Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
“This is so fun,” Talia told her brother.
“Is it?” he snapped at her.
“For me? Absolutely.”
He threw up his hands.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” Etta asked her son.
“That yes, we’re an us now. You can keep him, he’s yours.”
I looked at him.
“And that was a stupid thing to say outside,” he told me. “We’re doing this, you and me, and I’m not afraid to let anyone know, including my father. And you should go tell Derrick that darts is all you’re ever doing with him,” he ended loudly.
“What?” I was so confused, but Etta was ready to give me a hug, so I bent so she could wrap her arms around my neck and hug me. I squeezed her back, having wanted nothing more than to be claimed by the woman who was, to me, the benchmark that all other mothers should be measured against. She had made me understand what selfless, boundless devotion and love looked like.
“So, do you plan to put a ring on his finger?” Viola inquired because she pushed; that was her way. “Is that what you’re telling us?”
“We’re gonna live in sin first and see how that goes,” he told her, shaking his head.
Her cackle made everyone smile. It was infectious.
“Hold up, you didn’t know Derrick was into you?” Talia asked me, her face telling me she was worried. “You missed him bringing you all that dessert?”
I glanced at Lang.
“He kept going up and down the stairs with the beers for you too.”
“Yeah, and I had to keep hiding them. You know I don’t drink that cheap—”
“Why do you think I didn’t tell him to take the stuff we brought?”
“That’s diabolical,” I told him. “And not godly at all.”
“You’re not his to ply with alcohol,” he told me, pointing at himself and mouthing the words, “You’re mine.”
He was very possessive, as I knew, and me planning to go back and talk to Derrick had not made him happy in the least. And since he couldn’t snap at Derrick, he’d snapped at me.
“I don’t like Derrick,” Lang told me.
“That’s not true,” Etta scolded her son.
“I don’t think you’re using the word godly right,” Talia told me, cackling.
“Young lady,” Etta began.
“What’s going on in here?”
Turning, I understood instantly where Lang got his height, his broad shoulders, wide chest, and his fine, chiseled features. His eyes, though, that deep, dark, alluring brown, and his smile, those had come from his mother, because there was no semblance of warmth emanating from the man in front of me at all.
“Langston,” his father said, offering him his hand. “How are you?”
“I’m well,” he replied with the same voice he used for fugitives we apprehended, clear and precise, without a trace of warmth. He took his father’s hand but didn’t do the lean-in he’d done in greeting with most of the men in the house, except Derrick. “And you, sir?”
“Can’t complain,” he said with a smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “Come sit down. I’d like you to meet my family.”
“Certainly,” he assented at the same time Talia’s breath caught.
“Oh, look who it is,” I groaned softly, and Talia whacked me really hard in the abdomen.
“Owww,” I gasped, bending over. “Jesus, Lang, who taught her to hit that hard?”
He chuckled and was beside me fast, his hand on my back. “You gonna live?”
“Sharpe is here,” I told him, looking at the man from my new bent-over perspective. “Does he know it’s Saturday? Look at him.”
“I think I have that same pair of shoes.”
I could not stifle my snickering.
“Not a word.”
It was a party, so probably no one had even thought to ask if the man who looked like he should be walking a runway belonged in this house. “I’ll bet you no one even inquired about who he was here to see.”
“He’s dressed too nice. Why would they?”
Straightening up, I noticed all the women Sharpe passed turning to look at him, as well as Derrick, that traitor, who did as well. The thing was, though, when he saw Talia, his smile did some crazy thing to his eyes, and he looked at her like he’d won the lottery.
“You know,” I admitted, watching her rush over to him and seeing the way he took her hand, after kissing it, and tucked it into his arm, “I haven’t known him that long, but…does he look different to you?”
“No,” Lang said sulkily.
“Don’t lie. You can see it the same as I can.”
“Who is that?” his father asked.
“That is the guy who’s dating your daughter,” Lang grumbled.
“And you don’t like him? He’s no good?”
“He’s a player,” Lang answered. “But he’s also a fellow marshal, so perhaps we should extend him the benefit of the doubt.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“He’s not talking to you,” Etta explained gently. “He’s talking to his partner there. Both he and your son are federal marshals.”