Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 31257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
Especially when I heard that gunshot.
She gasps against my lips, her entire body jolting. And then her arms slide up around my neck. Thank God. I hold the kiss for a moment longer before breaking it. I could kiss her forever but now isn't really the time. And this wasn't really about that.
"T-thank you," she whispers after a moment.
"Did you just thank me for kissing you?"
She's definitely not at risk of going into shock now. She rolls her eyes at me. "Ugh, no."
I choke on a laugh, reaching into the back to grab one of my jerseys.
"What are you doing?" She swats at my hands when I try to pull it on over her head.
"You're ice cold, Aspen. We need to warm you up to make sure you don't go into shock."
"Oh." A pretty blush creeps across her cheeks as she takes the jersey, pulling it on over her head.
I watch her intently, trying to gauge how she's feeling. She's still pale and trembling, but she isn't crying now. The tears are already drying on her cheeks. Nash may worry about her, but she's strong as hell.
Fuck my life. Nash. He's going to lose his damn mind when he finds out about this. And it's not like I can't tell him. His sister was nearly shot. That's not something I can keep to myself. It's not something I should keep to myself.
But that's a problem for another day.
"Come on." I place my hand on the small of her back, leading her toward the doors of the Sheriff's Office. "Let's go rally the troops."
Chapter Five
Aspen
Sheriff Dillon Armstrong isn't a morning person. Or maybe he isn't an armed robbery person. I'm not sure, but he's cranky. I'm feeling a little stabby myself, truth be told. I barely slept all night, thanks to a certain hockey player invading my dreams.
In them, dinner didn't end with him giving me a chaste kiss and me kicking him out of the shop. Oh no, it didn't. Things got downright pornographic. There was icing involved and everything. I finally gave up trying to sleep and took a lukewarm shower at 2:30.
Everything since has been what I think people call a shit show.
"Run through it again," Dillon says, scrubbing his hands through his messy hair. "What time did you get here?"
"Seriously?" Noah glares at him. "She's already been through it twice."
"And I need her to go through it again. It's not even five in the morning. I'm half awake."
Noah mutters a curse under his breath.
"Don't make me make you wait outside, Diamante," Dillon barks at him. "I'm not in the mood for this shit."
"I'm not waiting outside," Noah growls.
"It's fine." I place a hand on his arm, trying to keep the peace. Dillon is just trying to do his job, and Noah's just trying to look out for me. Neither of them is wrong here, and we're all on the same side. "I don't mind going through it again."
"This is the last time," Dillon says, glancing between me and Noah. "I just need to ensure I have all the facts straight."
"I got to the shop at 3:30," I start, leaving out the part about getting there early in the hopes that I'd finish early and have to spend less time in the kitchen with Noah. Either the universe hates me, or it's sending flaming arrows my way, trying to point me toward the gorgeous hockey player because my brilliant plan worked a little too well. We haven't spent a single second in the kitchen…but he's glued to my side anyway. "I barely made it around the counter when I heard someone rummaging around in Jack's office. I thought it was him."
"Wasn't me," Jack mutters.
"Really? You mean you aren't the one who tried to shoot me?"
He narrows his eyes at me and then cracks a smile. "Smartass."
"Why'd you think it was Jack?" Dillion asks.
"Because they were in his office?"
"Were there lights on?"
"No. That's why I didn't yell to ask why he was here so early."
Dillon nods, jotting something in his little notebook. Or maybe he's doodling, I don't know. What do cops write in those things anyway? "And then what happened?"
"The two men in the office started talking."
"What were they saying?"
"Look in there," I repeat. "You know this rich mothertrucker probably leaves money in the desk drawers."
"He called me a mothertrucker?" Amusement carves little lines around Jack's eyes. Even though the situation is serious, he can't help but tease me. I think he's trying to make me feel better. I know he feels terrible, though. He rushed here as soon as Dillon called him.
"No, he called you the expletive version," I mutter. "I edited to spare your one feeling."
"That's more like it," Jack mutters.
Even Noah relaxes a little bit, some of the tension flowing from him.
"What happened from there, Aspen?" Dillon asks, trying to get us back on track.