Total pages in book: 15
Estimated words: 13640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 68(@200wpm)___ 55(@250wpm)___ 45(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 13640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 68(@200wpm)___ 55(@250wpm)___ 45(@300wpm)
The heavy thud of his steps echo across the soft breeze of the afternoon. He makes his way toward the rickety metal front gate of the ranch-style home, where the lawn needs mowing and the concrete pathway could use some repaving.
He's in black tactical cargo pants, a royal blue polo shirt, with black sunglasses that block those soft gray eyes. The way the corner of his mouth turns up once he's in front of me gives me hope that he sees me as more than a little sister.
"Is that my Cody?" he asks.
His Cody? I wonder what it's truly like to be his.
Sensations of lust ripple across my body as his husky voice and the citrus scent of his cologne swarm around me.
"Hey, Dean." I manage to squeak out the greeting like I'm still a hormonal 15-year-old girl. For fuck's sake, I'm 22. I'm a college graduate. I'm a grown woman, a woman who's unemployed and standing in front of this home waiting to go inside with my tail between my legs.
He tips his head to the side, pulls his glasses down to the bridge of his nose, and looks at me before glancing at the back seat of my car.
"Finally came back to Tamworth, huh?"
"Yup." I know I need to say more words, but he's like a GQ model and I feel like roadkill. Awkward and intrusive thoughts urge me to inhale deeply to see if I smell as rank as I feel.
"Right, so, are you here to grab some of your mom's stuff before you head over to her place?" he asks, which utterly confuses me.
"What do you mean?"
He reaches over to me, using his thumb to rub the space between my eyebrows. A reaction from our younger days when he used to hate seeing me confused or upset. The smoothing out of the creases between my eyes makes me conscious of my facial expressions around him. I move my head away as it's been too long for us to just pick back up like we're stepsiblings again.
"I mean, your mom hasn't lived here in like four months. She stays in a house over in Winstan."
"What? I just spoke to her. She didn't say anything."
"Cody, really? I know what your version of 'just spoke to her' means. She complains every time I see her that your conversations barely cover the weather."
"I've been busy. You know, trying to find and keep a job, get a place to live, and be all I can be as an adult."
He chuckles. "Right. Busy. So are you staying here?"
"I mean, I planned on it. I didn't know Mom moved out. Where's Joe?"
He flashes me that amazing smile of his. "Dad's at work. I'm staying here until my place gets fumigated. Your old bedroom is still available. I know he doesn't care, but you should definitely call him and give him a heads-up. Call your mom too, Dakota."
The way my name rolls off his lips makes me want to see the way his body rolls between my hips. It doesn't matter that our parents have been married for the past decade. He's never felt like a brother to me.
Protective?
Yes.
Siblings?
Not in the slightest.
However, the feelings of lust and angst can be a one-sided delusion, carrying over from the stupid crush I used to have on him as a teenager.
"Dakota?" His voice breaks me out of my thoughts.
"Sorry, Dean. It's been a crazy day for me."
"You want to tell me all about it? We can catch up, grab a bite or something after I get off work."
"Uh…" I glance at my stuff inside the car. Who knows how long it's going to take to unload all this stuff?
"Come on, Cody. My treat. Your stuff isn't going anywhere. As a matter of fact, I have a late shift tomorrow too. I'll help you bring all of this stuff inside. Just come out with me later. It'll be fun."
"Fine," I tell him with a smile. "I guess I'll swing by my mom's and see what's going on with her."
"Good. I get off at nine."
"Is, uh, is your number still the same, Dean?"
"Of course it is. Make sure you actually use it." He winks at me and heads to his car that's sitting across the street. The sleek, navy blue, muscle car matches his swagger. The wideness of his back taper to his waist and the flare of his tree trunk legs makes me imagine him lifting me into his arms.
I want to run my fingers through his long black hair that he keeps in a low ponytail at the nape of his neck.
This has to stop.
My life is in shambles, and all I can think about is what Dean's back feels like. The distraction I need comes from my phone vibrating in my pocket. The pulsing image of my mother's radiant smile seems like a lie as I answer the call.