Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
"Yeah, talking," I agreed, lips twitching a bit.
"Guess Ranger was right, huh?"
"About?"
"He said something about how this woman got hooks in you. Said you didn't even feel them yet, but they're there. And that they're gonna rip chunks of you out when you leave her in Nevada."
"You been smoking, Kai?" I asked, brows drawing together. "'Cause I'm pretty sure Ranger has never said something that sentimental in his life."
"He talks sometimes too. Maybe just not to you," Kai said, sounding like he was shrugging.
And, well, I guess everyone talked to Kai.
That made sense.
He was that kind of guy. Easy to talk to, good for a listen, happy to be a sounding board, never one to lecture or even offer unwanted advice.
Shit.
Maybe Ranger was more than just a guy from the woods with a messed-up past and anti-social personality.
"Hard to talk to someone who is allergic to his phone."
"You could visit him."
"No one visits him. Unless there's a job."
"Don't know what you're talking about; I go down for dinner once every month or two."
"You're shitting me."
"He's a good cook, man. And he makes hot chocolate. From scratch. With milk from one of his cows."
"Wait, what? Since the fuck when does he have cows?"
"Got a whole self-sustaining farm, Gunn. Cows, chickens, goats. When's the last time you were there?"
"Two years I guess." And admitting that made me sound - and feel - like a really shitty friend. "He barely had the house and shed built," I added.
"Gotta go visit. He's got some good shit going on. Clients hate it. He makes them do work," he added, sounding like he was smiling.
And because I could picture that, I felt my lips curving up too. "Can you picture Fenway crouched down in those designer pants of his, milking a cow?"
"That image is perhaps the only thing that makes interacting with him for longer than an hour tolerable. But from what I hear, he's been laying lower than usual."
"I'll believe that when more than a year passes without some huge international scandal sending him our way."
"So, when can we expect you back? Things are getting downright cordial here without you."
I chuckled at that, shaking my head. "A week until I hit the road again. Maybe a little longer. Depends on how all the steps go when we get to her destination. Then another five days trip back to Jersey."
"Alrighty. Keep us updated," he demanded as I heard the distinct click of Jules's heels. He was rushing me off the phone.
"Will do."
"Take care of your girl."
He hung up before I could say she wasn't my girl.
That she could never be my girl.
"Quin?" Sloane's voice asked, making me jerk upright to find her standing there in that goddamn silk robe of hers. And, from what I could tell, nothing else underneath, her wet hair darker than usual, but hanging down for a change, framing her delicate face.
"Kai," I corrected.
"I didn't meet him."
"He's our Messenger," I supplied. "In love with Jules."
"That's sweet."
"Except for the fact that Jules is oblivious."
"Then that's kind of sad," she told me, walking over toward her bed, the smell of the bath stuff still clinging to her, filling the air around her. The urge to press her down and taste every inch of her skin was making it hard to focus.
"Yeah, it is," I agreed, but maybe only a part of me was talking about Kai and Jules. And the bigger part was talking about Sloane and me.
"Hey, Gunner?" she asked a moment later, making me turn to find her looking at me with those light eyes of hers.
"Yeah, duchess?" I asked, hearing the strain in my own voice, a tiredness that I couldn't attribute to the strain of the drive.
"I have no pajamas," she informed me, it being the last possible thing I could have anticipated.
"What?" I asked, sure I misheard her.
"All my pajamas are dry clean only. And I've worn them all now."
My knee-jerk reaction was to tell her she'd have to sleep naked then. But for some reason, I bit that comment back. "I can lend you something if you want. We'll find someplace to dry clean at the next stop."
"Thank you," she said, giving me a relieved smile, like this shit had been weighing on her.
"Here," I started, jumping up, going to grab my duffel, finding one of my rolled t-shirts. "This should be long enough," I offered, handing the gray tee to her.
"Thanks," she said, going off to change.
And when she came out in my shirt, I had the oddest fucking reaction.
This feels right.
The rest of this job was going to take an immeasurable amount of self-control.
NINE
Sloane
I almost wished for a nightmare.
That was silly and maybe even a bit immature.
To need an excuse to get close to him, to have him put his hands on me again, to acknowledge what was going on between us.