Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79314 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79314 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“Well, I’m grateful that you’re making me feel welcome.” Ros glanced at the men around him, and while he could feel all their eyes on him, he did his best not to let this intimidate him. “Thank you for letting me stay for now. It’s been a tough few weeks.”
Dex nodded and sat by the table before shuffling a bit closer in his chair. His collection of tattoos was quite impressive even if it did look like a random assortment from an NC-17 coloring book. “I heard your dad’s a total shitbag.”
“He is,” Frank said in a low, decisive voice, as if he wanted to signal other opinions wouldn’t be appreciated. He patted Jag’s shoulder, which sent the wild guy crawling into the corner, toward a pile of leather, wool, and fur.
“We don’t have to discuss him. Ros needs some rest,” Shane insisted, placing the food in the middle of the table before settling in the empty chair close to Ros. Their knees brushed, and while Shane stiffened at first, he did relax into the touch when Ros hadn’t moved away.
Ros poured maple syrup over his stack of pancakes and dug in with a smile. “This has to be the best breakfast I’ve had in weeks.”
Jag draped a furry blanket over his shoulders. “You’re skinnier than the last time I’ve seen you. People have to eat more in the winter.”
“He stole two pancakes and claimed he needs to fatten up,” Shane complained as they all watched Jag dress. He dropped the towel to the floor, flashing Ros with his butt, but it didn’t seem erotic in nature, since he quickly covered the bare skin with woolen pants. Shane didn’t even bother to tell him off.
“It’s true. We don’t all live in cushy homes,” Jag said, adding to his wild-meets-junk ensemble bit by bit. Ros wasn’t sure if the style was more caveman or dystopian chic, but the metal elements suggested the latter.
Frank pulled his chair up to the table and poured himself coffee from a large jug. “I’ve invited you to live with us back in the summer. We could have built an extension to the hou—”
Jag shook his head, and Ros had to admit his locks looked very nice after the combing. “A predator who gets too comfortable, dies! I’ll be ready, and at the top of the food chain, thanks.”
Dex spread his arms. “Ready for… what?”
But Jag had already stormed out, stomping with his heavy boots. Ros had no idea why anyone might choose to stay somewhere out there in the piles of frozen metal instead of warming their bones by the fireplace. Cerberus barked, reminding Ros of his presence in the pen outside, but his doghouse was properly insulated, and since apparently he wasn’t above helping himself to the food from the table, he wasn’t allowed in the kitchen during meals
“Let’s just leave him a few. If I put the plate on the windowsill, he’ll take them soon,” Frank said, pointing to the pancakes, as if a game of steal-the-food was normal in his house.
Shane gave a low exhale and glanced at Ros, sipping his coffee. He was smooth-shaven, and his skin looked soft without the usual bristles that Ros wanted to brush his fingers against. But they’d decided to take things slow, so he didn’t want to tease Shane with his touch only to deny it to him later.
“So what, are you two together, or are you single, Ros?” Dex asked with his mouth full.
“I’m gonna stab you with my fucking fork,” Shane mumbled. Instead of digging a knife into Dex’s flesh though, he cut through the three pancakes on his plate in a sharp move that made the blade squeak against the porcelain.
Dex snorted so abruptly he had to cover his mouth. “I’m just asking, man.”
Ros sighed. “I mean, we’re not boyfriends—”
“Ha! See?” Dex pointed at Shane, but watched Ros. “So you’re single?”
Shane’s gaze burned Ros’s cheek, but he said nothing, tensing up like a man awaiting the jury’s verdict.
“It’s… complicated. I wanna sort my life out first,” Ros mumbled, feeling pressure from both sides.
Frank shook his head. “It’s fine, Ros. You can tell him you’re not interested.”
Dex spread his arms. “Why you gotta be such a cock block?”
“Because you’d even fuck a tree if you thought it looked vaguely male,” Shane growled.
Dex winked at him. “Don’t diss a good tree. Wood is wood.”
Ros laughed so hard, juice spurted from his nose. It was the most ridiculous conversation he’d ever heard.
“He’ll grow out of it. Eventually,” Frank said, but he didn’t seem convinced by his own words.
Dex rolled his eyes, chewing with his mouth open. “I keep telling you, you’re starving yourself, uncle. I could get a guy to come over. We wouldn’t have to touch to—”
“Jesus fuck. No,” Frank said and dropped the cutlery to cover his ears.