Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
We’re not really arguing, more like debating the merits of a Hallmark movie, which is ridiculous in and of itself. I can’t help but defend the predictable plots and for-sure endings I’ve come to know and love, even if Dalton does have a point.
“You wouldn’t understand a ‘sweet love’ either,” Dalton accuses. “You’d eat a soft guy like Jameson for breakfast and shit him out before lunch. You need someone who can handle your bullshit.”
“Like you?” I guess snidely.
He scoffs, but nods. “Better than some weak-ass guy who can’t pull his head out of his ass long enough to save his family’s farm unless his one true love drops into his lap and helps by selling hot cocoa at the fair.”
He does little finger air quotes around “helps” because Sheila did a lot more than hand out Styrofoam cups. She saved the day, but somehow Jameson came out the hero.
I stare at him in shock for three, two, one . . .
And then I burst into laughter. “What?” I say around full-on belly guffaws that shake my shoulders. “What the fuck are we arguing about?”
“I don’t even know,” he answers, laughing too.
Suddenly, we both dissolve into a mutual laughing fit at the absurdity of the movie and each other. And still, Sheila, Jameson, and Bernie snow-fight on, which only makes the whole thing funnier.
Eventually, the laughter starts to subside, and I ask, “You really think I’d shit a sweet guy out before lunch?”
“One hundred percent,” he declares with complete surety. “Wouldn’t matter, though. He’d be running scared within the first thirty seconds of meeting you, intimidated as fuck by your mouth, mind, and tits, in that order,” he says, ticking the attributes off on his thick fingers.
My mouth falls open in surprise. That almost sounded like a compliment, but I must be wrong because Dalton Days doesn’t give those out. Especially to me.
Except, while he has called me mouthy at least a half dozen times, he’s also said I’m smart and strong, and he doesn’t seem to hate my body given his response to it.
“You didn’t run,” I say quietly.
He huffs out a sound of disbelief. “I’m not sweet and weak. And I’m still running. You’re fucking terrifying. I leave every interaction with you glad that I got away with my life and replaying our conversations to see if I missed any threats to it. The only thing scarier than you is . . . losing.”
It sounds like he actually believes that. For some reason, I don’t want him to be scared of me.
“I don’t mean to be terrifying.” I sigh heavily, rolling my eyes in exhaustion. “Maybe I’m ready for a soft woman chapter. I’ve been a boss bitch for a long time,” I confess. “I think that’s why I like the stupid romance movies.”
Dalton turns on the couch, bringing up a knee between us. “If you’re serious, you should know that you don’t need to change a single fucking thing about yourself for the right guy to fall in love with you. You don’t need to be soft. You only need to be you. No giving up your career, moving to Vermont, or adopting a litter of dogs that’ll shit on the rug.”
I let my head fall back on the couch cushion, smiling at his dark humor. “I’m not going soft or giving up anything. Trust me, I know what I’m bringing to the table, so I’m not afraid to eat alone. I think I’m just a little lonely since Hope left.”
“Lonely? With me coming over or calling all the time?” he teases. And as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, he reaches out to smooth my hair back from my face, peering at me curiously.
For a split second, I let my eyes close, enjoying his touch as his big palm slides over my hair, almost petting me. It feels good, releasing a knot in my chest I didn’t even realize had pulled tight.
I loll my head over, opening my eyes to lazily grin at him. “Yeah, you’re pretty annoying,” I agree, but there’s zero truth to my statement.
He’s not annoying in the slightest. He’s . . . something different than I thought he was. I knew he was tough, hardworking, and cocky. But he’s also insecure at times, kind, and funny.
It takes a long minute, but I can feel the mood shift as he intentionally takes his hand back. “Always have been, always will be,” he quips. “On that front . . .”
He drops his eyes to his lap, and when I do the same, I can see that he’s already hard beneath his sweatpants. I wonder if it’s from touching me, or if his dick has developed a Pavlov’s response to my voice because every time it hears me, it gets a moment of freedom and a few strokes.