Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
“And now you’ve got your hands all over me. That’s definitely second.”
“They’re not—!”
“Also, I’m sorta impressed you know your baseball metaphors. A guy like you? Wouldn’t have thought.”
I gawk indignantly at his face—his face, which still rests mere inches from mine. “A guy like me …?”
“One who’s precious enough to wear a scarf in south-as-all-heck Texas.”
“Precious??” I don’t even know where to go with that. I sputter a dozen times, trying to find the right words. “This is an important scarf! And now thanks to you, it’s probably got a hole in it.”
“This is how you treat your Christmas-tree savior?”
“And as far as I’m concerned,” I go on, “we’re not on any base, because this was an accident, and after I find myself a dustpan and broom to sweep up the mess I made, you and I are done.”
“You say we’re not on any base,” murmurs the guy softly, his lips curling with frustrating, cocky cuteness, “yet you’re still on top of me like a puppy clingin’ to his favorite chew toy.”
He’s a child.
This guy is an immature, pretty-eyed, big-boy child.
I waste no time getting off of him and rising to my feet. He, however, simply rolls onto his side and props his head up with his hand, smirking up at me from the floor like he knows something. His red, plaid, short-sleeve shirt fits his long, lean frame and broad shoulders like a glove. The same can be said about his skinny blue jeans, though they look worn at the knees, like he spends his free time wrestling pigs in his dusty backyard. His skin is a tone paler than mine and gets rosy at the tops of his high-set cheeks, and his jawline is traced by a patchwork of unkempt facial hair to his chin where it thickens slightly. His upper lip is lightly dusted with whiskers that don’t quite connect to the rest of what I shall reluctantly call the start of a beard, giving him even more of a carefree, boyish vibe than he already exudes with his attitude.
He runs a hand through his light brown hair. It was already a mess, the strands seeming to go in any direction they please no matter what he does with them. “You wanna help me up?” he asks as he fusses with his hair. “Or does a guy gotta beg?”
“You seem plenty capable of helping yourself.”
“Yikes, ouch,” he sings teasingly, eyes scrunched up. “Boy’s got a bite to him.” He grins with half his mouth. “I kinda like it.”
I didn’t realize I’m still staring down at him instead of heading off to clean up the mess I made. I bristle. “Unless you can tell me where in the hell this Samuel guy in a cowboy hat is, we’ve got nothing more to chat about.”
He squints at me, appearing confused.
That’s about when Nadine appears at the doorway with a look on her face. She spots me. “Oh, there ya are! Your father and I got so wrapped up in talkin’ business,” she says as she approaches, “I damn near forgot I sent you in here on a mission to find—Oh! And look, you found him!”
Found him? “I, uh … what?”
“Samuel, hon,” she says to the guy on the floor—to Samuel. “You’ve been so gracious to help me out despite havin’ your own business to do. Thanks so much for being here. Can you be a doll and fetch me a couple of the guys around here to help unload some stuff into the kitchen from Mr. Tucci’s truck?”
I stand in a stunned silence while the guy, as calm and cool as that fresh glass of lemonade I never enjoyed, reaches out to fetch a cream-colored cowboy hat off the floor I didn’t notice was there, slap it on his head, and nimbly hop to his feet. “You bet I’ll get right on that, ma’am.” He smiles charmingly at her, throws me a wink over his shoulder, then saunters off.
All I can do is stare after him, paralyzed.
That’s Samuel? The guy who just had his hands all over me? The guy who took his sweet-ass time trying to free me from the Strong family Christmas tree, reveling in my utter humiliation?
The guy I just landed on top of and kissed by accident?
“Somethin’ wrong with you, sweetie?” asks Nadine, pulling me out of my trance. “You look like you’ve seen baby Jesus.”
Baby Jesus is a tall drink of water in a cowboy hat, apparently. “I … I just had a little trouble is all.” Suddenly, I remember myself. “I’m sorry, Nadine. I … broke an ornament of yours.” I glance over my shoulder at the floor where I, for the first time, see the carnage of the ornament that fell. I can’t even make out what it was, but it’s red and white and in pieces. “I tripped into the tree and caused an ornament to plummet to its untimely death. I’ll pay for it.”