Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“What can I say? It was lame, but the joke still landed.”
“Get to shopping, Tate. We need more candy.” He takes a pre-packed bag of the sea salt caramels and then cruises down the gummy aisle.
Since we’re the only ones in the store beside the employees, I walk down the other small aisle and ask, “So what’s with the candy, Decker? Secret sugar addiction? Part-time job providing candy to kindergarteners, or—” I gasp.
He moves a row of Junior Mint boxes, but let’s be honest here. He didn’t have to do that to be able to see me. “Or what?”
“Luring your prey with your sticky sweets.”
“Damn, that escalated quickly.”
“Granted, I’m the prey, and for the record, I love Twizzlers.”
“A licorice girl,” he says like it’s a whole genre of women in and of itself. I’m not sure what to make of that response. He returns the boxes to the shelves, and adds, “I like candy, but I thought it would be nice to get Natalie some. Nick told me he’s been running out at night to satisfy her sweet tooth.”
Hearing him talk about my best friend with firsthand knowledge surprises me. Living there has its perks, I guess. But his action behind that knowledge surprises me more. “The pregnancy must have her craving all kinds of things she doesn’t normally eat.” I round the endcap and run right into him. Some of the candy falls to the ground, and we’re both quick to kneel, bonking our heads together, which sends me backward to my ass.
A bag of Sugar Babies lands on my lap, and he says, “Fitting.”
I’m not actually sure why, but it starts in my belly and overwhelms me until I burst out laughing. With his candy all over the place, he starts laughing too. Rubbing over the red mark on his forehead, he asks, “Why are we laughing?”
“I don’t know,” I say, giggling too hard to stop. “But it feels good.” It does too, like a hard-earned day off.
The store clerk starts shoving the candy back in the bags like a maniac. “Are you okay?” A certain someone might be high on the sugar.
Harrison waits for me to answer, concern suddenly jading the blue of his eyes.
“I’m fine,” I reply, holding my hands out. “Help me up?”
Surprisingly, the clerk takes one of my hands, but Harrison starts laughing again, and says, “I got her. Thanks.” He takes my hands in his, his thumb gently rubbing over the top of mine. “Hold tight, ba—” He doesn’t finish, but I wish he had. He hasn’t called me baby that many times, but I remember every one of them. Usually, he says it in the heat of passion, except the first time and now the almost last one.
He pulls me to my feet, his hands holding tight to mine, the toe of our shoes touching. There’s this moment between us—thick with tension, ripe with an imagination running away, a lightness from the laughter remaining—that feels so good.
Us against the world. It reminds me of what I have with Natalie. And that is strange because I never thought I’d have anyone else in my life like her.
Harrison isn’t a knight riding onto my life’s page to save the day.
No, he has his story to create. Resting his hand heavy on my head, he asks, “You okay?”
I swat him away. “I’ll be fine. By that welt on your head, it looks like you got the worst end of it.” Then I reach up and rub my fingertips so lightly over the bruising skin.
“I never claimed to be a tough guy, but I didn’t expect to be taken out by a five-foot-three Tasmanian devil dressed in pink while in a candy store. You match the store, by the way. Almost like you planned it . . . I’m onto you, Tate.”
“Onto me? I’m innocent.”
“Innocent? You called me a murderer for buying candy.”
Shrugging, I laugh under my breath. “I watch a lot of true crime stories. What can I say?”
He starts collecting the candy into bags again but looks up at me with a grin. “You never cease to surprise me.”
“What do I cease doing?”
“Apparently helping, but I’ll let it slide.”
I finish straightening the skirt of my dress and then bend to help him. He’s already standing back up. “Oops. My bad.”
“It’s okay. That skirt’s too short to be bending over in anyway.”
My gaze darts down to my legs. “What are you talking about? It hits mid-thigh. The one I wore to the concert was shorter.”
“That was too short, too.” He starts for the front of the store like he didn’t just judge me.
Following him, I say, “Good thing you’re not my dad then.”
“I’d be more worried being your boyfriend.”
I stop between the giant lollipop stand and a large display of Necco Wafers. Does anyone even eat Neccos? I grab one package because now I’m curious what the hell they are. Walking up behind him, I tap him on the back with the roll of colorful wafers. “Ah. I see,” I start when he turns around. “Worried because other guys would be looking at me?”