Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 143382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 717(@200wpm)___ 574(@250wpm)___ 478(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 143382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 717(@200wpm)___ 574(@250wpm)___ 478(@300wpm)
“All I’m gonna say.”
“Thank you,” I repeated.
“I got the crumble. You bring the coffee when it’s done.”
I nodded.
Eric grabbed the bowls.
I turned to the Nespresso and switched out mugs and pods.
I had no idea what was going on with this guy.
And I wasn’t going to think about it.
I wasn’t because I knew two things for certain in this world.
If you wanted something, you worked for it.
And…
No matter how hard you worked for it, what would be was going to be, and whatever that was, you had no choice but to deal.
What was going on with Eric was going on.
And whatever it was, I would deal.
Something lovely slid across my cheek.
I opened my eyes and Eric Turner’s beautiful face was close to mine.
“Hey,” his beautiful voice whispered. “Sorry to wake you, but I’m leaving.”
Oh shit.
It was the end of No-Fucks-to-Giving.
“You need to lock up after me,” he said.
He was right. I did.
I struggled with my lethargy and the blanket on top of me to get up.
I didn’t struggle long. He demonstrated his broad shoulders weren’t simply aesthetically pleasing, because he used them, and his arms, to scoop me off the couch and set me on my feet.
Like literally scoop me up and set me down.
Just like that.
He didn’t even grunt.
I started teetering, and it wasn’t because I’d just been awakened. Nor was it because I’d had an emotional juggernaut of a day: good, mixed with bad, mixed with great, mixed with uncertain, mixed with just plain weird.
Eric steadied me, then he took my hand and led me to the door.
He’d wisely locked it before Titanic.
I fell asleep somewhere in the middle of Snakes on a Plane (yep, Eric had exceptional taste in movies, along with everything else that was exceptional about Eric, the newly learned items on this list including his cooking, his listening abilities, his sharing abilities and the dual purpose of his shoulders).
He stood in my open door, holding my hand.
I stood in my open door, having my hand held, liking my hand held and staring up at him.
“I know I shouldn’t give a fuck, but it’s been a great day,” he stated.
I slipped out of my What Will Be, Will Be Mentality and wondered what in the fuck was going on here.
“It has,” I agreed.
He squeezed my hand. “Go to bed, Jess.”
“Text me when you get home.”
“Pardon?”
Shit!
I needed to learn to control my mouth around him.
That was something I’d say to Harlow, Luna, Raye (though the last two lived at the Oasis, and Harlow was moving in December first, still).
Also Jeff.
In other words, people I loved.
I shook my head, pulled my hand from his, and waved my other one between us.
“No. Sorry. You’re a big boy. You don’t have to do that. I’m sure you’ll get home just fine.”
“I don’t have your number.”
“Seriously, it’s okay if you—”
“Jessica, give me your number.”
Gazing into his eyes, I rattled it off by rote.
So much for learning to control my mouth.
“Got it,” he replied.
“Just like that?”
“In my line of business, you make a point to remember important things.”
Totally out of my What Will Be, Will Be Mentality.
Because, what the fuck was that?
“Go to bed,” he ordered. “I’ll see you later.”
“Right,” I mumbled. “Later.”
He chucked me under the chin.
Chucked me under the chin.
Again…
The fuck?
Was this…something?
Or was I like some little sister he was adopting because I was alone and fucked up?
“’Night,” he murmured.
Then he was gone.
I stared at the space he used to be in until I heard him call from down the walkway, “Close the door and lock it, Jessie.”
I closed the door and locked it.
I then woodenly turned to look at my apartment.
The TV was off.
The black-and-white-striped throw Eric had pulled over him was folded on the edge of the couch (the diagonal stripe one I was using was in a bunch on the floor).
There were no bowls or mugs lying around.
I wandered to my kitchen.
I heard the dishwasher whirring and saw that our crumble bowls and coffee mugs were nowhere to be seen.
“What’s happening?” I asked my sink.
The sink had no answers.
I needed a pet.
Pets had no answers either, but at least you didn’t feel like a moron when you talked to them.
I went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, washed my face, moisturized and pulled my dark hair up into a ponytail.
I then went to my bedroom, turned on a light beside my bed and donned my pajamas (yes, black leopards crawling over a white background, drawstring sleep shorts and a long-sleeved pajama top—when I sought control of my surroundings, I didn’t mess around).
I went back out and checked the lock on the door I’d locked maybe five minutes before, grabbed my phone, extinguished the lights and headed back to the bedroom.
I was sitting with my back to my headboard, zebra print comforter tucked to my lap, flicking through TikToks to kill time, when it came in.