Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
“I’ll go talk to my mom and see what she recommends. But be prepared. She’s going to love this. She can be … a lot.”
“The woman who bought all the houses on her street so her kids would stay close to her? That’s surprising.”
He chuckles.
“Can I meet her?” I ask.
He runs a hand down his face. “Let me talk to her first. Let me break the ice and ease her in.”
“At least you’re easing into one of us.”
He frowns.
“I’m kidding.” I roll my eyes and stand. “I need to call Astrid and my mother before she hears this from my brothers. I don’t need that drama.”
“And I’ll go talk to my mom and see what we can get set up. Sound good?”
I nod.
“Then we’ll get you some clothes and whatever else you want for here.”
The breeziness in which he says that tugs at my heartstrings.
“Okay,” I say.
He gives me a bashful grin. “I’m going to set the alarm when I leave. The code is seven eight nine eight if you need to turn it off. The keypad is over there.” He motions toward the wall. “It’s basically the same system you have at home.”
“I got it. I’m not going anywhere, anyway.”
He taps the counter. “All right. I’ll be back.”
“I’ll be here.”
He starts to say something else but stops himself. Instead, he shakes his head and makes a beeline for the door.
I exhale as soon as I’m alone.
I’m marrying Foxx Carmichael.
Me. Marriage. I’m marrying Foxx Carmichael.
How is this my life?
I laugh in disbelief all the way to the bathroom.
CHAPTER 12
Foxx
She’s going to love this way too much.
There’s no way to break this to Mom easily. She’s going to lose her shit when I tell her I’m getting married.
A small grin touches my lips as I approach her porch. I never thought I would be doing this—telling Mom I need to plan a wedding.
Strangely, I’m not mad about it. Not even a little.
“Things could definitely be worse,” I mumble, opening the door. “Yes, they—don’t you fucking move.”
Banks whips around from the kitchen table. He’s startled to see me. His eyes dart from me to the hallway leading out of the back of the kitchen, trying to determine whether he’s quick enough to escape.
He’s not.
Fueled by irritation, I cut through the living room and stand across the table from him before he can finish his calculations.
“If you break anything, you’re replacing it,” Mom says, shaking her head while stirring a pot on the stove. “I’m making potato soup for dinner if you want to come by, Foxx.”
I ignore her.
“Hey, Foxxy,” Banks says. He tries to juke to the right like he’s reliving his high school fullback days. Unfortunately for him, I’m a step ahead.
I grab the table and slide it at an angle to cut off his exit. His eyes go wide. I continue to push.
“Whoa,” he says as the edge presses against him, and he’s pushed back.
The chair legs squeak against the hardwood as they move. The other chairs fall to the floor in noisy crashes. I keep pushing until Banks is in the corner with both sides blocked off.
“No one is leaving here until that’s cleaned up,” Mom says.
My palms smack the tabletop, and I glare at my little brother. “Now give me your puppy dog eyes and say something witty before I beat your fucking ass.”
Banks starts to talk, but Mom casually slides a sandwich down the table to him.
He smiles at her. “Thanks, Mom. This looks great.” He lifts the top piece of bread. “Oh, and you didn’t forget the pickles. You’re a gem.”
This motherfucker.
He looks up, giving me a cocky smirk before taking a bite of his sandwich. Then he returns it to the plate like he has all the time in the world.
“Want a snack, Foxx?” Mom asks. “We have ham and turkey.”
Banks puts his phone next to his plate. “The ham is excellent.” He touches the screen, and a video begins to play.
He has to be kidding me.
I place two fingers on the side of his plate and drag it slowly to the side of the table.
His mouth falls open. “What the fuck?”
I hold his gaze and place the same fingers on his phone. Then I drag it across the table, too.
He gasps. “What the fuck do you think you’re—ah!”
I dive across the table and tackle him into a pile of chairs. The little shit manages to slide far enough to the side to avoid a direct hit. He grabs my shoulders from behind, sliding one hand under my chin like he thinks he can pull off a chokehold.
“Aw, is this what you wanted,” he mocks, fighting to keep in position. “Did Foxxy want to cuddle?”
I’m not sure if it’s the auction that has me the maddest or the audacity of him thinking he can fight me. Either way, he’s only hurting himself because now I’m not going to take it easy.