Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 65948 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65948 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
“My apartment isn’t that way,” Luce grumbled.
She blew some hair out of her face, and I had to resist the urge to reach over and smooth it back for her.
She hated her hair.
All curly and red, she always likened herself to Chucky.
Meanwhile, I wanted nothing more than to sink my fingers in it and hang on tight…
“We’re not going to your apartment,” I said. “Remember? We’re going to my place.”
“The one on the beach, or the one on the bay?” she questioned.
I grinned.
When I was nineteen, I’d bought a house on the bay. It was a small, two-bedroom house that was great for a man that didn’t have anyone at home with him. A great starter home that would eventually net me a pretty penny if I ever decided to sell it.
My second house and the one I was living in now, was directly on the beach. I’d thought about renting it out while I was imprisoned, but the thought of someone in the house that I worked my ass off for didn’t sit right with me.
“Beach,” I answered. “I have a friend staying in the bayside one.”
“Ahh,” she squirmed in her seat. “But why am I going to it?”
I looked over at her, judging if she was seriously questioning that or not.
She was.
“You were just attacked,” I said as I helped her out of the car. “And that man knows where you go to school. What makes you think he doesn’t also know where you live?”
She sighed. “Goddammit.”
“Until I can deal with him, you can be my roommate,” I teased. “Let me show you the kitchen. Cook dinner, and I won’t give a shit what you do or when you do it.”
She chuckled under her breath as we walked into the house.
“What’s with you and my cooking?” she questioned. “I don’t even cook that great.”
She was deluding herself if she seriously thought that.
She cooked wonderfully.
I’d dreamed about her chocolate chip cookies while I was in prison.
Which I told her in the next breath.
She blinked at me. “Bain.”
“What?” I asked.
She started to giggle.
Then she burst out laughing so hard that I reached out and braced her neck for her.
When she’d finally subsided and started to control herself, she lifted a hand and wrapped it around my wrist before saying, “Bain, I hate to tell you this, but I used to buy those, put them in a homemade dish, then bring them to functions.”
I scowled. “What? Where did you get these magic cookies from then?”
She bit her lip then said, “Well, I was young and stupid, okay? But I used to go to Crumbl and get them. I’d have to drive an hour to do it. But it was worth it. Y’all would’ve noticed if it was a place around here.”
She had a very good point.
Well, damn.
“My whole entire life is a lie,” I finally said. “All this time, I’ve been thinking about those cookies. And what they would taste like again. And there you are, telling me you can’t even make them.”
She gifted me with a smile then, and I reluctantly let go of her neck.
“Anytime, anywhere. I’ll go with you. They’re open Monday through Saturday, eight in the morning until midnight,” she promised.
And it really was a promise.
“What about the potato salad?” I asked then, heading into the kitchen to grab her a bottle of water.
“Costco,” she admitted.
“Holy fuck.” I shook my head, not able to help myself. “Do I even know you?”
She giggled and I turned around just in time to see her eyes fixed on my lower half.
Or where my ass was at one point.
Her eyes lifted and she blushed.
This feeling slid through me. One of excitement, curiosity, and wonder.
What would it be like to have her as my own?
“Here,” I said gruffly, handing her the bottle of water. “Are you hungry?”
She pursed her lips. “Yeah.”
“And what do you want?” I asked. “I can order Chinese. Or pizza. I’d have to go get everything else. But I’m not really willing to leave you by yourself at this point.”
She looked at me sadly. “I hate to tell you this, but while you were in prison, they created this thing called DoorDash. They deliver any food, from anywhere, for a price. Even Moe’s and Wiggles delivers.”
Wiggles was the bar in town. Their food was absolute shit. But when you were drunk… well, then it was fairly decent cuisine.
But Moe’s…
“Moe’s sounds good,” I said. “You figure out the DoorDash thing. You know what I want. I’m going to go out and call a friend. Tell him what happened tonight and see if he can figure out anything.”
She gave me a thumbs-up and I left while she was fiddling with her phone.
On my back deck, the waves were loud.
But I called Wake anyway.
Wake was a friend that I’d met in prison, which, funny enough, had already lived in my hometown before we’d met. Upon bonding with our hometown in common, we’d become the type of friends that would watch each other’s backs while we were on the inside.