Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 142728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“Thank you.” He kisses my forehead, then pulls away. “I didn’t come over expecting you to feed and fuck me, just so you know.”
My heart stutters. He’s really worried I’ll think that? “I didn’t think so.” I wrap my arms around him. “But I’m very happy to do both any time you want.”
He returns the embrace. “I don’t know if I can walk right, woman.”
Shaking with laughter I pull away and run my hands over his arms, up to his shoulders. “You’re so strong. I can’t believe you held me up that long. I hope you can move tomorrow.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Above our heads, there’s a soft pitter-patter. Libby going to the bathroom? I stare at the skewed washer, then the ceiling. “Shit.”
“We’re standing under Libby’s bedroom, aren’t we?” he asks.
I bite my lip and nod. “She sleeps with one of those white noise machines. Maybe she didn’t hear us.”
“Sorry, I didn’t realize.” His mouth twists into a grin. “Or expect to be so loud.”
It’s not his fault. It’s mine. I know better. This is why I’d sworn off dating. I have responsibilities and can’t afford the luxury of spontaneous laundry room fucks.
Libby said it didn’t bother her if Dex slept over. But sleeping over and being subjected to listening to us fuck like bunnies are two different things.
“Em?” Dex touches my shoulder.
I stare up at him. He hands me my pants and sweatshirt, concern and questions flickering in his eyes.
I’m so screwed. I wasn’t supposed to fall for this man so hard that I forget all of my responsibilities.
How selfish am I for wanting to keep him anyway?
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Dex
I’m drifting half-asleep and half-awake. Too worn out to drag myself out of Emily’s bed and go to my apartment like I promised.
“No,” Emily moans, jolting me fully awake.
Her body thrashes, one elbow catching me in the ribs. Not wanting to startle her, I gently rest my hand over her shoulder, turning her my way.
“Em, baby, it’s okay,” I whisper.
“Libby, Libby, Libby, where are you?” she whimpers. “Noooo, Libby. Please. Where are you?”
What the fuck’s going on? I know how much Emily cares about her sister and worries about her but the raw anguish in her voice seems more sinister than sisterly.
“Emily,” I say a shade louder. “Libby’s right down the hall. She’s safe.”
“Noooo,” she whimpers, arms reaching into the darkness. “Come out. Come out. Where are you?”
“Emily.” I curl my arm firmly around her waist and drag her against my body. Her agony feels like a living, breathing thing between us. “Shhh, you’re okay. I’ve got you. Everything’s okay,” I reassure her over and over.
She lets out a scream and thrashes. Tears stream down her cheeks.
What the fuck do I do? Let her go? Shake her awake?
The bedroom door creaks open.
“Em?” Libby whispers.
Well, this just took an awkward detour.
Bright light floods the room, searing my eyeballs.
“Oh, shit!” Libby shrieks. “Dex, I didn’t know you were here.”
Darkness descends, and I blink my eyes open. Colorful dots still dance in my vision.
“What’s happening?” Emily slurs. “Why’s the light on?”
“I heard you calling for me,” Libby says from the doorway. “Another nightmare?”
Another? This happens often?
“Yeah,” Emily mutters. “Sorry.”
“All right. As long as you’re okay…” Libby stands there for a moment. I’m frozen with my own indecision. “Sorry, Dex,” Libby whispers. “You’ve got her?”
“Yeah,” I rasp. “I’ll make sure she’s okay.”
Libby nods once and closes the door with a quiet snick. Her little feet scurry over the hallway’s hardwood floor all the way back to her room.
Emily groans and sits up, rubbing her forehead.
“Damn it,” she mutters.
“Hey.” I rub my hand over her back and up to her shoulder. “You all right?”
“I’m fine,” she whispers. “Give me a sec?” She tosses the covers aside and slips out of bed. She pauses at the nightstand and opens a drawer, grabbing a pair of shorts and shimmying them up, under her T-shirt. “I’ll be right back,” she says over her shoulder.
Concern eats at me. The pain in her voice still lingers in the air. But what am I supposed to do? Follow her to the bathroom? Force answers out of her that she’s not ready to give?
I sit up, stack some pillows behind me, and grab my phone, checking for messages.
A picture from Z of his son riding a tiny quad with his dogs, Ziggy and Zipper, following closely behind.
Z: Start ’em young.
My thumb hovers over my phone, as I contemplate a response. Nah, better not text him in the middle of the night.
Ravage: CB is dead. Closing early.
I’m not as concerned about waking Rav, so I respond with “good call.”
The bedroom door swings open and I set my phone down.
In the weak lamplight, I study Emily’s pinched expression. “Are you all right?” I ask.
“Embarrassed more than anything.” She stands at the edge of the bed and picks up the blanket like she’s about to slip between the sheets, but she ends up twisting the fabric in her hand instead.