Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
“Ten minutes my arse!” I mumble.
He laughs and motions me to paddle to catch a breaking wave. “There’s one other thing.”
“What’s that?” I yell back.
“Have fun.”
Fun is not the word I’d use. I fell off the board more times than I stood on it, but I did stand. Once. A feat I hope to repeat in front of Damon. And then again whenever he wants to go out surfing.
I crunch my teeth onto my bottom lip. At least I get to design a hot-pink wetsuit.
I stash my surfing gear at the bach and drive to Damon’s. The sun is sinking rapidly and there’s a purplish glow to the air, the trees lining his street almost silhouettes. The lights are on in Damon’s house. He must’ve come home early.
A rustle comes from between his place and the neighbour’s, and a figure in black races across the front yard and jumps over the fence, balaclava pulled down to cover their face. I freeze, halfway out of the car, as the figure makes their escape.
Who . . .?
I’m reminded of the moment with Damon in the library, being interrupted by a similar figure.
What’s going on?
Alarm snakes through me.
Damon! I race through the gate to the front door. Is he okay? Would the person come back? Would I have to whip out some of this self-defence?
Should I call the town cop? But what would I report? What have they done?
I cringe, grab hold of an empty flower pot and careen into the house, hysterically yelling Damon’s name, flinging open the door to the living area—
Damon steps out of his study, casting me a worried albeit baffled look. He catches me around the waist and we spin into his study with the momentum of my lunge. The flowerpot thuds onto the rug, thankfully not breaking.
“Are you okay?” I splutter.
“You’re stealing my question.”
I grab at his shoulders, finger his face. “What did they do? Did they try lighting another fire?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I saw someone. In a balaclava, running across the yard. It looked like they came from the back of the house.”
Damon is pressed against the study door and I’m draped over his front like seaweed. He strokes my hair and presses his lips to my forehead. “Haven’t seen anyone. Sometimes the teens from either side play pranks on one another. Our place sits in the middle of their warzone.”
Pranks? Something about that idea doesn’t settle well, but Damon doesn’t seem at all concerned. If he’s sure nothing’s amiss . . . I roll off the tension in my shoulders and refrain from wailing. “Why were you home early?”
“I wouldn’t say early.”
Earlier than usual. And he’s still in his work gear.
I glance behind him at the study, where I set his boxes of books earlier. He’s already placed them on the shelves, in neat rows. Neat, alphabetised rows.
“Troy insisted I clear space in his garage.”
Damon tightens his shoulders, and when I turn my attention back his eyes are roaming over my face.
“Thanks. Why do you smell salty?”
I hope this doesn’t give too much of the surprise away. I shrug, like it’s not a big deal. “Do I?”
He observes me, eyes dark. “I have a couple of questions.”
“Ask.”
“How was your date?”
It looks like he’s connecting some dots. That I spent time with Carter in the ocean. He looks worried. It’s not like I can’t swim. . . . Although, there was that time he had to rescue me. I rub his upper arm, soothingly. “Don’t worry. Carter knows you’ll hunt him down if I end up hurt.”
“Hurt?” He stiffens, arms locking tightly around me. “Is it . . . emotional?”
Emotional? “Physical! Only physical. And don’t worry. We’re being safe.”
Damon carefully unlatches from me and scrolls a hand through his hair. “Doesn’t he think we’re in a relationship?”
“Oh, right. I let him know we’re faking it?”
His eyes cast daggers around the room. “I bet he was thrilled to hear that.”
Damon storms around, ripping up boxes until they’re flat.
It’s an impressive display of . . . something. “Damon?”
He doesn’t turn; his back rises and falls. “I don’t think, while we’re engaged in this . . . I don’t want you sleeping with anyone else.”
Seriously, “What?”
“Do you want Carter to be your fake—” his voice gets funky in the middle and steels towards the end—“To be your boyfriend?”
“Oh my God, I don’t know how we got here.”
“You’re physical with him.”
I burst out laughing, a ticklish wave from head to foot. “I’m not sleeping with Carter! I don’t find him attractive that way. At all. Not like I find—” I cut myself off before ‘you’. His ego really is inflated enough.
He whisks around and grabs my shoulders. “You’re not?”
“Jesus, Damon. I’m not turning down your seduction attempts only to get satisfied elsewhere! Fake this may be, but I’m a monogamous fake boyfriend!”