Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 84928 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84928 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
"Honey unless it's coming in a can or a take-away container, I'm not eating."
"But... don't you miss home cooked meals?"
"Been a long fuckin' time since I had one so I don't know. I mean Breaker can grill a steak, but that's about it."
"Can I cook for you?" I asked, the words coming out bolder than I felt.
"You wanna cook for me?" he asked, ducking his head, almost looking a little... sheepish.
"I mean... I, um, like cooking and..."
"You wanna cook for me," he said, this time with much more certainty and a hint of amusement. "Okay. You can cook for me. Gotta get some supplies so I need to go put on a shirt 'less I offend that stupid 'no shoes, no shirt' policy."
"I think they'd make an exception for you." Oh. My. God. I did not just say that out loud! What the heck was wrong with me?
"Like my body, huh?" he asked with a boyish grin I both wanted to slap off his face and take a picture of so I never forgot it.
"It's just... you know... with all the tattoos... it's practically like a shirt," I fumbled dumbly, only succeeding in making the grin spread.
"I like your body too," he said with a wink as he went toward his bedroom to, presumably, grab a shirt.
"Don't look at me like that," I said at Millie who had jumped up on the counter somewhere in the middle of my rambling. I swear she was giving me a look that said, 'could you be any more awkward?'. Judgmental furbag. "You don't have to talk to him. You don't understand."
"Talking to the cat?" Johnnie's voice asked, sounding amused as he walked back in with a plain black v-neck tee on.
"She was silently judging me," I defended on a self-deprecating smile.
"Hey, she was all for me sending you some chrysanthemums."
"Chrysanthemums?" I asked as he led me out into the hallway.
"Yeah I told her that roses were more likely to say 'sorry for being a dick'."
I watched his back as I followed him down the stairs. "You weren't a ... you know."
"Dick," he said, stopping at the bottom landing and watching me. "Come on, you can say it." I pressed my lips together for a minute. Of course I could say it; it just felt weird. He threw an arm around my shoulders, leading me out to the street. "Don't worry. Stick with me and you'll be a master of cuss words, darlin'."
"Not sure that's something I aspire to," I said, stopping when he did beside a sleek black car that I knew enough about cars to know it cost about as much as my college tuition had. "This is yours?"
"Keep your tongue in your mouth," he said, opening the door for me. "Don't want drool all over the seats."
"Ha ha," I said, slipping in, worrying more than a little bit of the possibility of my shoes being dirty.
"Relax," he said, getting in the driver's seat. "It's just a car."
"It costs more than some people's homes."
"Still just a car," he said dismissively and I got to sit and wonder how much one got paid for shooting someone. Apparently it was a lot judging by the apartment and the car.
"Do you like it here?" I asked, watching the endless stores pass by.
I felt his eyes on my profile. "It's home." I felt myself nodding at that, though I wasn't exactly familiar with the concept. "How about you? You like it in Alabama?"
I felt my shoulder shrug. "It's nice there."
"That's not an answer." I chewed the inside of my cheek, trying to find a way to explain it. "It's just not home," he said simply and it was exactly the right thing to say.
"I guess. It wasn't bad when..." I trailed off, uncomfortable talking about my friendship with Ben when Johnnie had such bad blood there.
"When my Pops was around. You know honey," he said, pulling us into the grocery store parking lot, "you need to have people. I know you have your walls up and you have reasons for that, but it's no way to live."
"I guess you're more well adjusted than me, huh?" I asked, thinking of how much damage it must have done to him to be so abused by his father. But despite that, he managed to start over, build a new life, let people get close to him. We got out of the car in a silence that felt uncomfortable. Johnnie's hand went around my hips and stayed there, steady and familiar, like we walked like that all the time. "Hold on, I need to get a buggy," I said, trying to pull away as he led me toward the doors.
"A... buggy?" he asked, his lips twitching.
"To... put the food in..." I said, not understanding what was so funny.
"Call 'um 'carts' up here, pumpkin," he informed me.
"Cart, carriage, buggy... whatever you want to call it, we need one," I said with a wave of my hand. "What?" I asked when all he did was stand there and smile at me.
"You're kinda cute." I shook my head at him, turning and going back to grab the darn cart. Johnnie walked beside me as we moved through the produce section. I was just putting a bag of green beans in the cart when he leaned in close and whispered in my ear like it was some big secret, "We look like a couple." I felt myself jolt at the words, not sure what he meant by that. Was that a good thing? Was it a bad thing? Was it just an observation? "You know, you could just ask," he told me, arms behind his back as we moved toward the meat department.
"Ask what?"
"Whatever it is you're thinking when those little lines go between your brows."
"Some thoughts are private," I countered, bending over to look at the pork chops to avoid having to look him in the eye. He said nothing as I picked out my selection and placed it in the cart. When I started walking again, his hands were no longer clasped behind his back. I knew this because his hand was suddenly behind my back, as in tucked inside my back pocket, as in resting on my butt. I froze mid-stride, turning to look at him with wide eyes. "We can't walk through the store with your hand on my butt," I whisper-yelled at him.