Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
“No.” She’s trying to be polite, I can tell. “No, I don’t have to ignore you. The music is…interesting, I guess. It’s not my favorite. My jam is more singer-songwriter and country.”
Does she even want to be standing here having this conversation, or would she rather be crammed into that booth, laughing and screeching uproariously with her friends? It doesn’t look like she wants to be doing that. Maybe she thought she did, and then she got here and found she craved the quiet she was used to.
I’ve asked Smitty about her so many times. What she’s like, what she likes. He’s always told me that she’s kind and quiet and that she loves her family above anything and will always put them first.
“That’s quite a far cry from this,” I comment.
“Yeah, but this is okay too. Everything is okay. Some music is better than none. I like to give anything a chance.”
She’s so open-minded. Smitty was right about the kindness. She radiates it like chocolate chip cookies radiate deliciousness.
I motion to the bar with a nod of my head. “Shall we then?”
“I guess we shall unless you’re completely awful and insufferable. In which case, tell me now and save me the ten minutes I’m going to have to spend in your company.”
I think she’s serious for a second, but then she cracks a smile and laughs. I can’t hear it above the bass, but as I watch her shoulders shake, my stomach flip-flops at the way her eyes crinkle and her nostrils flare because she means it when she laughs.
Watching someone laugh shouldn’t make a guy hard in strange places, or like normal places in strange ways, but garlic on garlic toast, Weland is just so intriguingly beautiful.
“I’ll do my best not to be an insufferable prick.”
“Okay then. Off we go.” She turns and waves at her friends, and they give a cheer, thinking she’s going to get them another round of drinks.
Halfway across the club, even though Weland is close beside me, someone slams into her. Not just bumps but slams. She goes off balance, rocking on her red cowboy boots, and I catch her before she can fall. I steady her and put out a hand to ward the asshole off, but he’s already lurching away.
“Are you okay?” I want to keep holding onto her shoulders and letting her body heat burn through her blouse and into my palms. I want to keep drinking in her fresh, breezy ocean scent. She reminds me of white sand beaches and palm fronds, coconuts, drinks with little straws in them, crashing waves on a beach, and monkeys flinging poo at each other from the trees.
Trust me, no beach vacation would be complete without the monkeys, and somehow, they just about always end up in a poo-flinging fight. Who can blame them, really? It would be awfully fun to engage in something like that and give zero fucks about it. Tell me with a straight face you’ve never wanted to fling poo at someone before. I’m sure certain circumstances definitely call for it.
“I’m fine.” She shrugs out of my hands. I want to be a gentleman and offer her my arm and jacket to keep her warm even though it’s so damn hot in here from all these bodies packing the place. But I suppose I’ve offered her enough already—half a million dollars and my last name. Actually, minus my last name because she doesn’t know it, but err, metaphorically and all that.
She raises her chin and I let her go now that she’s perfectly fine on her own two feet. She marches forward. “It’s not going to stop me from getting water. My friends all need it, and I’m a good, responsible person.”
“I can flag down one of those servers and ask for a round if you like.” I pull out my wallet.
There’s no need to impress Weland with money. I know it’s impossible when it comes to her. Somehow, I knew it from the start. A woman who gives up five years of her life for her younger brother to get surgeries to repair his knee and other bones in his leg so he can walk normally and even run and do sports again isn’t the kind of woman who gives two flying monkey turds about things.
Her right brow arches up a little. “You’re going to pay for water?”
“I’m going to tip. Because that’s a lot of water. You have a lot of people at that table.”
“Right, yeah. That’s a good point. It will probably be more than one tray and more than one trip. How much should a person tip for that?” She reaches for the little clutch attached to her wrist. It’s sparkly and has cat ears. I didn’t notice it before.
“Funny. I pegged you for a dog person.”