Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 134(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 134(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Would it kill him to wait for a few more minutes?
You gotta make a stand, Cay!
I gnaw on my lip while absently studying his blurred reflection on the ticket machine's glossy surface.
He's ridiculously tall, his frame ruggedly imposing, and is that a five o'clock shadow I'm barely seeing through the reflection?
My gaze flickers downwards, and it's my first time to see someone wearing a pair of honest-to-goodness cowboy boots, which he's paired with denims and a plaid shirt that's stretched taut over an impossibly broad—
Whoa, Cay!
Color suffuses my cheeks when I realize just how much time I've spent dissecting his looks. I wrench my gaze off him even as my pulse begins to race at his proximity.
What is wrong with me?
This man needs to be taught a lesson, but all my brain suddenly cares about is how he's making me feel. If I'm truly serious about turning a new leaf, then this is my chance to—
"Here you go."
—say thank you?
I stare dumbly at the ticket Mr. Might-Not-Be-Improper has placed in my hand. His fingers brush mine, and heat radiates up my arm from that simple touch. I catch a faint whiff of something expensive and masculine—sandalwood maybe, with hints of leather. It smells a lot like the cologne Claude uses but can't really afford—
Stop it, Cay!
I try slamming a door shut on all memories of my ex, but it's too late. He's all I can see, with his tousled dark locks, thrift-store sweaters, and oversized pants.
Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.
I want to forget him so bad, but my mind isn't done torturing me, and more unwelcome memories flood my mind. Claude staring at me with eyes that I used to think were full of adoration...up until we had the Big One that ended it all.
Nothing between us was ever real!
Are you really that dumb?
I was faking it, Cay!
Just fucking faking until I could fucking succeed where everyone else—
"You didn't hear a word I said, did you?"
Oh, sheep.
It's the amusement lacing Mr. Might-Not-Be-Improper's words that get to me, the sound freeing me from my mental prison, and I realize in secret shame that I had lost myself in the past again.
"I'm sorry," I say jerkily.
"Via doesn't offer any direct routes to Hartland from San Antonio."
Was this what I failed to hear earlier?
"But when you get to Laramie, you can transfer to a local bus to Hartland."
Words of apology and gratitude stay stuck in my throat. Everything he's said and done has been nothing but helpful, but as much as I feel bad about misjudging him—
SHEEP!
His warm breath suddenly caresses my skin as he leans in, and I realize that no, I did not misjudge him at all, and oh my gosh, are those his lips actually brushing my ear?
"You're welcome, darling."
And just like that, my body betrays me. A shiver courses down my spine, and something warm and forbidden pools low in my belly. I've never felt this kind of immediate, visceral reaction to any man before—not even Claude during our first meeting.
I should be outraged. I should step away and make it clear this kind of forward behavior is unacceptable.
But I don't.
I stand frozen, caught between indignation and an unfamiliar, unwelcome desire that makes my heart race and my palms sweat.
And what terrifies me most?
The realization that a tiny, rebellious part of me hopes he doesn't stop.
Chapter Two
THOUGHTS OF MR. ABSOLUTELY-Improper-After-All still weigh on my mind as the bus driver scans my $150 ticket before stepping aside with a tip of his hat. "Welcome aboard, ma'am."
His gentle smile catches me off guard, and I awkwardly mutter 'thank you' under my breath. I can't remember the last time I ever had someone smile at me like that. Is it because I've changed? Is it because I'm now broke that I'm not as "cold" and "unapproachable" as people often told me I was?
I step onto the bus, clutching my small bag to my chest as if it contains all my worldly possessions—which, in a way, it does. Everything that mattered from my old life is gone now. Stolen, just like my dignity.
And...wow.
This, just like Via's bus station lobby, is unlike anything I've seen in movies. Wood paneling for the walls and overhead cabins. A toiletry kit that includes a toothbrush set, an eye mask, and lip balm. In-seat screens with headphones and recliner seats with built-in massage functions, incredible leg space, and a note to request a blanket or extra pillows if needed.
The bus's 1-1 configuration is also a huge blessing. When watching concerts, I've always opted for aisle seats since I just don't have it in me to wriggle and squeeze past other people just to get to the toilet. Story says I could end up with kidney stones just for being antisocial, but I honestly think that's an exaggeration. It's not like I watch concerts every day, duh.