Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“Shit, even your own dad was cool, too? He’s talented just like you,” Kace said.
I snorted. “I’m not that great at most things,” I said. “I run my business with my brother, and I’m damn good at managing residential construction projects, but that about sums it up.”
Kace looked at me with sincerity in his eyes. “Nathan, as far as I’m concerned you’re a fucking god for letting me come crash here tonight. You didn’t need to accommodate me, but you did. I owe you, big time.”
“Once you see how small the guest bedroom is, you might be taking those words back,” I said. “But thank you, Kace. That means a lot to me.”
“Let’s see it,” Kace said. “I’ll drop my duffel in there.”
We got up and I led him down the hall to the spare room. “I used this as an office for a long while before we were able to get the Fixer Brothers space, so there’s a lot of old paperwork on the desk. But here she is.”
My guest room was modest, with a queen size bed tucked in one corner, a desk in the other, and tons of old drafting blueprints all over the wood-paneled walls. I’d turned on the little lamp on the nightstand earlier, and it illuminated the room now, casting light on the multicolored quilt my mom had made for the bed.
“This is the definition of cozy,” Kace said, setting his backpack and duffel bag on the ground. “Props to you, man. I love my fucking house, but sometimes it can end up feeling like I’m in a museum. I love this place.”
I cringed internally as I glanced at the library books and old paperwork stacks on my desk.
I had a copy of Dating for Dummies sitting there, which I’d checked out of the library months ago during one of my quiet, internal “I’m so alone” crisis spirals. I’d renewed the book many times, but still hadn’t managed to get past the first chapter.
I picked it up, shoving it under a stack of invoice paperwork from six years ago.
I turned around to see Kace taking what looked like a portable icebox out of his duffel bag. He leaned over it, opening it up to reveal ice packs and various items inside. He took out one of the same orange popsicles he’d been having in the office this afternoon, popping it in his mouth.
“Do you bring popsicles around everywhere you go?” I asked.
“Oh, these ain’t just any popsicle,” Kace said, a playful smile appearing on his face. “These are my special recipe. Protein pops, baby. All day, every day. Want to try one?”
He was already holding one out to me. I grabbed it and gave it a taste, and a refreshing burst of flavor hit my tongue. Tart, refreshing, and not overly sweet. It made me feel like I was on the beach.
“That is actually really delicious,” I said.
“Everything I put in my mouth is delicious,” Kace said, a glint in his eye. “Well, not my wheat grass shots. Or my liquid potassium. Or the algae smoothies I used to drink when I first joined the Ferals. But my mango protein pops are always good. It’s basically a frozen smoothie with protein powder in it.”
“I never thought I’d hear the phrase ‘algae smoothies,’ and I hope I never have to find out what they taste like.”
“I did a lot of weird shit to try to get my body in peak condition. Proud to say I’ve ditched the algae smoothies, though.”
He sat down on the edge of the guest room bed, his cheeks hollowing out every time he put the pop in his mouth, and heat flared in every inch of my body. Watching him suck on it was so hypnotic that it was starting to drive me crazy, just like it had earlier in the Fixer Brothers offices. I didn’t want to think too hard about it.
Why did it feel like Kace had me wrapped around his finger, always one step ahead of me at all times? Even now, just sitting on the edge of a bed, Kace’s body looked like a marble statue. He put an arm behind him, lying back and propping himself up on one elbow, the dips and planes of his muscle on display.
I also noticed that he’d quietly shut the door to the room, probably when I’d been busy worrying about the embarrassing book on the desk. If I’d thought the kitchen and living room felt small with him in it, then this room felt microscopically tiny.
He seemed so close to me, even though I was still by the desk and he was at the edge of the bed.
Yet I wanted to be closer. And I knew it, even if I didn’t want to admit it.
“That was good,” I said once I finished the protein pop. We tossed our popsicle sticks into the wastebasket, and I breathed deep. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’m sure you need to de-stress after your night.”