Total pages in book: 13
Estimated words: 11405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 57(@200wpm)___ 46(@250wpm)___ 38(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 11405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 57(@200wpm)___ 46(@250wpm)___ 38(@300wpm)
I take a second to look around me and then I see a coffee shop. “Thank goodness. I definitely need a nonfat fro-cap with a caramel drizzle,” I say to myself. Grabbing my purse out of the car and making sure the doors are locked; I start walking toward the shop. I don’t even care that I’m leaving Bertha out in the street right now. Still looking around Charleston, a mere twenty minutes from my destination, I still feel that tingle of giddiness. I am starting a new chapter in my life, and I just know it is going to be amazing. But first, I need coffee, and the number to a mechanic.
“Hi. Welcome to The Coffee Shop. What can I get you?” I gladly tell her my order and add a croissant to it since I forgot to eat this morning.
“Oh do you have a number for a mechanic?” I ask the barrister who is taking the money,
“Maybe. Whatcha looking for?” At the same time that she asks the question, I hear a deep voice to the left of me giving his order and it sends goosebumps down my arms. I am momentarily frozen in place as his voice washes over me. “Hun?” The girl at the register is looking at me like I am crazy. I feel it. What the heck is happening? Trying to gather myself, I swallow and hand her the money, smiling apologetically.
Stepping back to move out of the way I bump into a brick wall and turn to apologize when that voice once again stops me in my tracks. “Did I hear you say you need a mechanic?” Sweet Lord, his voice should be banned from daytime. It is seriously a nighttime in your dreams kind of voice.
“Y-yes. My car is stalled at the light outside.” He smirks.
“Ah. So you’re the one holding up traffic, huh?” Oh crap. Mortification takes seconds to overwhelm me, and I drop my head. Now all I want is to be swallowed up by the floor. “Hey. I was just joking.” He lifts my chin with his finger. “I didn’t mean that. Listen, let’s start over. My name is Boone. What’s yours?” He holds his hand out and I swallow when I place mine in his.
“July. My name is July.” Holy moly. Should my hand be heating up just from touching him?
“I didn’t know hands could be so soft,” he whispers. His thumb is rubbing the top of my hand back and forth and I want him to move it up my arm. I want to feel his incredibly strong fingers touching me but then the moment is broken.
“Order up for July.”
“Order up for Boone.” They call both of our names, and I swear he blushes just like me, before we turn from one another long enough to get our drinks.
“So,” he says, taking a sip. “Why don’t I help you move from in front of the light and then I will give you a lift to…”
“Hollow’s Hollow.” His eyes brighten.
“I live there myself.”
“Really?” I ask, suddenly very perky.
“Yes. Once we move your car, we can grab your stuff, head back, and I will send the tow to pick up your car. How does that sound?” My stomach is seriously doing jumping jacks. Like millions of tiny butterflies fluttering around. It is something I have never felt before. I am not inherently a brave person, but lately, starting with taking this job in a state and town where I know one, I am feeling braver. So, I smile at him and say one word.
“Perfect.” Just like you.
CHAPTER 2
BOONE BLACKSTONE
My first thought when I turn around is the frazzled woman behind me is gorgeous. Beyond gorgeous. I never believed in the love at first sight bullshit but one look at this girl has me rethinking all that. The air in the truck is charged as we drive the twenty minutes from Charleston to Hollow’s Hollow. I can’t think of anything but her. Pushing her car out of the street was no issue. I’ll call Lewis, my buddy and the only mechanic in Hollow’s Hollow and have him pick it up. The car, Bertha, I believe she called it, is definitely on its last legs. If it’s unsafe or unsalvageable, I don’t want her driving it. The sheer amount of protectiveness I feel for her is unreal. She’s a stranger. I don’t know her, but I feel like I do. She’s important. I can feel it.
“I hope you’re not going out of your way to help me,” she says, as I pull out into traffic.
“Not at all,” I tell her. Little does she know; I’d do anything for her. Anything. I don’t have time to unpack that feeling.
I look over at her for probably the twentieth time since we got in the truck. She’s short, maybe 5’2, 5’3 with both chocolate hair and eyes. I imagine myself tangling my hands in that long hair as she sucks my cock. My cock hardens in my jeans, and I have the urge to adjust but I ignore it. I don’t want to draw attention it and make her uncomfortable. I also have to physically restrain myself from reaching across the bench seat and pulling her toward me.