Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 70444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
This made me wonder if he was waiting for me to make the move—which he sometimes did because he didn’t want me to freak out—or if he was genuinely not in the mood.
But with his standoffish attitude, I wasn’t sure which way I should approach it.
“Did something happen at work today?” I asked carefully, my hand flattening against his abdomen.
I felt the separated ridges of his abdominals and wondered how he had them with how much he ate— which was usually a lot and not exactly the healthiest options. There were a total of two days this week that we hadn’t met for at least one meal out, and all this eating out wasn’t very good.
I wanted a home cooked meal, but the kitchen that Amanda and I shared just wasn’t that great, and Johnny had yet to invite me over to his place since watching over him the night he had a concussion.
I’d been too chicken shit to ask him if I could go to his place, too.
So, he wasn’t entirely in the wrong here.
I felt him inhale deeply before he sighed.
“The other man was caught and booked—the one who helped with the ass whooping I received.” He paused. “My mind is just preoccupied with that. He ratted pretty quickly on his brothers. With all five of them pointing fingers at each other, this will be a nightmare of a case for assault with them each accusing the other.”
Though that was something that he hadn’t shared, I knew it wasn’t what was bothering him.
“Was that the phone call you received last night?” I asked casually, letting my fingers slide along his belly.
He had a scar on his right side, mid-belly. A scar likely from having his appendix out, yet he hadn’t confirmed it with me. I just knew that my grandfather had one very similar to his that was in an identical location.
Johnny was very tight-lipped when it came to discussing how he had been injured.
I breached the subject carefully, and each time he gently shut down the conversation before I could get any real information from him about his past…or anything, really.
It was as if he was deliberately trying to steer me away from asking any questions about him, his life or his past at all—and preventing me from really getting to know him in the process.
I’d asked once, and only once, if he’d talked to his parents after his attack by those five brothers, and he’d shut me down fast.
Again, he used my body and my mouth for other, more constructive things instead of talking. Things that were quickly becoming a part of my daily routine along with the normal stuff like sleeping, eating and drinking.
But it was getting to the point where I was starting to get angry at all of this evasiveness.
I wanted to really get to know him. I was starting to fall in love with him, and I felt like I at least deserved to know a little bit about him.
I mean, that wasn’t too much to ask, was it?
I didn’t think so.
But today, he was more distracted than he’d ever been.
He didn’t laugh a single bit at anything that Dean on Supernatural was saying.
Not even once.
Who the hell doesn’t laugh at what comes out of Dean Winchester’s mouth?
Johnny Mackenzie, that’s who.
“What’s your middle name?” I asked suddenly.
“Mitchell.”
I was so surprised that he actually answered a question instead of dodging it that I turned in his arms and stared at him.
“What?”
He tilted his head away from the television and stared at me with confusion written all over his face. “Mitchell.”
“Your middle name is Mitchell?” I asked, surprised.
He nodded once. “Yep.”
“Huh,” I said. “I would’ve expected it to be like Rocket, or Blaze.”
His face tightened. “What’s wrong with Blaze?”
I shook my head. “Absolutely nothing. I just think Mitchell is such a tame name. You’re all energy and excitement. I would’ve expected a much more powerful name, that’s all. It doesn’t really fit you.”
He grunted. “My sister’s name is Blaise.”
I started to giggle. “That’s much better. I bet she’s a spitfire, too.”
Johnny’s face went electric. “Blaise is a spitfire. She’s four years younger than me, and she’s decided that her calling in life is to be in the Army. Mom’s pissed because they just spent all this money on her degree—and before you ask, she’s about twelve hours shy of getting her Bachelor’s Degree in Nursing—only for her to go into the Army. I don’t think my mom’s pissed so much about spending the money as she is about her baby girl going into the military.”
“What’s wrong with the military?”
His free hand came up and he fingered the scar at his throat—the one that I so badly wanted to know how he got.
“That would be my fault,” he admitted. “I nearly died over there when a piece of metal embedded itself into my throat. There were some complications, and she didn’t like the way that it was handled. She disagrees with some of their policies when it comes to getting soldiers the aid that they need—whether it be medical or psychological—and she just doesn’t want her baby to be subjected to the same treatment that I was.”