Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 83211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Oh. “There’s a lot of misinformation online.”
“Maybe.” She lifts one leg and crosses it over the other. “My car is in the parking lot if you want to check it out. I’m not really sure why we’re sitting in here.”
I lean back and blow out a breath.
“Look,” she says. “I found a place to live. You’re off the hook.”
My brows shoot to the ceiling. “You did?”
“Yeah. So if you can just clear my computer or whatever mechanic magic it requires, I can be on my way.”
“Where are you moving to?” I ask.
“That’s none of your business.”
“With Brock?”
She grins. “Maybe.”
I bend forward, resting my forearms on my desk, and look at her. She’s so damn pretty and tries so hard to be tough. The persona she projects is a good one. She’s a tough nut to crack. But underneath that strong-girl facade is a vulnerability she doesn’t want the world to see.
I know because Paige had the same look in her eyes for a long time. It was only when she and I were alone, hanging out on the beach or riding around in my truck to escape the chaos of our brothers, did she explain it to me.
My sister grew up a Carmichael, but she was born a Hudson—to another family in another place. And even though she played it off like it didn’t bother her that she was adopted, it did. She would have these bouts of feeling like she didn’t fit in. And because of that, she had to be strong, tough, and indestructible. If she wasn’t, it would only deepen the crack she perceived between her and our family.
It made her prone to destruction.
Is that what’s going on with you, Sara? Did you lose your whole family when your dad died? Do you feel alone in the world?
My insides twist. Whoa, get ahold of yourself here. She doesn’t want you to know her deeply. She’s told you that.
“Well, that’s too bad that you said yes to Brock,” I say, shrugging.
She narrows her eyes. “Why?”
“Because I was going to let you stay with me. But since you’ve already committed to him and—”
“Wait.”
Got ya. I grin. “Wait? Why?”
“Are you screwing with me?”
“Do you want me to be screwing with you?”
She fights a smirk.
This is a mistake—one I’ll come to regret. But between needing to ease my guilt in regard to Maddox and needing to find a way to quell this pull I have to Sara, this is the only viable solution.
Let’s just hope I’m still viable after this is over.
“If we could come up with some ground rules … I do have an extra bedroom.”
“You do, do you?” She grins. “What kind of ground rules are you talking about?”
Fuck if I know. I grab the first piece of paper I can find—one of the invoices Tasha gave me to approve—and flip it over.
“First one is no touching my stuff,” I say.
She tilts her head to the side. “Your stuff is everywhere, Banks.”
“Because it’s my house.”
“I can’t even walk through the house without touching your stuff. There’s a car part on the kitchen table. You had a pair of boots turned upside down in the sink.”
“I was working at the table, and the boots were drying.”
She holds her hands out. “You got the tire air thingy from your silverware drawer.”
“You could take a fork out and then close it. The tire pressure gauge didn’t need to be moved.”
She huffs. “Fine. What else?”
I scribble down the first rule on the invoice. “The second rule is that my room is off-limits.”
“Easy. Deal.”
“Third thing is don’t leave your girly stuff all over my bathroom. And if you shed in the shower, pick it up.”
“There’s not a second bathroom?”
I add the two new rules to the paper. “There used to be. The second one is inoperable at the moment.”
“Do I want to know why?”
“Probably not.” I take a breath. “Fourth rule is no men who don’t share my bloodline in my house. Period. Got it?”
She frowns. “What? You don’t want to hear me and Brock getting it on?”
I narrow my eyes.
“Fine. No men in your house.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “But I have rules of my own.”
“I’m not done.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Go on.”
“Five,” I say. “Keep your vibrators in your room.”
“Oh, you are so funny.”
“I’m being serious.” The thought of her lying in bed fucking herself is too much for this conversation. “Moving on … No touching Betsy. Don’t even breathe on her.”
“Who the hell is Betsy?”
“My car. She’s in the garage under a dust cover.” I narrow my eyes. “She’s my baby.”
“Fine. I don’t want to touch your dumb car anyway. Rule seven,” she says. “I can clean the house.”
“You can’t make rules in my house. That’s not how this works.”
She lifts a brow. “I won’t move anything where you can’t see it if you were looking for it in the original location, but—”