I rake my hair from my eyes, the sleeve of his shirt catching my attention.
He knows I wore his clothes. He’s probably going to have me arrested for hitting him with my car and stalking him. Will Martha testify in my defense at the trial? Will she at least tell Judge Helen that I had no intention of stalking Zac Maple?
What if the trial becomes evening news? What if it’s broadcast all over the world and I can never get a job again?
Before my anxiety spiral can deepen, I reach for the purple crystal around my neck. I run my fingers over the rough stone, trying to reach for a mantra that makes me feel strong and unstoppable. I am a force to be reckoned with. I can handle anything that comes my way.
No sooner have I had that thought than the bedroom door flings open and the cause of millions of panty drops is standing three feet from me. His five o’clock shadow and bedhead shouldn’t be that sexy but somehow, they are.
Zac is holding a steaming plate of breakfast foods and the smile that softens his features steals my breath away. He looks happy to see me. A strange feeling lodges itself in my throat. It’s a longing for something that I can’t quite put my finger on, but it hurts a little with every breath.
“I made food,” Zac says, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He can’t be nervous. He’s eager to get me out of here.
“You don’t remember yesterday?” I ask. Maybe the universe heard me. Maybe he’s completely forgotten about that. Would that be a good thing? Or would it mean he has a brain injury?
“Yeah, you hit me. With your car.” He doesn’t sound vindictive. He doesn’t even sound angry.
“And you’re not mad?” I ask, knowing I shouldn’t press my luck.
“I probably deserved it.” He gives me a grin, flashing his trademark dimples. Gah, how can one man be this cute? There’s got to be a law against it.
“You did not,” I mumble, my cheeks growing warm under his teasing grin.
He joins me on the bed, careful not to upset the plate he’s holding. The smell of scrambled eggs and bacon makes my mouth water. The golden-brown toast smeared with blackberry jam looks divine.
He puts his back to the headboard and suddenly, we’re sitting shoulder-to-shoulder. He’s acting like this is a perfectly normal moment for us to be having. “I made you food.”
“You made me food?” I blink at him, thinking this has to be a trap. My mother’s shrill voice echoes through my head, reminding me that a lady never eats more than three bites at a time.
When I eat, I think about how many hours I have to exercise to burn off a single donut. I struggle to enjoy a plate of food without feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt and shame. Instead of being fuel, food was a source of torment for years.
“I made you a big breakfast,” he answers.
“A big breakfast for the big girl,” I mutter, the words of the past ringing in my ears. I spent my high school years binging and purging. My bigger body made me an easy target for guys like Zac. Guys who were popular and handsome and fit.