Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 133511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
Shaking my head, I burrowed into the warmth of his body.
The saw roared again and I moaned.
“Seriously, we can turn it off,” he whispered, close enough to the side of my face that I could feel the heat of his breath, and smell the faintest hint of beer.
“I’m fine,” I insisted, wondering if I’d ever sleep again. I hated horror movies. Hated them. Jessica made fun of me for it all the time, but I’d be damned if I’d admit how scared I was. Not to Painter.
“Okay, then,” he said, and I felt something brush my hair. His hand?
“Good news,” Puck announced, sounding almost cheerful. He was sitting in a chair across the room, watching us with something like humor in his eyes. “This is a whole series. We can do a marathon.”
I moaned again, wondering if I could just roll up into a ball and die, right here.
It would be better than spending the night watching blood spurt.
Would it ever end?
• • •
I woke up in bed, fully clothed under the bedding.
Staring at the ceiling, I blinked, trying to figure out how I’d gotten here. There had been the never-ending, hateful movie marathon. Painter holding me, which was significantly less hateful. London coming home, talking to him in the kitchen and then locking herself in the bedroom.
Had I fallen asleep next to Painter on the couch?
Maybe he carried me upstairs, tucked me in. God, how sexy was that?
Not as sexy as him crawling into bed next to you . . .
A wave of heat spread through me. What would it feel like to sleep with him? Or maybe we wouldn’t sleep at all, just spend the night—
Stop it, I told myself firmly. Stop it right now. If he wanted to make a move, he could’ve. He didn’t. Get over yourself, already.
• • •
“Mel, how much longer until I can put you on the schedule again?” asked Kirstie, sounding impatient. She was my manager at the restaurant and I was talking to her on my new phone. She’d been horrified to hear about the explosion and so far hadn’t complained about all the time off, but that wouldn’t last forever. Either I needed to move somewhere I could walk to work, or I needed a car.
At least I could make calls again.
The phone was a gift from Reese. He’d tossed it casually across the table at me over breakfast on Sunday morning, not long after I’d dragged my chainsaw-traumatized ass downstairs. Puck was sitting at the breakfast table, and I looked around, hoping to see Painter.
No such luck.
After we finished eating, I tried to pin Loni down again, but she didn’t want to talk. Neither did Reese. Everyone just seemed to think I should sit quietly in the corner and stay out of their way—but how was I supposed to rebuild my life stuck in a corner?
There was a reality disconnect here, and it felt like I was the only person who could see it.
I spent Sunday sulking, and by Monday—yet another day alone in the house—I was on the edge of losing it. London came home in the late afternoon and started fixing dinner, even more distracted and out of focus than she’d been before. I tried to help her, but I just kept getting in her way so eventually I went upstairs.
By myself.
Again.
I was lying on the bed, reading an old science fiction book I’d found in the closet. It wasn’t really my thing, but seeing as this was my fourth straight day of doing jack shit, I’d decided to expand my horizons.
A crisp knock came at the door.
“It’s open,” I called, and looked up, expecting to see Loni. Instead I found Painter. He gave me that super sexy smile of his, walking toward the bed with long, loose strides. Then he sat down next to me, and I swear to God, my heartbeat doubled.
“Hey, Mel,” he said, reaching over to slowly pull the book out of my hands. “You want to go out for a while tonight?”
“Like, on a date?” I gasped, then could’ve smacked myself, because how desperate was that? Painter didn’t seem bothered, though.
“Yeah, a date,” he said, sounding bemused. “I thought we’d get dinner, maybe go see a movie.”
That sounded amazing, unreal . . . except for the movie part. I couldn’t do it again, I realized. Not even with his arms around me.
“No horror,” I said, hoping it wasn’t a deal breaker. Painter grinned.
“How about this, I’ll let you pick,” he replied. “I want you to have fun. You ready?”
I thought about my hair, which hadn’t been combed all day. Maybe my clothes weren’t great and I didn’t have any makeup, but I still wanted to primp a little before we left. Hell, what I really needed was a moment alone to catch my breath.