Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“Well, since you got lunch, I can cook tonight.” I tried to sound as chipper as him and failed miserably.
“Excellent. There’s a package of chicken in the fridge. Do whatever you want to it. I’m not picky.” He smiled, no trace of wickedness, but all I could think was how easy he was to please in all the ways. Food. TV. Me tied up and begging to come. All those things seemed to make him happy. And this would be a long damn week if I kept having those thoughts. In fact, I was trying so hard not to think about Holden and sex that I almost missed him motioning me to follow him to the garage. “Come on. I’ll drop you off on my way to campus.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but Holden cut me off with a raised hand.
“It truly is on the way. And if you say no, Knox will insist on picking you up himself.”
“When you put it that way…”
Holden gave a wide easy grin as he unlocked the car and got his wheelchair situated. “Sometimes accepting help truly is the most reasonable course of action.”
“I don’t have to like it,” I grumbled as I settled into the passenger seat, lunch in my lap. “But thank you. For the lunch and the ride.”
“No problem, sunshine.” He chuckled. “Besides, I want to see Knox’s progress on the Stapleton house.”
I was due to meet Knox at the Stapleton house, a run-down older home with a wide porch near the bed and breakfast. It had a low fence around an overgrown front yard and a large, stately tree that undoubtedly predated the whole neighborhood. The peeling paint in various shades of green, saggy roof, and dusty windows gave the place an undeniably creepy vibe, even without the connection to the case of the missing woman. Apparently, Sam, a friend of Knox, Monroe, and Holden who ran a coffee house in town, had bought the place with an eye toward making it a halfway house for troubled teens. Sam was working with a tight budget, so Knox’s remodeling business was working the job between other projects, making Knox only too happy to put me to work here.
“Man, this poor house. Makes me sad. You should have seen it when our friend, Worth, lived here with his folks. Riots of flowers every spring. Of course that was before his mom—before everything.” Holden shook his head as we parked in the driveway, which was overgrown with weeds poking out of the cracks. “I’m glad Sam bought the place, but damn, does it ever need work. It’s hard to believe it’ll ever be inhabitable again.”
He shuddered, and it was my turn to laugh. “Why, Professor Justice, are you one of the locals who thinks this place is haunted?”
“Nah.” He shook his head, but his shifty eyes called him a liar. “And I don’t want to see it razed. But it’s going to take more than a little elbow grease.”
“Luckily, I’m not afraid of hard work.”
“No, you’re not.” His expression turned more serious, and his gaze held mine long past the moment I should have exited the car. The air quickened, the memory of Monday afternoon heavy and potent between us. All it would take was a word from me, maybe even simply a look, and we could be counting down to kink later. He’d told me he’d let me do the asking, but I didn’t want the responsibility. Which wasn’t fair to him, yet I’d be happier if he’d take all these long pauses, meaningful looks, and nice gestures and tell me to go find the rope. But he didn’t. Only nodded. “Have a good day.”
“Will do.” I said it blandly like my day wouldn’t be filled with hundreds of tiny memories of his voice, the feel of crisp sheets, and the pull of ropes. As I exited the car, Knox pulled up next to us in a truck adorned with a Measure Twice Remodeling logo. Before I could shut the car door, Holden’s phone buzzed, and he held up a hand.
“Hang on a second. It’s Rob. The police chief and also Knox’s dad. Let’s see if we’ve got news from the state crime lab,” he said before turning his attention to the phone, greeting Rob.
Meanwhile, I waved at Knox, who made his way over to us. And while Holden was still on the phone, a reddish-haired dude around my age in a Blessed Bean hoodie came loping up the sidewalk. He had to be Sam, the property owner, and he, too, paused for Holden to finish his call.
“Yep. Not surprised.” Holden nodded up and down like Rob could see. His broad shoulders radiated energy and high color rose to his cheeks. There was news, all right. “Okay, talk soon.”
“Well?” I barely waited for him to hit End on the call.