Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Nice highlights,” I say before thinking.
He gives me a surprised look. “Dillon did them.”
I snort. “OMG. That’s crazy.”
He gives me a ghost of his usual smile, and I guess he’s still finding his equilibrium. “You should have seen it: me and him in a tiny bathroom with a box of bleach, a hair net thingy, and these little gloves that wouldn’t fit on either of our hands. It’s a wonder we didn’t pass out from the fumes.” He puts a hand to the bridge of his nose and presses.
“You sure you’re all right? I’m supposed to report any accidents in the store and fill out a form,” says Cashier Girl.
He waves her off. “I’m good. Just didn’t expect…” His words trail off and he glances around as if expecting the older woman to reappear.
“She’s gone,” I say.
“Thank fuck. I need out of this place.” He grabs hold of the bar on the cart and clings to it.
Cashier Girl pulls out a walkie-talkie, never taking her eyes off us. “I better call Steve—that’s my manager. He’d want to know you fell. Just last month a baby opened a jar of strawberry jelly and made the biggest mess. His momma kept yelling that he might be allergic. I had to file a report and everything. Plus, it looks like you opened a beer and drank it. That’s stealing, if you think about it, and we didn’t even check your ID—”
Seriously? I pull a ten out of my purse and push it into her hand. “This is for the beer. Run along—and don’t move my cart. I’ll be back.” I turn toward Blaze. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”
Cashier Girl takes a step forward. “Wait—does this mean he’s not going to sign something for me? I have some paper in my locker!”
Geeze. Is every female alive in love with him? “No, he’s not.”
I grasp his upper arm, even though I think he’s fine, and we head down the aisle just as I hear the girl radioing her manger to let him know two carts were left in aisle 9.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mrs. Wilson getting in line to check out, and I purposely lead him in a different direction.
We walk side by side, my body acutely aware of his, the sound of his breathing, the movement of his legs, the tingle of heat from his hard muscles under my hand. I drop it from his arm. He’s fine, Charisma. He doesn’t need you hanging on him.
The cold wind hits us in the face, and he looks up to get more air as we make our way across the parking lot. He walks to his truck, which is parked just a few rows away from my car.
He stops at his driver’s door, leans back, and tucks his hands in his jeans. Relief is evident on his face. “Thanks for that.”
I nod. I should go, should just leave him be and go back in the store to finish getting my groceries…
“You’re sure you passing out was just a reaction to her? You’re not sick? I—I can give you a ride home?”
What the hell am I saying?
I can’t handle him next to me in my car. Plus, I’d probably offer to walk him up to his dorm. Where we had sex.
He gives me a small smile. “Not sick. I feel better.”
“Tell me who she was. Like you said, we didn’t really do a lot of talking…”
He arches a brow. “I recall you saying, Yes, yes, yes, just like that you handsome, talented sonofabitch.”
I laugh; I can’t help it. “I never said you were handsome. Who was she?”
“Well, damn, if I’d known all I have to do to get your attention is pass out, I would have been falling at your feet all day long.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
“Liar.”
“You’re a liar.”
He stiffens, and tension fills the air. “Never lied to you. Not one time.”
“No, you were brutally honest. Maybe that was worse.”
We stare at each other, and the only sound is the cars zipping past us on the highway out in front of the store.
He gets this faraway expression on his face, and his gaze lowers. “Carry-Anne was seventeen when my dad ran a red light and hit her. She was the perfect little Alma girl, prom queen, sweet as pie, and the mayor and his wife’s pride and joy. My parents, on the other hand, were trailer park trash who lived to get their next fix. Carry-Anne died at the scene. My dad was stoned. That’s pretty much it in a nutshell.”
My eyes flare wide. How did I not know this?
It’s as if he reads my mind. “We never really talked about serious shit when we were together, did we?” He pauses. “Only three people at Waylon know that story: Dillon, Ryker, and now you.”