Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 114284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
I smiled and drummed my fingers absently against the table. “You and I are more alike than I originally thought.”
We evidently had similar tastes in sandwiches too. He threw cold cuts, tomatoes, mozzarella, olives, and onion onto the bread before pressing the halves together and wrapping them in tinfoil.
“Okay, I’ll just say it,” he said and stood up. “You’re makin’ me question the whole fuckin’ openness thing, because if Lane and I get together, I would definitely wanna play with you and Macklin. So I don’t know. Maybe being a little open ain’t all bad.”
I blinked. I didn’t know why that took me by surprise; it shouldn’t, considering we’d hinted at playing together in Florida. But maybe it was the fact that Ty was speaking about it after spending the evening with me. He wasn’t eyeing my boy up and down. I wasn’t the afterthought in the scenario.
Sue me; I was flattered as hell.
And more than a little interested. “You know, with our boys already attached, it’s only fair their Owners get to join in too.”
He chuckled and started returning the ingredients to the fridge. “I liked every word in that sentence. Ty Madison, Owner of Lane…” He stopped short and faced me with a confused expression. “What’s his last name?”
I rumbled a laugh. “It’s possible you have some homework to do before you get to call yourself his Owner. It’s Sawyer.”
“Sawyer,” he repeated, testing the word. “The Sawyer kid…”
“Lane works fine too.”
He knitted his brows and seemingly tidied up on autopilot. “Yeah, no, it’s… I don’t know why that popped into my head. I swear to Christ, if I don’t figure out where we’ve met before, I’mma lose my mind.”
I couldn’t help but wonder if Macklin knew. If Lane was hiding something and had confided in him.
“Maybe I should ask Marina,” he went on absently. “I’m already plannin’ on interrogatin’ Corey…” He blew out a breath and shook the topic for now, then grabbed the sandwiches. “Let’s throw these in the fire.”
“Good lord,” I muttered drowsily. That was the fifth car alarm going off in the past ten or so minutes.
Ty yawned. “I think the storm’s actually getting worse.”
“Mm.” I blinked and glanced at the clock on the mantel. Almost midnight. Still no power, still no cell service.
At least we’d gotten Terra to use her pad. We had nothing to do but wait it all out now. It wasn’t as if we could get any updates on the storm. Just the sounds of car alarms, the occasional sirens, and trees snapping in half.
I released a long breath and threaded my fingers together across my stomach. Coffee, three glasses of whisky, and a fantastic grilled sandwich were effectively trying to push me into a comfortable coma. The living room was just so damn cozy that the mere idea of crashing in Ty’s guest room upstairs was ludicrous. Every other room in the house was cold.
Ty wriggled his toes under his blanket and yawned again. We’d both slumped lower and lower into our seats, so now we were practically lying down, shoulder to shoulder, feet on the table, with the promise of our necks radiating pain in the morning if we actually fell asleep like this.
If only I wasn’t too comfortable to move…
“I should make a battery-operated duvet with a heating system for myself.”
I cracked one eye open and tilted my face toward Ty. Was he mumbling in his sleep?
“That’s what I did for Tank,” he said.
What?
“Who’s Tank?” I asked, utterly confused.
He lifted his arm as if it weighed a ton and gestured at…something. “My lizard.”
Oh. Oh, the name of the lizard was Tank. Understood.
“If the power goes out, the heating sensors in his terrarium switch over to battery,” he clarified. “Because I’m a goddamn genius. Just not enough to make one for myself too.”
Amusement trickled through me, and I reached out to pat him on the head. “You’d look good in a terrarium, battery-operated or not.”
He scoffed and was undoubtedly about to come back with a wisecrack—but my fingers lingered in his hair, and maybe he noticed. Maybe that derailed his thoughts. I didn’t know. I just knew his hair was ridiculously soft, and I couldn’t help myself. Being so at ease had its downsides. Like forgetting one’s fucking manners.
He settled down with a long exhale and rested his cheek on my shoulder. “Keep goin’.”
I swallowed a ball of nerves, baffled by my own behavior, yet not bothered enough to reel back. The nervousness dissipated as quickly as it’d arrived, and we simply entered a new zone of what was acceptable.
Why was I so comfortable around him?
Why did this feel so goddamn natural?
I combed my fingers through his hair unhurriedly, and I listened as his breathing evened out.
“Ty,” I whispered. “Your neck is gonna kill you if you sleep like this.”