Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“You’re not going to go back to sleep, are you?” I point out.
Yes, I know. I’m infuriating. I also know I’m right. I just about went nuts over heels over the stair railing. Aspen, on the other hand, is still shaken up. She saw my butt and had to touch it. That had to be traumatizing for her.
“Fine,” she snorts. “Let’s have one of your famous solves-all-problems cappuccinos.”
Chapter eight
Aspen
The cappuccino is good. There’s no denying it. I’ve had some of the best coffee in my life since I arrived here. But no amount of caffeine is going to get Rick to talk about what he was really doing tonight. I want to believe it was just trying to wrangle that painting down, but really? In the middle of the night? In so careless a fashion? He could have been seriously hurt, yet he seems to have no care for his own safety or health. I believe it was an accident, but I don’t like it. Not at all.
The caffeine only heightens the buzz that hasn’t stopped sweeping through me. I feel like I can pick up some big, huge piece of furniture that Rick doesn’t like and heave it onto one of the ever-present piles forming throughout the house.
I feel like I can bounce off the walls.
I feel like I can run a thousand miles.
I need to get out of the house.
“Let’s go to the park,” I say.
“What?” Rick is wearing a new, unripped set of black jeans along with the same style of black Henley he always goes for. All this time, he’s been careful not to meet my gaze directly, and I don’t know what it means.
“That coffee was strong. I need to do something, and I want some fresh air, so we should go for a walk.”
“I’m not going for a walk,” he states.
“Are you too much of a big bad baddy badass to go for a walk?”
He sighs, and when he finally looks at me, I give him one of my most stubborn, annoying looks. I’m clearly not going to let this go. When I can’t take the silence any longer, I leap off the seat on the island.
“I’m going to get dressed. I’ll go for a walk by myself.”
“The hell you will. Not at this hour,” he growls.
“I guess you’re coming then because I’m going. And yes, at this hour.”
He mutters things about stubbornness and damned letters under his breath, but I don’t stick around to hear it. I head upstairs and slide into a pair of jeans and a lightweight hoodie because it might be cold out there, even in the summer in San Jose. Then, I throw on my favorite pair of ankle boots. Nina One and Nina Two. They’re black and chunky, and Jace used to make fun of them when I wore them, saying I looked like I was going to join the military and go on marches.
Looking at them always makes me miss him more, and it somehow also makes my chest swell with happiness for all the good times we had together. I knew what he did was dangerous. Special Forces is no joke. I made sure that I made all our time count, and I never took him for granted. Whenever he left, or after every time we talked, I knew it could be the last. Did I ever truly think it would be? No, not truly. Who could live like that? But I knew it was a possibility. I just always, always tried so hard to deny that it would ever happen. Like my denial would make it more of a truth.
I shudder when I pass the spot on the steps where Rick was hanging over earlier.
Imagine being pulled from a dead sleep by someone cursing and yelling and hanging half over a very high, very scary railing. Also, I touched his butt, and I can’t stop thinking about it.
I know it’s expert-level wrong, but the sight of his tight, muscular ass is going to live rent-free in my head for the rest of my life.
Downstairs, Rick is pacing the empty living room. He’s stripped everything out of it, but it’s not for me to comment on. This is his house, his life. Tomorrow, when I wake up, I’ll have ten days left here. If this helps him, then he should do it. That’s what I think about it. I can’t ever fully understand the life he’s lived or the scarred-up wounds that are probably always going to be fresh and nasty on his insides. Ten or fourteen days or even ten or fourteen years isn’t enough time to make that better for him.
“There’s a park not that far,” he grunts. He opens the front door, and we step out into the night.
It’s not that cold, but I’m glad I wore a sweater. I like this sweater. It’s my furry bunny one where the fur is just this big cluster with ears and a smile and huge eyes. It’s absolutely and ridiculously adorable.