Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
He scans the envelopes, stuffs them back into the holder, and heads for the kitchen door. I slide out of the way, seeing his eyes briefly look down at the skates before he disappears.
Trace and Army stroll in next, the former shouting, “Food!”
“How you doing?” someone asks them from a table as they pass.
“Hey, man.” Trace shakes a hand.
A round of shouts goes off.
“Hey!
“What’s up?”
“Tomorrow, right?”
“Pregaming all day, baby!” Trace claps the air above his head.
They’re having a party tomorrow. Iron’s last night. Halloween.
I look toward the door, trying to see if he’s with them.
And then he’s there. Charging in, jeans and black T-shirt, dark hair covering his temples, and his sun-kissed skin glowing with water that I know isn’t sweat. He jumps through the spray of lawn sprinklers everywhere he works to cool down. I smile to myself, picturing it.
He heads for the kitchen, glancing at me and then away. He’s been acting like he doesn’t notice me, but that’s only after he looks to make sure I’m here.
I watch him stroll through the kitchen, toward the back.
“You stay out of there!” Mariette yells at him.
I arch up on my tiptoes, watching him shrug at her in the kitchen. “Just one.”
“A whole one!” Trace yells through the warming window.
“Iron Jaeger!” she growls.
“You’ll miss me!” He grins at Mariette and dives into the walk-in.
I hesitate, proud of myself for staying out of that house this week.
But he’s alone, and he’s rarely alone, and I need to know when my car will be ready, and I’m not asking Macon. I don’t want to bug him.
I roll through the kitchen, past the grills, and sneak into the cooler, seeing him scan shelves for the key lime cheesecake that’s not on the menu.
He doesn’t look my way, but he knows I’m here.
He offered a ride along the beach a few nights ago, and I kind of regret turning him down.
But I knew what would happen when we got there. It’s safer now. In two days, he’ll be gone for three-plus years.
I’ll miss him.
Somehow their table out there never seemed like it was missing someone without Macon there, but I’m going to hate only seeing three at that table for dinner very soon.
I step closer to him. The cool air feels good.
“Why doesn’t … Mariette own this place?” I ask him.
He pulls out a pink box, searching behind it. “She pretty much does. We don’t interfere with how she wants to run it.”
“But you take a cut.”
I slide in front of him, blocking his view. My chest touches his, and he looks down at me, heat filling the space between us.
“What’s your point?” he asks.
“I just think it’s interesting that she does the work of a business owner but isn’t the business owner,” I tease. “And then she has to share her profits with people who don’t work here. Do you have that kind of arrangement with a lot of businesses in the Bay?”
It’s not their style to take from their own people. I’m only half-serious with my underhanded accusations. I just want to spend a minute with him.
But there’s a reason the Jaegers insist on maintaining control of this restaurant and the bar next door. The rest make sense. An auto shop. A storage facility. A run-down drive-in up the coast a few miles, and lots of land where they collect rent from people parked on it.
But this place is Mariette’s. In every way but the one that counts. Why?
“What aren’t you telling me?” I ask him.
“Why should I tell you anything?”
“If you don’t set me straight, I’m going to think you all are extorting protection money from that nice woman.”
“Like Al Capone?”
He digs in his eyebrows, his air of amusement making him look younger than Trace. I follow the line of his lips as they lift to one side, brushing the stubble on his jaw as something swims in my stomach. His face is more oval. Trace’s jaw is more square.
I guess I’m staring too long, because he shifts in a way that makes him seem closer, and he drops his voice. “I would actually love the opportunity to set you straight,” he taunts.
The pulse between my legs throbs just once, so hard that I expel the breath I’m holding.
He plants both hands on the rack behind me, walling me in with his nose an inch from mine. “Will Trace mind this?”
I haven’t taken my eyes off his mouth. God, I’m hot. My blood is rushing too fast. “Why don’t you ask me if I mind it?” I whisper.
A current flows between us, and I know he’s going to do it before he does. He takes my jaw in one hand, squeezing it lightly, and I suck in a breath just as he’s about to come down, but …
He doesn’t kiss me.
He stares into my eyes, smelling like grass and vanilla and the beer coming off his breath. “Mariette can’t own the restaurant,” he says. “Or rather, she doesn’t want to risk it. She’s off the grid.”