Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 134830 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134830 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
“Be a pain in their ass,” I answer, proud of myself even if no one else has bothered to be proud of me.
She laughs at my unexpected answer. “Well, you’ve definitely perfected the art of that,” she surmises.
“Pretty sure my dad would agree,” I gloat.
Is bad behavior the best way to get attention? Of course not, but if the choice is that or no attention, I think most people would start doing some stupid shit. And it’s not as if I make a habit out of my bad behavior now. I’ve left most of the truly horrifying stuff in my sordid past and live a pretty boring life for the most part—working, playing with my dog, and hanging out with my siblings, who I’ve learned maybe aren’t as bad as I always thought they were when I was growing up.
But as far as Dad’s concerned? Yeah, that’s when I act out, act up, and act a fool. It’s family tradition at this point.
“You’ve definitely been a pain in mine,” Dani teases, but her grin says she’s not as mad about that fact now. “I noticed your parking job today. Thank you. It helped… a lot.”
“Glad it made a difference. What’s next?” I don’t want to dwell on the parking deal that’s been such a thorn in both our sides, so I move on quickly, letting us both off that particular hook. Plus, I really have made it through the stack of dishes, pots and pans, and all the silverware.
She looks around the kitchen in surprise, as if she didn’t realize how much progress we’ve both made. The dishes are dried and piled up neatly so they’re ready to go in the morning, her knives are all sharpened, and the countertop and table are clean, save the whetstone that’s sitting out on the windowsill to dry in the evening air.
I see the moment she realizes that we did it all… together. I don’t think it’s something she’s used to—having someone at her side to make the hard stuff a little easier.
Not that dishes are hard. But they’re a constant, a fact of daily life for Dani, and taking that off her to-do list for even one night seems like a big deal to her, even if it’s something I would gladly do every day to make her smile.
“Kyle… thank you,” she whispers, her voice husky.
“Anytime. I know you can handle it all yourself. Hell, you’re walking around with the weight of the world on your shoulders like it’s nothing. But I don’t have to be the enemy. If you’ll let me, I might even be… a friend?”
It’s a weird word. Certainly an unusual description for what I want Dani to be, which is beneath me, in front of me, or riding me. I’m not picky. But as much as I want her and think she wants me, I think both of us need something else from each other more.
Friendship.
So I don’t push. I don’t ask if she’s thought about my offer the way I have, imagining her coming over and over on my fingers, tongue, and dick. I don’t ask if she’s replayed that kiss in her mind to the point of insanity like I’ve been doing.
CHAPTER 11
DANI
“Afriend?” I echo in confusion.
I’ve never been friends with a guy. Hell, I’ve barely been friends with other women. Too busy, too prickly, too broke to do anything or go anywhere, I’m not exactly on anyone’s short list of fun. Nessa and I have those things in common, which is why we work so well as friends.
But Kyle and me?
I don’t think what I feel about him is friendly. In alternating moments, I either want to kill him with my bare hands or fuck him until we pass out in exhausted pleasure. That doesn’t seem like any friendship I know.
But tonight has been fun. Working alongside each other, we’ve finished what would’ve taken me all evening in only a couple of hours, and I enjoyed our conversation, even though it was about a topic that’s hard for me to talk about.
I hum as if I’m considering his proposal, cocking my head and peering at him like I’m measuring his friend-ability on some meter that only exists in my mind. In response, he leans back against the sink and crosses his arms over his thick chest and one leg over the other at the ankle. His icy blue eyes stare right back at me, a glint of arrogance dancing in their depths. “Well, what do you say?”
“I don’t exactly have a lot of options,” I hedge. “Just Nessa… and you. And she’s never called me a bitch, kissed me, and then told me I need to get fucked.” I hold up three fingers as I make the accusations.
He flashes that cocky grin of his because I absolutely just admitted to being way more affected by that night—and him—than I probably should’ve.