Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
A lot more.
So this was lasting awhile, and since we were on the floor and that obviously wasn’t uber comfortable for Boone, he managed (shockingly) to maneuver himself to his feet with me still in his lap and his arms. And then he put us both in my bed (with me still in his arms).
I cried through this.
And I cried some more.
But as this stuff goes, thankfully, I eventually cried myself out.
Which left me feeling exhausted, my nose was all stuffy, and I was embarrassed as all hell.
“You need Kleenex?” Boone murmured.
All I had in me was to nod my head.
I didn’t have Kleenex in my bedroom, so he got up, went to the bathroom, and came back in record time.
I was again in his arms but trying to twist away at the same time wipe my face and blow my nose (smartly, he’d brought the whole box).
Boone was having none of the pulling-away business.
And really, I was just too tired to fight it.
When I was done, he took the used tissue from me (gross, but still sweet). I guessed he threw them on the floor (though I didn’t care what he did with them).
And then he came back to me and pulled me snug into his arms.
Again with the too tired to fight.
“You wanna sleep that off or you wanna talk?” he asked.
There was a lot I wanted.
But it didn’t seem I ever got it.
“Baby?” he prompted.
“Go to sleep,” I mumbled.
“All right,” he whispered, tucking me closer.
I sucked a huge breath into my nose and didn’t know I didn’t let it out until Boone ordered, “Let that go, Kathryn.”
I let it go.
He tucked me even closer.
Damn.
Boone started twisting my hair around his fingers.
No one had ever done that to me, and it felt really nice.
Crap.
I started relaxing.
Boone relaxed with me.
I would never have dreamed it would happen, but I suppose after that mammoth crying jag, it was bound to.
I started getting drowsy.
So much so, I didn’t stop even after Boone muttered, “And I fucked up, doin’ it fuckin’ huge, making it so you don’t feel safe to lay your shit on me.”
I said nothing.
And minutes later, I fell asleep.
* * *
I woke to a room brightened by strong Denver sun coming from behind the blinds.
I also woke up alone.
Boone showing the night before came immediately to mind, but I wondered if I’d dreamed that since he was not there.
But when I opened my eyes, I saw the pillows on his side were all dented and smushed, like they had been the mornings after he’d spent the night with me, rather than askew and/or tossed off the bed with only the ones I slept on smushed, like they were when I slept alone.
The mystery of what happened to Boone was solved when he strolled in wearing his skivvies (nice…shit) and carrying two mugs of coffee (sweet…shit).
His green eyes came to me before he came to me.
He sat on the bed and twisted my way.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
Had I failed to mention I really liked his voice?
Shit!
“Hey,” I mumbled.
He offered me coffee.
I pushed up on an arm, slid a bit away from him (the bed wasn’t big, so I didn’t have far to slide, but I did it).
I saw his lips thin as I did this, but he kept the coffee held out to me.
I took it.
He let me have a sip before he asked, “You up to talk?”
Nope.
I was not.
To communicate this, I said, “I’m not really sure what there is to say.”
“Kathryn, sweetheart,” he started, careful and gentle, “you promised not to let me fuck this up and I promised the same thing.”
“And then we fucked it up,” I replied. “The end.”
His tone was far firmer when he said, “Kathryn.”
“I told you,” I began to remind him, “that if I lost you, I wouldn’t be able to hack it. I lost you even before I really had you and last night proved I couldn’t hack it.”
“I’m right here,” he pointed out.
“And what’s gonna set you off to leave again?” I asked.
His head twitched.
He stared at me hard.
Then his face got soft.
Yikes.
That look on him was gorgeous.
Oh fuck.
I was thinking that was not good.
“I’m not your dad, Rynnie,” he said in a voice as soft and gorgeous as his face.
Yeah.
Oh fuck.
This was not good.
“I know that,” I replied.
“What’d he do to you?” he asked.
I didn’t answer that.
I proclaimed, “You know, I’m good. With my life, that is. I mean, it’s good to know about Angelica’s bullshit, so I appreciate you bringing that to light. But I’ve had time to think about it,” I had not, yup, again going with my first reaction and not thinking things through, “and I’ve pretty much got it going on without the drama of a dude blowing through my life.”
“You’re so full of shit.”
Uh.
What did he just say?