Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“He’s not my dad. And why are you so angry?”
He laughs, shaking his head. “I’m not angry.”
“You sound angry.”
“Angry? No. Tired? Yes.”
“Tired of me?”
He sips his whiskey before eyeing me. “I’m tired of your games.”
“Games? What games?”
“This game. You know why I’m here, yet you’re pretending you don’t. You knew I’d be keeping a close eye on you, yet you invited your boyfriend over to screw you on the stairs. Then for your fantastic twenty-four-hour finale, you wore a little bit of nothing last night while being inappropriate with me.”
I roll my eyes. “For the record, I didn’t know you were here last night.”
“So that’s what you wear to bed every night?” He nods toward me like I’m wearing it now, but I’m not.
I tip up my chin and cross my arms. “Yes. Ruthie wore nice lingerie, and I like to wear it too. It makes me feel like a woman.” I give him a sly grin.
“You tried to touch me.”
With a scoff, I shake my head. “Sorry. You’re the first guy who has ever complained about it. Do you only like it when women touch you in the barn next to Ranger’s stall or topless on your sofa?”
And just like that … it’s out. He knew about the sofa but not the barn. I said the quiet part aloud, and there’s no taking it back.
Slowly taking another drink of whiskey, Milo eyes me for what feels like forever. He licks his lips. “You’ve seen me in the barn?”
I swallow hard, shifting my weight from one foot to the other.
“You’ve seen me with a woman?” His eyes narrow a fraction.
After a few seconds of painful silence, I nod.
Milo kills me with his slow reaction. He gives nothing away. Is he mad? Surprised? Embarrassed?
He grunts, shaking his head and returning his attention to the TV. “You’re such a fucking creeper.”
I open my mouth to protest, but nothing comes out.
“Go.” He tosses the remote and flicks his chin toward the stairs. “Shoo. Go to bed. Go read a book. I’d suggest something like … the Bible.”
“I’m an atheist.” I lean my shoulder against the threshold.
Milo’s brows slide up his forehead. “Are you serious?”
I nod.
“Your grandfather, Fletcher’s father, was a Southern Baptist minister. Did you know that?”
“You mean the father of the man who paid my biological mother a million dollars to give me to Ruthie? I wonder what the Bible says about that.”
Milo’s lips twist, and he narrows his eyes for a few seconds. “Does Fletcher know?”
I laugh. “Does Fletcher know what? That I’m an atheist? That I’ve lost count of how many guys I’ve slept with? That I know he paid a million dollars for me? My birthday? The colleges I’ve applied to? My aversion to arranged marriages? You’ll need to be more specific. But chances are the answer to whatever question you asked that started with ‘does Fletcher know,’ the answer is no. Fletcher is clueless when it comes to me. And why would he be anything less than an asshole? I’m not the chosen one.”
“The chosen one?” Milo takes a drink and leans forward, placing it on the sturdy wood coffee table and resting his arms on his knees.
“The one to inherit the family business.” I frown. “Not that I want it. I don’t. I don’t want any of it. I know Fletcher is more corrupt than Satan himself. It’s just that Ruthie made me feel like her daughter. I felt loved by her in a way that could not have felt more real had she been my biological mother. She told me Fletcher loved me as much as he could love any child. But she was wrong. I’m not Jolene. This…” I gesture around the room with my gaze “…will be hers. You’ll be …” I bite my lips together and slowly shake my head.
I can’t go there.
“I’ll be what?”
I shrug. “Her husband.”
Milo bites his lips together while he returns a slow nod. “Did you want me to be yours?”
“Pfft … no.”
He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t laugh. We’re joking. Right? Where’s his smirk?
“But … I mean …” I fiddle with a thread hanging from my shirt. As much as the news of him marrying Jolene sliced my heart into bite-sized pieces, I find the strength to look at him. “I don’t think she’ll ever know you like I do, so I think you are mine in a way that’s hard to explain.”
His eyes narrow a fraction, head canted to the side. “What do you know about me?”
“Stuff.”
“Stuff? Like what?”
“I know you drum your fingers on your lower lip to keep from grinning when you don’t want to let anyone see when you find something funny. I know your hat always hangs on the hook with the front facing down. I know you sprinkle cinnamon into your coffee, but I’m not sure why. You have conversations with Ranger about your to-do list before you feed the chickens. And I love that because it reminds me of Ruthie and her talking to the plants in her garden. And I suspect you've had a bad day on the nights you’re extra quiet because Fletcher’s probably asked you to do something awful like put down an animal or fire some poor guy for being two minutes late to work. Maybe worse because I think he asks you to do some morally questionable things. I …” I shrug. “I notice things.”