Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“I am,” I groaned. “That’s the sad part about it. I can’t think that many moves ahead. This is why I suck at checkers.”
“Checkers is for idiots,” she informed me.
I stared at the board, not sure what she had just moved. “I didn’t see your move.”
“E4.”
Like that meant anything. I studied the bottom of the board to see if the rows were labeled.
“Oh my gosh, Miss F. It’s this one.” She pressed a blue sparkly fingernail on the top of a castle.
“It looks like someone needs a rescue.” Brant’s voice came from behind me, and I turned quickly in my chair, surprised.
“What are you doing here?” I tilted back my chin and he leaned forward, pressing his lips to mine.
Presley groaned and covered her eyes. “No kissing. It’s a RULE, Miss F.”
Brant broke the rules again, with a quick peck on my lips, then straightened. “Sorry. I’m a rebel. It’s…” He studied her. “Presley, right?”
Man forgets where he left his car or his own first name, but he remembers a girl he met four months ago. Go figure. She straightened with glee. “That’s right! Presley Andrews. And you’re Miss F’s boyfriend.” She delivered the last word in a hushed tone, as if it was a secret.
“That I am.” He gave a courtly bow. “I’m also much, much better than her at chess. If you’re bored, I could step in. Liven up the game a bit.”
She beamed and waved both hands at me as if shooing away an insect.
“She’s eight,” I warned Brant, pushing back the chair and standing up. “And I thought you had that meeting at—”
“Moved it up and cleared my calendar for the rest of today. Thought I’d play some hooky.” He settled into my seat and hunched forward, studying the board in a moment, then reached along the back row for one of the tall things. Moving it to the middle of the board, he looked back up at me. “Thought I’d finish your shift with you, then we’d go to that sushi place you like.”
I swooned a little at the idea, but paused, because he picked, of all days during the month, the absolute worst to volunteer for. “It’s bathroom cleaning day,” I said.
“So?” He moved something on the board. “Check.” Presley hunched forward, alert. “I love bathrooms. In fact, I used one earlier this morning.” He grinned at the girl, and she covered her mouth and giggled, then refocused on the board.
Yeah. I tried to remember the last time—any time—I had seen Brant clean anything, or even plunge a toilet. The HYA bathrooms were communal by gender, one big counter with sinks and then a row of private showers and toilet stalls. They were cleaned weekly, by the volunteers, and really should be cleaned every day. They were always, by the time Tuesday came around, a disaster.
“Okay,” I said. “Once you finish up that game, we’ll head to the—”
“Checkmate,” Presley said, moving one of the bigger pieces with a flourish.
Brant looked ridiculously sexy in the grey coveralls, a mop in hand, his brow furrowed in concentration as he bent forward and scrubbed the floor. His biceps peeked through the short sleeves of the getup and while he had lost some muscle tone in the last few months, he was still impressively built for a computer nerd.
I sprayed solution on the mirror and wiped it down, admiring him in the reflection as he worked. He was quiet and quick, and surprisingly good—though I wasn’t surprised that he was thorough. Brant’s life was about thoroughness. Steadfast focus on a job, and its details, until it was done. The details, he always told me, are where the problems always hide.
“Your meeting went well?” I went over the glass with a dry towel, removing the wipe marks.
“Yeah.”
“Everything transitioned over to Apple smoothly?” I asked.
“It did.”
“Am I going to get any other details out of you?”
He paused and looked up. “Probably not.” His gorgeous mouth wrinkled in a grimace. “I’m sorry. Am I being anti-social? I just want to make sure that I do this right.”
“It’s cleaning,” I laughed and tossed the paper towels toward the trash can. “You can’t mess it up.” I grabbed the mop and leaned forward to get a kiss.
He turned away, avoiding the contact. “We’re not allowed to kiss.”
I growled and grabbed his face with both hands, forcing it to mine and deepening the peck into a full experience.
He pushed away, and a bad boy, he was not. I went for him, and he blocked me with the handle of the mop. I zigged to the right and he did the same, a boyish grin blooming on his face.
Not an ounce of genuine bad boy in his system, but he was still undeniably lovable.
Chapter 50
6 MONTHS AGO
Five months after Lee disappeared, he showed up at my house. His frame rested against the beach wall, the warm morning light casting golden shadows on his bare torso. His board shorts clung to him, his feet and legs caked with sand, his hair slicked back and still wet from the ocean.