Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 125213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
“Seems to be trending that way.”
I sighed, hopping down from my barstool and making my way over to the couch. I plopped down, crossing my legs under me and burrowing into one of the blankets Aleks had. It was soft and heavy, a bit weighted if I had to guess, and absolutely massive — likely so it was big enough to cover the behemoth of a man who owned it.
“I’m a terrible person.”
“Because you didn’t thank me for feeding you?”
I glared at him. “Because I’m happy the storm is swinging north. Maybe that means I’ll get out of here.” I paused, picking at my nail polish. Sometimes I wished I could have long nails, stiletto or almond shaped, maybe. But I couldn’t play guitar with nails like that. “And thanks for feeding me,” I added softly.
Aleks chuckled, finishing up where he was cleaning in the kitchen. “You’re welcome. And you’re not terrible for not wanting something you’ve dreamed about forever to be canceled. But you also don’t have to worry about it. It’ll all be okay.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
I flattened my lips, folding my arms as I glared at him when he sat down on the opposite end of the couch. “You’re literally never positive. You always grump about how life is meaningless. So don’t try to play Mr. Sunshine now that I have something to be upset about.”
Aleks arched one brow high into his hairline before barking out a laugh. “You are so prickly tonight.”
“I’m not prickly!”
I huffed the words, which made him laugh harder, which in turn made me scream into the heavy, fluffy blanket before I threw it off me and stood.
“Whatever. I’m going to sulk alone in peace.”
Aleks was thoroughly enjoying himself, struggling to catch his breath between chuckles as I marched past him. Just as I was about to leave, he reached out, his large, calloused hand curling around my wrist.
“Wait,” he said, still fighting off laughter, and with a gentle tug, he drew me closer. “Come here.”
“What?” I stumbled a little, my heart skipping as he slid his hands to my hips.
He turned me toward the television, giving me another soft pull.
“Sit.”
“No, I’m going to bed.”
“Sit down, woman.”
I tilted my chin, crossing my arms in defiance. I was ready to tell him that he could get fucked trying to order me around like that, but then he stood behind me, his hands moving up to rub my shoulders.
Tension melted off me like butter on a skillet the moment he sank those thumbs deep into my muscle.
“Sit down, please,” he amended. “I want to make you feel better. Will you stop being so damn stubborn for one millisecond and let me try?”
Oh, how I wanted to say no. I willed myself to tell him I didn’t need him to help me with anything — but I was a prisoner under that delicious pressure of his hands. A groan leaked out of me unbidden, and reluctantly, I did as he said.
Aleks waited until I was cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch before he took a seat on it again, his legs braced on either side of my shoulders. He worked the muscles for a while, his magic hands slow and steady and sure. It took every ounce of willpower in me not to moan again, and I used it, because I’d be damned if this man got me to moan when I was mad at him.
Why was I mad at him again?
“Feel better?” he asked, his breath warm on my ear.
I shrugged, which earned me another amused laugh.
Okay, maybe he was right. Maybe I was being stubborn. But it was his fault for being so damn confusing — and for living in a state where there are freaking hurricanes.
After a moment, Aleks pulled on my shoulders until I reclined farther, my back settling against the leather couch. His hands glided up over my neck, fingers weaving through the strands at the base of my scalp, sending chills down to my bare toes.
He didn’t say a word, but I already knew what he was doing.
He was braiding my hair.
The motions were achingly familiar—his fingers gliding from roots to tips, massaging my scalp just a little before he separated the first section to begin the braid.
And this time, I couldn’t fight it.
I let out a deep and heavy sigh, my shoulders relaxing with it, eyes fluttering shut at the feel of something so nostalgic.
When we were in high school, Aleks would braid my hair any time he saw that I was stressed out or having a bad day. It had started from him watching me huff in frustration one morning before school as I tried and failed to French braid my hair. I was so worried about my audition to sing the national anthem at a Bears game that season that I kept messing up the braid, and by the time he found me, I was on the verge of crying or ripping my hair out or both.