Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Archer offers me a compassion-filled nod prior to a gentle joke. “I’d offer to drive you but no form of valid ID, remember?”
The playful jab exiles the remaining sadness prompting me to smile. “We’re gonna have to do something about that.”
“One thing at a time, Jaye.” He casually returns to heading my direction. “Coffee, first.”
“Breakfast next.”
“Lending me a book to read to keep me occupied while you’re working should be after that.”
Holy. Fuck. Is it weird if the homeless man who was eating out of my trash turns out to be the man of my dreams? Huh. Yeah, I heard it, but I’m gonna pretend I didn’t say it.
“That can certainly be arranged.” Backing inside occurs at the same time I state, “I gotta stop by the grocery store when I get off – it’s my designated grocery day. Do you have a preference on what you want for dinner? I’m pretty open to making just about anything or Googling how to make just about anything.”
Archer shuts the door to the garage and pauses. “Would you mind if I came with you?”
“To the grocery store?”
He enthusiastically nods.
“Sure, but only if you promise me that it’s not to stock up on supplies for a midnight escape from my garage.”
Mirth quickly paints itself in his gaze as well as mine. “Promise, sweetheart.”
The two-word combination causes the butterflies in my stomach to go berserk for the umpteenth time.
Geez, what the hell am I getting myself into? And more importantly, why am I totally, one-hundred and fifty percent, okay with it?
Chapter 8
Archer
Fuck, I don’t know how we got here.
Yeah, obviously I know how we physically got here. It was her idea for us to read on the couch side by side after lunch, but I didn’t expect her to be passed out less than five minutes later with her feet in my lap. What I meant was I don’t know how we got here. This…close? I guess if you break down the timeline, it might make sense? It started with coffee. One cup each. Both mugs bearing cheesy book phrases – mine said ‘So many books. So little time.’ while hers had a glass of spilled wine on it and the phrase ‘Not so loud, I had book club last night’. This naturally led to her telling me about said book club, which was why she had come home later the night before. Learning about that preceded learning about her job – librarian at a private early childhood academy – over scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. Not moaning during the whole process was by far the most difficult part of our morning. Watching her cook was a delightful sight in itself, the way her hips sway side to side while timing whatever needs to be timed but listening to her giggle over every joke I made – cheap puns and witty one-liners alike – was undoubtedly sexier. And hiding the wood I kept popping was ridiculously fucking hard – pun intended. After we finished our meal, which contained so much conversation about classic literature that I almost felt like I was in a community college course on the subject, she did something she apparently never does. She decided to take the whole day off. No, you heard me right. The whole fucking day. Even though the roads were thawing – thanks to the random spike in sun and heat – it was obvious there was still some lingering anxiety about getting back out there. And when I spotted the familiar tells of trauma, I encouraged her to take the time if she could afford it as to not trigger an episode or worse situation for herself. She seemed surprised I cared but took the advice. And then when I learned it was an option all along from her boss, I told her she should always take the day instead of risking her life no matter how much she loves her job. The last thing she needs is to be on an icy road, have her tires lose a little traction, and then spiral out into a full blown panic attack where she crashes or causes someone else to. She saw my very valid point yet instead of using it to explain to her my own situation, I bitched out. Buried how I could relate behind a brick wall and smug grin.
Jaye’s toes wiggle around unknowingly brushing my cock, calling it back to life once more.
If my dick could get the memo that this woman’s every single movement is not a summoning spell that would be fucking appreciated. Almost as much as I appreciate being welcomed to have an actual roof over my head. By someone who…wants me around. Her words. Her. Fucking. Words. Pretty sure that’s what really stopped me from getting up and bailing sooner this morning. It wasn’t because of the weather or worry about the cops catching me…It was because in spite of what I told myself, I clutched onto that tiny bit of hope I was determined to throw out. I hoped she wanted to see me again, even if it was just to say goodbye. I hoped that she had enjoyed being around me prior to my conversational fails. And then hearing her vocalize exactly what I was feeling was the last one-two combo I couldn’t handle. And the reason I said only one more night here wasn’t because I want to leave – fuck, why would I wanna leave someone so sweet – but because I need to. I need to get the fuck out before Jaye Jenkins becomes a causality of the shitstorm I call living.