Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
That is until I meet the small scowl of the man with his forearms perched over the edge of the railing as if he was waiting for me to appear.
I have no doubt he was. It’s written in the sharp set of his jaw and tight smash of his full lips. He’s upset with me, and rightfully so.
Everyone is here for the holiday, so he knows my weekend is booked, that there’s nowhere to go aside from shuffling from my house to Lolli’s, to the one he co-owns with his friends down the road, but that doesn’t mean I won’t do what I can to avoid…everything.
His eyes narrow as if reading my thoughts, and the look that takes over his face sends a chill down my spine, whispering words he doesn’t have to speak aloud. The message is as clear as day in those expressive eyes: I dare you to try.
Sorry, Mase, but I will.
The sun set a few hours ago, and with it came a whole new sense of dread.
The afternoon was bustling, no less than five conversations happening all at once, making it easy to stay busy and keep my mind off things, but over the last half hour, couple after couple, group after group, has left, and when my brother and his girlfriend, Kenra, are the next to stand, a knot forms in my throat. Before I can follow and agree to calling it a night, the pair looks my way.
“Stay awhile,” Parker suggests, as I knew he would. “We’ll take Deaton with us and put him in his bed.”
Anxiety spikes, sending a wave of nausea though me, and I look to the sleeping baby nestled beside me on the patio couch, his blankets tucked tight up to his chin, nothing but his little face to be seen and a hint of dark curls along his forehead.
“It’s okay.” I rush to stand, but my brother puts a hand on my shoulder, pressing me back into the seat.
His blue eyes, nearly the exact shade as mine, soften. “Stay, Peep. I’ll turn on the monitors and watch him like a hawk. We’re gonna finish that docuseries we started anyway, so we’ll be up for a while. Relax, visit. Come home when you feel like it.”
I want to argue what if he wakes ups and needs me, but we both know he won’t.
Deaton, while attached to me at the hip and unable to fall asleep without being rocked or patted or hummed to, sleeps through the night, and it’s exactly his bedtime. That, and he will take a bottle if it came to that.
When I hesitate, Kenra nudges my knee with hers, drawing my attention. “I could go get the monitor, and you could watch him from here?”
“No, it’s fine.” I shake my head, smiling from her to my brother. They know I trust them completely with his nephew. She’s only offering because she wants to make sure I have no excuse to refuse the little bit of freedom they’re gifting me. “Thanks.”
It’s all I can say, and I stare as Parker bends and picks up his nephew Deaton, my gaze trailing after them as he carries him to the house beside this one.
As my eyes cut back across the sand, I spot Mason, watching them as I was, and I know what’s coming next. His head turns, attention latching on to me, and whatever he was saying to Brady, one-third of his best friend triangle, dies on his lips. He excuses himself immediately, climbing the stairs leading to the deck at what I would almost consider a run.
My nerve endings tingle, apprehension and more trickling over my limbs as he advances, no one close enough to intercept, though the look on his face tells me he wouldn’t let that happen.
He’s been waiting all day for this, an uninterrupted moment between him and me, just as much as I’ve dreaded it.
Rather than sinking into the vacant seat at my side, Mason loops his ankle around the leg of the small table across from where I’m sitting, tugs it closer, and drops down directly in front of me, accepting nothing less than my full, undivided attention.
He’s quiet a moment, a frown he tries to fight but can’t seem to erase pulling at the edges of his eyes. Several seconds pass, maybe a minute or two even before he opens his mouth, his voice a warm, wounded whisper.
“Hi, Pretty Little.”
My lungs expand with a full breath hearing the nickname he gave me the day we met. It was born of innocence, a tease really from the fun and flirty man living it up on the beach, but it’s become so much more than that, and the affectionate way in which he speaks it pulls me back from the panic threatening to take over. My lips curve into a soft smile, and his follow.