Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 53605 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 268(@200wpm)___ 214(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53605 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 268(@200wpm)___ 214(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
“Baby. I’m just making sure you are on your way. Sheila made quiche for breakfast. And cinnamon rolls an hour ago and we want to spend as much time with you and James as possible before we leave for the airport, but neither of you are here.”
Oh God. James. I can’t even with today.
“I know, sorry. Dad, things went longer than I thought with the lawyers.”
He sighs on the other end of the phone. “I’m sorry. I know this whole thing with Mason has been hard. It will be a good distraction for you to come celebrate with us.”
He’s been off in Dubai working on a new oil drilling project most of the last year. I gave him the outline of what was happening in my life, but left out most of the gory details. Including anything about the baby.
“Sure, yes, Dad, but wait…” The police officer goes back to tapping. “Please, wait, I’ll leave right now, I—”
“Sorry. Tow truck’s coming.” She says without looking up.
“What?” Dad barks into my ear. “Who is that? What tow truck? Did your car break down? Did you not get the oil changed? You have to do that every five thousand miles, I’ve told you that a hundred times--”
The officer shrugs and points down the alley where a loud beep-beep-beep has started with yellow and orange lights spinning as a tow truck backs down the alley toward my Robin’s Egg blue 1977 VW bug.
“No, Dad. It’s getting towed.”
“Nancy,” he says in that tone only dads use when they know you’ve earned your consequence, but they still want you to know they love you anyway. “Towed? Where are you?”
“Lancaster and Seventh. In the alley next to Starbucks.”
“Hold on, one sec…”
This is the Monday-ist of Mondays ever. I take a sip of my iced decaf, the sweetness coating my throat. This is not how I wanted this day to go down. I have a few bags packed in the back of my car with some girl-human looking clothes inside. There’s also a hairbrush and toothbrush, which I didn’t bother to use this morning in rebellion against the attorneys that failed to find some miracle precedent that would exonerate my best friend and allow us to continue on with our fairytale nerd style, aromantic happily ever after.
“Ma’am?” The cop waves me over. “I need you to sign this.”
“Nancy?” My father’s voice comes through the phone. “Nancy, listen, you’re in luck! James is right around the corner. He’s on his way, he can pick you up, he was at a team photoshoot at the plaza. Sheila was on the phone with him, he’s right—there.” He pauses as Sheila says something in the background. “He’s pulling up now, Black Ford truck he’ll bring you home.”
James.
I think of the recent research I’ve done on my new stepbrother, James “The Savage” White.
Ever since my father told me a month ago that his girlfriend’s—now wife’s—son was the star of the Spokane Savages, I’ve gone full on fan girl over the dark-haired hockey forward who is now technically my brother.
Stepbrother.
God. He’s just…magnificent. So out of my league. So…out of bounds.
I know zippity-do-da about hockey, but I know one thing, James ‘The Savage’ White has one heck of a stick.
I feel lightheaded as the sound of a rumbling engine comes from behind. There’s a clattering of metal as the tow truck driver yanks the chains from the lift toward my VW and I turn. The police officer holds the device out, looking annoyed, waiting for me to sign. But I’m frozen.
My pelvic region has just come online after twenty years of dormancy.
James tosses his head to the side as he steps down from a midnight black pick-up that looks big enough to house a small family. He stands for a second in the late October breeze next to the driver’s side door. Swirls of unruly rich black-coffee hair fall onto his forehead, and he swipes them backward with a mitt-sized hand, flashing a devilish smile at the female cop with barely a split-second glance my way.
“Hey, hey,” he says in a voice that shakes loose emotions inside me I long thought I didn’t have. “We’ve got a bit of a misunderstanding here.” He shoots me a wink as he passes, eyes so dark I feel myself falling into their depths as they sweep up and down my well covered body; and I dig my heels into the wet concrete, trying to stay upright.
I was wrong. He’s not magnificent.
He’s every male God on Olympus combined into a specimen so perfect, all my years of believing I was asexual are dripping out of me and into the slip of pink panties between my now shaking thighs.
“See,” he starts as he approaches the now wide-eyed officer. “This is all my fault.”
He presses a splayed hand over his chest, shaking his head as I take a long, admiring look at him from another angle. As he passed by, I drew in a deep inhale, swooning at the mixture of spicy clean soap and a hint of the exhaust from his still running truck.