Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Castor reached over and patted me on the knee. He didn’t say, “There, there,” out loud, but I could tell he was thinking it.
Alden heaved himself out of the camp chair and threw away both of our paper plates before hauling me out of my chair too. “Let me drive you home before you light your bra on fire, princess.”
“I don’t need to go home,” I said defiantly. “I’m fine. I’m great.”
Dan seemed reluctant to speak but did so anyway. “Did you want me to check on the batch for you? I’m happy to head back to work if…”
The mead. Fuck.
“No!” I pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead. “No, I’ve got it. Forgot about that. A mead maker’s job is never done. See? Another reason JT could never be a mead maker. What was he thinking?”
Thankfully, Alden got me out of there before I could pontificate any longer, though my mother wouldn’t let me leave without another one of her special brews, this one designed to help purge toxins.
We rode in companionable silence for a while until the lights of the town’s decorative streetlamps illuminated the clusters of people walking to and from restaurants and shops.
A hot-as-fuck runner caught my eye, and I settled deeper into Alden’s passenger seat with a sigh as I enjoyed the eye candy. The man had his shirt off and a tiny pair of jogging shorts that hugged his delectably tight ass. Curved muscles in his legs flexed and bunched, and his ass bounced with every footfall. Sweat poured down the man’s back and up into his… hair.
Wait. I knew that hair. I knew that back.
I knew that body. Intimately.
That motherfucker.
“Mpfh,” I grunted. “Find a mud puddle.”
Alden turned to stare at me. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Nothing.”
“Flynn… are you okay?” he demanded. “This JT thing seems to have really gotten under your skin. Normally, you’re the unflappable one. What’s going on?”
I loved my brothers. All of them. I’d lay down my life for any one of them. But Alden was as much of a gossip as any other stylist at any salon on Earth. I wasn’t about to confide in him that I was having mixed feelings about JT.
Besides, they weren’t mixed feelings. They were no feelings. None whatsoever.
Which was why I didn’t watch JT as he rounded the corner and jogged out of sight. And I didn’t think about him as I checked on the mead and made the necessary adjustments before heading out back to the tiny house I lived in behind the Tavern.
I loved my little house. After demolishing the storage room and studio apartment over the Tavern in a fit of rage and grief after that foolish night I’d spent with JT, I’d had to move back home to the Retreat and live at my parents’ house. I’d only been there a month when Pop had come into the Tavern for lunch one day and casually mentioned a tiny house he’d seen for sale on a flyer at the grocery store.
It had been abandoned mid-build out on a large property near Shapleigh. With my brothers’ help, we’d towed it to Honeybridge and installed it in the back lot of the Tavern property. It had taken a month to finish the build, another four months to sort out the utilities, and about ten seconds to feel at home once I’d moved in and made it my own.
I loved having a place of my own, and I loved being close enough to the Tavern to babysit my batches of mead when necessary and fill in for missing employees when needed. My work was everything to me, so living on-site worked perfectly.
After locking the door behind me, I began pulling off my clothes. I’d splurged on the shower, upgrading it from the original plastic stall to a tiled enclosure with a giant rainfall showerhead, powerful side jets, and an on-demand water heater. I’d never been much of a bath person, but I loved lingering in the shower, especially in winter when I was trying to warm up from an icy January walk across the lot.
I threw the faucet handle on and waited for the hot water. As soon as the spray was just the right temperature, I stepped into the shower and closed the glass door.
My eyes slid closed, and I let out a groan as the hard spray pummeled my tight muscles. As soon as I began to relax, my brain helpfully supplied a mini slideshow of images for my viewing pleasure.
JT sweaty and jiggly in his tiny running shorts.
JT perfectly primped as he grinned at me with that cocky face across my office desk as he handed over his company’s offer.
Fuck.
I groaned and slid my hand down. There was no reason not to use JT’s image for a little tension release. The man owed me that much. And I had the memories, after all. Why not make use of them?