Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 136247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
“Must be fate.” I shrug and wink at her.
“Fate?” She shakes her head. “More like an omen.”
She feels bad about getting me involved, and I still feel pretty rotten about cutting our evening short the other night.
“Either way, I’m glad I called. Now you can’t avoid me anymore.” I take her arm and walk her to the door of her truck, grateful she doesn’t fight me. “And I’m damn glad you answered so I could get you out of this jam.”
“Yeah, well, we’re both happy about that. Thank you, Quinn,” she whispers, her cheeks beginning to glow.
“You never really responded to my texts. Until the other day, I was starting to wonder if Granny gave me the right number.”
“It’s the right number. I told you, I wasn’t mad, just busy. About the other night...it was weird. I think you know it, too, and...well, it shouldn’t be. I just don’t want you thinking—”
“Thinking what? We’re friends, Tory. End of story,” I say, cutting her off. “I didn’t mean any offense having to rush off to something important. And I still owe you. What’re you doing now? Looks like this job’ll have to wait till tomorrow. At least let me buy you a burger?”
“Um, you just came to my rescue,” she says weakly, twirling her cinnamon hair, avoiding my eyes. “If anyone should be buying supper, it’s me who should be getting yours.”
“You’re on,” I tell her, snapping my fingers. “This man never passed up a free breakfast, lunch, or dinner.”
Laughing, she shakes her head, sending that auburn mess of curls everywhere.
For a second, I wonder if she’d smile like that if I did the unthinkable.
If I slid my fingers through it, pulled with that gentle, growly tension a lot of girls like, if I brought my lips home for a taste of Little Miss Three Names.
Fuck, I bet I’d hallucinate her flavor.
She’d even taste like a peach.
And one time devouring her mouth wouldn’t be nearly enough.
I’d want to send my kisses marching lower, straight down that sun-kissed throat, lingering on her tits, gliding past her belly, straight to that sweet, hot heaven waiting between her—
No.
I pinch my thigh as my senses fly back, wondering what the hell I’m thinking. It’s gotta be the tension, the adrenaline rush from getting up in Marvin’s face.
Ever since that Old Town Boys bust with Ridge and Grace over a year ago, I haven’t had a lot of excitement, and like a lot of dudes, this shit always made me a little hard after it was over.
Guess it’s my way of feeling grateful to be alive and well with a new appreciation for life, including its finer pleasures.
Hiding my bulge, I swagger over and open her truck door, then wave to Owl, who instantly hops in. “How long do you need to drop off this rig?”
“Tonight? Oh, you’re serious—”
“Don’t back out on me now.” I gesture for her to climb in. “The diner on Main Street has awesome-ass burgers. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”
“An hour?” She shakes her head as she starts the truck, but she knows not to complain.
“Fine, lady. An hour and a half tops.”
Then I shut the door, knowing full well I’m slowly losing my mind.
5
Can’t Goat Enough (Tory)
Time to freak out.
My heart thuds a thousand beats a minute and I know it has nothing to do with the angry jerkface Quinn just chased out of town with his tail between his legs.
Or how he did it by snatching away the brute’s own gun and turning it against him.
A scary sight for a Chicago girl, where gun violence is a fact of life.
But with Quinn in control, I didn’t even flinch.
His command, his strength, his focus...
Wow. With his training, he clearly knows his way around an armed weapon and how to send folks packing who shouldn’t have them.
My heart’s still pounding.
It wasn’t even the standoff, really. Not with the way his truck squealed to a stop and he’d come barreling up the driveway, looking like he was ready to tear apart anything in his way with his bare hands. I couldn’t help but be reminded of the first time we’d met.
He’d been so ready to defend his grandpa’s bee boxes then. This red-faced, angry boy who calmed as soon as he realized I wasn’t a threat, just a silly little girl in over her head.
Today, he’d been ready to defend me.
I’ve never had this before, but I’ve dreamed about it more often than I care to admit.
Jean-Paul was no Hercules. I honestly wondered sometimes what would happen if we got mugged or assaulted while bouncing around the city to museums and Italian restaurants with mouthful names.
Even back in Chicago, my eye wandered to hard, capable men who looked like they’d be able to quash violence as easy as swatting a fly.
And if I wanted to stop thinking of Quinn that way, comparing him to my idiot of an ex?