Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
The joy on his face falls prior to a headshake.
“Okay, then you hop in the shower and get warmed up while I put the food in and get the space heater working. After you’re all done, we can get the mattress setup and pick out some sheets and blankets and pillows. I wanna say I have some non-floral print stuff for guests, but it’s hard to remember. I haven’t had one in…um…ever…and my mom has a hard on for gifting flower décor items, insisting ‘visitors find it welcoming’. Not sure that that’s true; however, we may be putting that theory to the test tonight.”
More laughter leaks from his parted lips wrapping around me the way I guiltily wish his arms would.
“I’m Jaye Jenkins, by the way.” An awkward unnecessary wave is given to him. “Just in case you missed the officers calling me that.”
“Oh no, I heard them. Loud and clear.” The amused expression lingers. “Little Jaye Jenkins.”
“Don’t make me get the dog whistle, Pizza Dude.”
“Archer.” His warm correction is followed by him bridging the gap between us, extending his open palm, and properly introducing himself for the first time, “Archer Cox.”
Chapter 6
Archer
Jaye. Pizza Woman’s first name is Jaye. Fuck…just when I thought she couldn’t get any more perfect, she says her name to me. Did you hear what I said? To. Me. Not around me. Not near me for my overhearing benefit. To. Me. She fucking introduced herself. Called me…a friend. Part of me knows it was just to get the cops off my ass – fuck her nosey neighbor for that – but the other part me…the part I call instinct…the part that kept me alive in combat as much as when I’m roaming the streets is insisting that she meant that term. That that’s how she really sees me. And double fuck because that shit feels good. Really good. Too fucking good considering I know all this is just temporary.
The burning hot water firmly massages my shoulders, which pulls another pleased groan out of me.
Forfuckssake, what the hell am I doing? I don’t belong here. I don’t belong in this fancy ass walk-in shower, with this fancy ass seven setting showerhead, with this fancy ass fucking soap that smells like I’m bathing myself with a slice of vanilla birthday cake. No. I belong scrubbing my face with that slightly heated pool water and washing crumbs out of my scruff with a garden hose.
Both of my palms press harshly against the tile wall while my head falls completely forward, helplessly lost in the heavenly sensations.
I honestly can’t remember the last time I had an actual hot shower. I think it was a few months ago near a holiday weekend. Sometimes if you linger around the cheap motels right off the highway, the maids will take pity on you. They’ll go for an ‘overdue break’. Sometimes they’ll pretend they forgot something in the main office. Leave the door unlocked or cracked open. Let you rinse off right before their cleaning duties are to begin inside. Look the other way if they happen to come up a towel short – after all guests take things all the time, it’s why some of that shit is pre-factored into their bill. Maria Claire used to be my go-to. Unfortunately for both of us, her kindness is what got her fired. I should’ve just gone a couple times and moved on to prevent any damage being done to her or her career. I shouldn’t have risked her security for my own selfish momentary satisfaction. I swear to God, I ruin everything around me. It’s the only shit I’m actually good it. It’s why I need to leave first thing in the morning. What happened to Maria Claire weighed heavily on my heart for weeks; however, just the idea of causing Jaye any type of turmoil weighs heavily on my fucking soul. I have to go. I refuse to hurt her. At all. Ever.
After rinsing off the last of the suds from my shoulders, I turn off the water, open the glass door, and reach for the large, fluffy white towel waiting for me on the nearby toilet seat. There’s no stopping the small grumble of continued pleasure that instantly breaks free.
Fuckin’ hell, man, even the towel is comfortable?! Feel this shit. Soft, right? God, have you ever had a towel like this in your entire life? Even in my pre-nomad life, I never had anything at this quality. I was more of a buy whatever’s cheapest type of guy. I gotta ask – you not her – is this what staying at The Frost Luxury Hotel is like? You know the five-star place I’m talking about, don’t you? They’ve got fancy chains and resorts all around the world. Yeah! That one! Is this comparable? Well, even if it isn’t, this shit beats the fuck out of rinsing off with a hose and using tattered rags I grabbed out of the garbage to dry off.