Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66977 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66977 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Lowering my weapon occurs in tandem with me playfully snipping, “Or…you could say hello upon interrupting the dance party.”
Dark, dreary blue drops to the floor from his tightening lips. “What the fuck is he even doin’ here?”
“He-”
“Why the fuck isn’t he in his own office?”
“He-”
“And why the fuck were you havin’ a dance party together?”
“I just…needed a minute!”
“You just needed a minute…?”
“To breathe!”
“Breathe.”
“Compose myself!”
His eyebrows launch to the ceiling in disdain. “Compose yourself.”
“Yes!” I restore the safety, place the pistol back down on my desk in a frazzled fashion, and rest my butt against the edge. “I asked him to stick around to lend me a hand on some of the paperwork to help expedite the process. And then…one thing led to another-”
“Never a sentence a guy wants to hear their girlfriend say,” Blu mumbles into the middle of my explanation.
“-and I needed a small brain break.”
“The dancin’,” he grumbles, blue lettering still bubbling at his feet.
“So…since Harvey had never heard of Rihanna-”
“You’ve never heard of Rihanna?” Slater’s other best friend croaks from the doorframe he’s leaning against. “Like the Rihanna? Like in another time and place would be my baby mama Rihanna?!”
Harvey takes a similar position to mine at the opposite side of the workspace he’s closest to. “Perhaps?”
“And this is the dude you’re worried about with your woman?” Levity in Blu’s tone is unmistakable. “Wahl,” he gently taps him on the arm with the back of his hand, “the man doesn’t even know about the Umbrella Empress.”
“Is that what she did before she became a singer?” Our boss spouts his curiosity in my direction. “Was that her original claim to fame?”
“Forfuckssake,” Blu mutters under his breath prior to erupting into laughter.
“Why are you laughing?” Harvey immediately investigates. “Why is he laughing?”
“I know why I’m not laughing.” It takes no time for Slater’s gaze to lock with mine. “I know why I’m not smiling when I should be.”
Culpability quickly claims his expression.
“Maybe you should step out? Try walking in here again with a little more love? A little more respect?”
“Maybe a little bit more country,” my other bodyguard juvenilely teases, “maybe a little less rock ‘ roll?”
“I know that song!” my ex gleefully proclaims.
“Ofcourseyoufuckingdo,” Slater mutters upon turning on his heels, ramming his balled fist into the side of Blu’s leg, and stepping out of the room. Watching Blu teeter between cackling and groaning in agony is a short-lived experience due to the love of my life once more crossing the threshold inside. Unlike during his original arrival in which rage and jealousy were uncomfortably apparent, he releases a long, deep breath. Latches onto my stare. Tilts his head slightly to one side and attempts to smile. “Hi, Angel Cake.”
Wanting to still the shaky blues floating through the air is what pushes me to reply in a soft volume, “Hi, Cowboy.”
“You…” he points his bruised finger at me before rotating it to curl inward, “come here to me, please.”
There’s no vacillation in rushing over.
Throwing myself into his wide-open arms.
Split seconds after my face hits his damp t-shirt, one set of his calloused fingers curl around the nape of my neck at the same time the other lands on the small of my back. Slater lovingly squeezes. Sucks in sharply. Squeezes a second time. Presses all of me into all of him while exhaling the air needed to assist in steadying his frame.
Brushing my nose against the dank fabric has me inhaling scents of sweat and metal and smoke, a combination that prompts me to pull back and purr, “I’m safe, Cowboy.”
His blue glare struggles to accept the statement.
“I’m good.”
Worry barely wavers in spite of my proclamation.
“I promise.”
Slater offers me a small nod, drops his forehead against mine, and whispers, “You have any idea how scared I was that somethin’ was gonna happen to you while I was gone, Angel Cake?”
“A lot more than me.”
At that, he leans slightly away and quirks an eyebrow.
“Hey, between you and Mark Buffalo I know how to cowboy up.”
Loud and boisterous laughter precedes his crooked grin. “Is that right?”
“Well, it’s definitely not wrong.” More chuckles escape pushing me to add anything I can think of to keep the sound going. “And now that you brought up Mark Buffalo-”
“Did I bring him up?” Slater teasingly pokes back, his hold transitioning from my neck to my hand.
“He’s probably gonna need a bath when we get home. He may or may have gotten into the butter this morning.”
“Funny how there was no difference between the first and second half of that statement, Angel Cake.”
“Wasn’t there?” I playfully question while tapping my chin. “I mean I guess you would know since you’re clearly the brains of this operation and I’m merely the brawns.”
Blu manages to finally catch his breath enough to add, “Sounds like you two have been dancing and day drinking up in here.”