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)
I smile in agreement, but the hair on my neck starts to stand on end as Granny’s gaze locks on. A slow, curly smile forms on her lips.
Oh, hell. What now?
As her eyes begin twinkling, she glances at Tory.
“Say, now, that’s not such a bad idea,” Granny says, rubbing her chin. “You staying with someone else in town...why didn’t I think of that?”
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit!
My stomach churns as I realize what the old woman’s thinking, and it ain’t happening.
Tory living with me isn’t even an option right now.
I’ve got headaches with men who want me dead, a torn-up house, and last but not least, she’s a walking Siren.
How the hell would I ever get anything done with Peach up in my space?
How could I even undo the kiss at the rodeo and keep us friends?
“It would have to be someone upstanding,” Granny continues while she stands. “Someone I could trust a hundred percent.” She pats my shoulder as she walks behind me, around the table. “Come to think of it, I would like to go on that cruise, and they can’t guarantee me a spot next year.”
I watch her, glaring as she opens the fridge and pulls out a lemon meringue pie.
“And wouldn’t you know I’ve dreamed of having a dishwasher for thirty years?” she laughs.
Tory gives her a weird look, and then starts collecting the dinner plates and silverware, carrying them to the counter.
“Well, maybe I could stay next door with Otis and Velma.”
“Not happening.” Granny sets the pie on the table. “It has to be someone who can stand up to your folks if they start trying to jerk you around. Would you, handsome?” She hands me a knife to cut the pie.
“Yeah,” I say dryly, stabbing the knife into the creamy layers.
“Because you just know your parents, or that Jean-Paul character,” she says his name with a sneer, “are gonna show up with pretty excuses sooner or later. They’ll try to reel you back in as soon as they hear I’m gone.”
“I mean...fine. You’re right.” Tory brings small plates and forks to the table and sits down with a sigh. “They’ll give it their best annoying shot. Maybe I can just rent a cheap place.”
That won’t work, but I don’t have to say it.
Not when Granny’s already on the case.
“Maybe if it was winter, but this time of year? There’s nothing to rent around here.” She pats my shoulder again. “We need someone with a big old house. Lots of spare rooms. And it always helps to have somebody you know because, who needs that awkwardness, living with a total stranger?”
Yeah.
Subtlety and Granny Coffey don’t share the same universe.
I help her lift the pieces I’ve cut up with the knife, ignoring her brutally obvious hints of me and my house.
Granny sets three big pieces of pie on the plates and lays forks next to them. Then she picks up two of the plates.
“Well, this old gal’s brain is fresh out of ideas. Why don’t you two think on it while I take these next door for Otis and Velma?” She gives me a devilish wink. “Ta-ta!”
A moment later. She’s out the door, whistling to herself.
“Oh, Granny...she only left us one piece. I’ll get another plate and fork. It’s a big one so we can share,” Tory says.
I lay a hand on her arm.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m full. The eggplant parm was really good.”
She picks up the fork with a sunny smile. “You sure? Granny makes the best lemon meringue pie on the planet.” She slices the pie with her fork and holds it up to me. “It’s won more than one blue ribbon. Just try it.”
I lean over and take the bite of pie off the fork. The sudden tart hit of sugar and citrus is blue-ribbon worthy, I’ll admit.
She laughs when I’m still chewing after ten seconds.
“That good, right?”
“Very,” I grunt, hating how my eyes instantly fall to her pink lips.
The lemon meringue might be dessert heaven, but it’s not the pie making me hard as a rock now.
Fuck.
Using the same fork, she takes a bite, moving her lips in a way perfectly designed to torture me. “Mmmm-mmm. Oh my God. I’d forgotten how good.”
Oh my God.
Hearing her gasp in sheer rapture replays in my head like a loop.
My dick jerks in my pants.
I can’t help picturing her under me, those long legs wrapped tight, raking my back with her nails while I tame that wicked mouth and my hips pound hers into the mattress.
So this is what it feels like when a man loses his mind.
The fork hangs at my mouth again, holding another piece she’s peeled off, offering to feed me.
I eat it, hoping the taste brings me back to earth.
“Why don’t you want to go back to Chicago yet? Besides the goats, I mean?”