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)
Sighing, I hug my sides.
On the ten-point scale of Tory Being Ridiculous, I think this might be a solid eleven.
But I also think I was never, ever meant to taste Quinn and trigger this madness.
Leaning over the sink, I splash cool water on my face, eyeing my expression in the mirror. I look equal parts terrified and triumphant.
Ten freaking years, or close enough.
That’s how long I’d wanted a single kiss with that gorgeous beast.
Trouble is, it has a colossal price, and it’s also made me want more.
So much more.
Granny stands in the hall when I open the door, wearing a concerned look, bright-pink tablets in her hand.
“Poor girl. I should’ve told you Kenny’s is a delicacy worth working up to if you’re not used to the spice,” she tells me.
I take the Pepto pills and pop them in my mouth. “I enjoyed it. It was just...too much, too soon. Thanks, Gran. I need to lay down.”
She doesn’t need to know too much, too soon has nothing to do with burrito heaven and everything to do with the man they call Faulk.
I flop down on my back, staring at the ceiling, trying to hash out what’s wrong with me.
Quinn took a big risk—or was it a big step?—by kissing me.
Like, seriously kissing me.
Hardly an innocent exploration between friends, but a full-on conquest by a man who knows what he wants, and who.
Dear Lord.
I should be buzzing and dreaming about more with a smile so wide it hurts my face.
Hell, I shouldn’t even be in my own bed tonight.
What would be wrong with finishing what we’d started, history aside?
I’m not committed to anyone.
Jean-Paul was the only real relationship I’ve had. Knowing he cheated on me with Bitchface Madeline infuriated me, but it hadn’t broken my heart.
Sure, it thoroughly pissed me off because I’d done everything—everything—to pour my heart, body, soul into getting the center dancer honor.
And having that ripped away in a heartbeat by the woman who was sleeping with my effing boyfriend sent me to a very dark place.
It filled me with hatred.
For everyone in Chicago and everything, including dancing.
I’m still crawling out of that pit now. I have the self-awareness to know.
And maybe that’s my biggest issue with a full-blown surrender to Quinn and his growly, unbelievable charm.
Being here has helped soothe the heartache over...well, everything.
Granny knew it would, that’s why she insisted I visit.
Mother was mad and never missed a chance to remind me I’m running from my problems.
Maybe I was.
Maybe I still am.
Maybe I’m too full of maybes.
But maybe Granny is right, too.
That an affair with Quinn—as she put it the first time because I’m never, ever calling it a nighttime nibble—is exactly what I need to get my crap together again.
After the way he kissed, I sure wouldn’t mind it.
I swear, if we hadn’t been strapped in on a Ferris wheel, I guarantee things would’ve evolved way beyond kissing. I’d have welcomed it.
Rolling over, I punch down my pillow and huff out an angry breath.
Why is this so complicated?
Because I don’t know the future?
Whether or not I’ll ever be able to dance again?
The exercises my physical therapist gave me included dance steps, but I haven’t tried any of them yet. It freaks me out, knowing if my knee can’t take the twisting and turning, then what?
Then I won’t have anything.
My short-lived career is all I’ve ever had. The sun my life orbited for as long as I can remember, inseparably linked to everything else a girl should care about.
Family. Money. Men.
My summers here were the only time I got a taste of a different world, and that’s what Dallas still gives me now.
Which is just as scary, honestly. I can’t live here forever being a goat wrangler, shacking up with a man who’s trying to make sense of his own life.
I can’t do that to Quinn.
He’s got enough on his plate between sorting out his grandfather’s house and now this crazy stalker thing with a dangerous convict.
Plus, Uncle Dean will give up this goat scheme soon. He’s already hinting at it, he couldn’t shut up about watching beekeeping YouTubes yesterday.
He only has a few more jobs lined up, committed, and that’s only because I insisted he follow up on the leads from Ridge.
I don’t have endless patience to take on the goats alone forever, and I certainly can’t keep them all here at Granny’s.
She might be a crazy old lady, but she’s not a crazy goat lady.
It doesn’t make sense why my life is so screwed up, so dependent on others.
Yet, I’m convinced it always will be.
I’m not sure when I finally drifted off last night, but as I shower this morning, I know nothing got resolved.
Not in my life. Not in my job. And not one bit in the desires Quinn stroked into my body last night using that Casanova tongue.