Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 53671 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 268(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53671 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 268(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
I let out a frustrated growl. It’s like Kayden is always one step ahead of me. Like he knew I’d call in sick. Like he knew I’d be in my bedroom. Like he knew I’d be watching.
If I were sitting in the living room, he’d probably move out there and start resodding his freaking lawn or something.
Anything to drive home the point that he’s gorgeous, muscled, slick, and sweaty.
Would it be so wrong to test my theory about Kayden never smelling bad?
My ovaries practically punch straight through whatever organs are in their way and ram into the back of my belly button.
I give my head a good shake because that’s what it obviously needs. I’m hitting all sorts of new lows here. I haven’t come up with a game plan of my own, and I haven’t figured out how to dig myself out of the poo stew—ewwww—I’ve found myself in. And it’s truly cooking, cooking so hard that the potatoes are getting soft, and the meat is all aromatic right beside me. I can feel my internal temperature rising like I really am sitting in a big old pot. It’s not all the rage either.
Without thinking, I walk toward the back door, which opens onto the deck in the backyard. I always wanted a pool or a hot tub or something back there, but so far, I haven’t gone very far with those plans. I haven’t even bothered getting one of those cheap above ground pools just to cool off in. The house has air conditioning, and when I’m overheated, I just take a cold shower.
The result is that the yard is pretty big and open back there while my deck looks sad and boring. I don’t have any patio furniture, and I also don’t have a barbeque pit since I’m not exactly an outdoorsy kind of person. I do have friends who usually invite me out or over, so any backyard stuff I do doesn’t happen at my own place.
I storm off the deck, my wet hair slapping at my shoulders. I can practically feel it sizzling in the heat. How can it be so murderously hot at this time of the morning? Oh right. We live in Texas. Correction, I live in Texas. Kayden is just passing through. I plan on him figuring it out soon enough and going back to like New York, or London, or Paris, or something—some expensive place where rich people like to live and work.
My bare feet hit the soft grass. My water bills are hecking expensive, but the nice green grass is so worth it. Kayden doesn’t turn to look at me. Instead, he just keeps shoveling and digging the dang hole in the back corner of his yard.
I snarl like a raging bull, minus the snot, though, because that’s gross. I also don’t charge since that would involve me getting into Kayden’s space, which is probably what he wants because he’s most devastating standing there.
I stop ten feet away, level a finger in Kayden’s direction, and shade my face with the other hand so that I don’t end up blinded by the sun. “You!” I fume. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Kayden pauses, and his big hands still on the shovel. I can see a few beads of sweat roll down the side of his face. He has a nice tan going for him; I’ll give him that. His hair is damp where it meets his forehead, and his t-shirt is now soaked through along the chest. Probably the back too. I inhale sharply. Nope, he still doesn’t stink. All I can smell is the deep, musky, earthy scent of freshly turned dirt, which reminds me of my parents’ house and the garden we always planted.
My irritation spikes to dangerous levels as I growl, “You can’t just plant trees wherever you want! One day they’ll grow, and they’ll be half in my yard. That’s a violation of…of…my rights as a property owner or something.”
Kayden stands up all the way, a characteristic grin lighting up his face, but then he sways, his eyes rolls back, and he goes down hard. Bam! Like a sack of potatoes kind of hard, deadweight kind of hard, and dropping like a rock kind of hard. He hits the grass right near the big gaping hole. The shovel sways and defies gravity for a minute before it clatters straight down on top of his head. He doesn’t react.
I stand there dumbstruck before I give him a slow clap. “Bravo. You’re a great actor. I’d forgotten how theatrical you could be. All those drama classes you took in college paid off.”
Kayden still doesn’t move, and my heart gives a funny little flutter behind my ribs.
I wait a few seconds, tapping my foot. He’s going to have to give up the game sometime. He can’t just lay there forever. He’ll get tired of me standing here, and he’ll say something stupid, like April Fools, even though it’s not April.