Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
“Roy, what are you doing here?” Hope asks, her voice even-keeled and reasonable. I’ve heard that tone before. My mom used it with some of her boyfriends, notably the ones who had tempers when she was trying to placate them. I didn’t like it then; I don’t like it any more now.
“Me?” he balks, offended. “I got word that you were here with some asshole who was basically eye-fucking you in front of God and everyone in the dock store, so I came to save you.”
I snort. We did have that moment amid the racks of swimsuits and souvenir tees where I was imagining all the filthy things I wanted to do to her and with her. Good to know it wasn’t only me who felt it.
“She doesn’t need saving, by you or anyone else. If anything, she needs saving from you—but she’s doing a fine job of that on her own, isn’t she?” I interject.
Roy lunges toward me, pulling back at the last second when I don’t move. I’ve fought rougher, meaner assholes than this prick, but I don’t think the same is true for him. “That usually work for you? Acting tough but never actually getting your hands dirty or knuckles bloody? Can’t say that’s been the case for me.” I shake out my hands, getting the blood pumping just in case he tries to come back with a sucker punch.
I’m ready for him. I’m ready to end him, for Hope.
But she steps in between us, facing me and giving Roy her back. She plants her hands on my chest, and when I inhale to press into them, she looks up at me with twinkling eyes. “I got this. If it comes to that, my brother taught me how to handle myself.” The tiniest quirk of her lips tells me she’s fighting back a smile.
She’s not intimidated either. And she’s fucking stunning when she’s standing in her power. Weak assholes like Roy don’t see the allure of a strong woman, but I do. Fuck me, I do.
She turns back around, telling Roy, “I told you I needed time to be me for a little bit. That’s what I’m doing. Ben’s helping with that, as a friend.”
I flash a shit-eating grin at Roy, knowing Hope won’t see it but he will. Fuck yeah, I’m her friend. Nothing but a good old friend. No need to worry, buddy.
“If you think he’s a friend, you’re stupider than I thought,” he bites out, eyes never leaving mine.
Bad move. Real bad move.
“Excuse me?” Hope retorts, her voice sharp and her eyes full of ice. “I sure hope you’re not referring to me as stupid, Roy Laurier. Because that would be real dumb, considering we both know who got you through those college math classes.” By the look on her face, that person was one Miss Hope Barlowe.
While I want to punch him, Hope seems inclined to eviscerate him with words, proving his own idiocy with receipts. In my experience, bones heal, but scars from a verbal lashing tend to stick with you, resonating long after the words land. I hope he hears her talking shit about him in his head for the rest of his miserable life anytime he wonders where he went wrong.
“Hope, I’m not calling you stupid—but seriously, he’s got his hands all over you and nearly shoved his face in your crotch,” he whines. Roy isn’t helping himself by any means, because that tone is as grating as nails on a chalkboard.
Hope holds up a hand, stopping him. “This has nothing to do with Ben, so don’t be crude. It’s about us. No—” She shakes her head, sending wet droplets from her hair over her arms. A few drops hit me and Roy’s blue shirt, too, leaving dark circles on the fabric. “Actually, it’s about me. For once.”
“You’re the most important part of us. You know that, babe.” Roy’s changing tactics as he tries to charm his way into Hope’s crotch himself. He steps toward her, his hand taking hers again. She doesn’t pull away this time, and I have to force myself to stay back because every instinct inside me wants to rip her away from him, push her behind me, and fuck Roy’s pretty face up.
I might’ve only gotten tied up in Hope’s drama a few days ago, but I’m Boy Scout–sailor’s knotted up in it now, and willing to throw hands in her honor if need be because I feel protective of her. Not because she’s weak, but because she feels important.
“Am I?” Hope’s question is deeper than the two little words imply. She sighs heavily, her chest rising and falling as her shoulders climb up toward her ears. “Ben, can you give me a minute?” she asks.
“Yeah, Ben. You can go now,” Roy says with a victorious smirk as he throws his arm over Hope’s shoulders and pulls her to his side. He thinks he’s echoing Hope’s words. But he’s wrong—dead wrong. I can see it in her eyes. She’s about to break this fucker’s heart. She doesn’t want to, not really, but it’s the only way out, and out is what she wants. What she needs.