Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 80969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
When he puts it like that, it does sound reckless.
“Okay, so I didn’t exactly think it through.”
“No shit, Sherlock. You’re a fucking idiot, Red.”
“Hey! That’s … not nice! I came here to save your ass, you ass.”
“And landed on your own.”
He turns, picks up a pair of jeans slung across a chair, and pulls them on. I see a big tattoo framing his back, but I don’t get to see what it is because he covers it up by pulling on a T-shirt.
Then, he flicks on the lamp on his nightstand and turns to face me.
I blink against the light. My eyes adjusting from the darkness.
“Nice pajamas. And do you mean that literally?”
“What?”
I look down.
Christ almighty.
Seriously, God?
Seriously?
You couldn’t cut me a break just this once?
I’m wearing my new pajama set. I got them for a couple of dollars on sale. I bought a couple of sizes up, so they’re baggy at the moment but not for long with my growing waistline. They’re that soft, brushed cotton fabric. Comfort over fashion, right? And it’s not like I ever expected anyone to see me in them.
But it’s not the large size of them that he’s referring to.
Oh no.
It’s what’s written on the top that has him smirking.
I Like Your Balls is written on the pajama top, and two Christmas baubles hang beneath the words.
Shoot me now.
It amused me at the time. It was one of the reasons I bought them.
I’m not feeling so amused right now though.
“You’re hilarious,” I mutter. “And, now, I’m going.” I turn on my heel, walking quickly to the door.
“Aw, don’t be embarrassed, Red. It’s okay to like my balls.” His laughter catches me as I pass through the door, leaving his room.
I can’t even register the fact that it’s the first time I’ve heard him laugh or that it’s a nice, deep, husky sound.
Because I’m too embarrassed.
No, not embarrassed. Mortified.
I broke into his house with a garden fork in my hand. Scared the bejesus out of him and myself. Then, stared at his penis for a longer period of time than considered acceptable. Actually, I don’t think it’s acceptable to stare at anyone’s penis. And, to top it all off, I’m wearing the most ridiculous pajamas ever. Pajamas that gave him the opportunity to ridicule me even more.
I’m such an idiot.
I practically run down the stairs and race back through the house the way I came in, weaving around his furniture, heading for the still-open back door.
“Mother-fudging nuts!” I yell, catching my foot on the same table I walked into earlier, stubbing my little toe. “That hurts!” I drop the fork and grab my foot with both hands. Tears sting my eyes.
Sweet Jesus, that really flipping hurts.
Light floods the room.
“Are you okay?”
Ugh, River. The mocker of all mockers.
I didn’t even hear him coming. He’s probably here to give me even more of a hard time.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
I let go of my foot and lower it to the floor.
I hold in a hiss of pain at the contact. My toe is throbbing.
“You’re bleeding.”
“What?” I look down, and sure enough, there’s blood coming from my little toe. Blood is on my hands, too.
Fear clamps down over my chest.
“You always make a mess! Such a fucking mess! You useless fucking bitch!”
“Red?”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to get blood on your floor. I’ll clean it. I’ll clean it now.” My heart is pounding. I immediately lift my foot from the floor to prevent a further mess, and I turn my head, looking for the way to the kitchen to get something to clean it up with.
“Red, it’s fine.” His voice is softer. Like the way you’d talk to a spooked animal.
I stare at him.
An expression I don’t like flickers in his eyes.
Pity.
I don’t know exactly what’s on my face that’s making him look at me that way, but I can hazard a guess. I school my features to normal. That I can do. I’m well trained in it.
Calm down. He’s not Neil. You’re safe.
He walks closer to me. His movements slow, measured. “It’s just a little blood, Red. Don’t worry about it. Sit down. Let me take a look at your foot.”
“I’m fine. Honestly. I’ll just go.” I really want to just get out of here.
I make to move, but his words stop me.
“Red, sit.” His voice is firm but not harsh. More … concerned.
So, I give in. I hobble over to the sofa and sit down.
River follows and kneels at my feet. He lifts my foot with his hand, looking at my toe. “Just a little cut. I’ll clean it up and put a Band-Aid on it, and you’ll be fine.”
“You don’t have to.”
His dark eyes meet with mine. “I know. But I’m still going to.”
He gets to his feet. I watch him disappear out the door, into what I guess is the kitchen.