Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 72362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
The view through the peephole is of a large male. A stranger. He’s tall and wearing a baseball hat. Due to the low lighting in the hallway and the way he’s standing, there’s not much else to see.
“Martha sent me,” he says, as though he knows I am right there. “She wanted me to move your car back in front of your building in case you need it. If you’re okay with me doing that.”
Shit. This must be Connor. It’s true I told his grandmother where I was living. Though it’s an odd time for gentleman callers.
“I know it’s late, but I was on my way home and saw your light on,” he continues in a deep voice with an edge of grump. Like he would much prefer to be home in bed. “I can come back tomorrow if you prefer. Or not at all. Your call.”
Love how yoga pants and a navy and white striped tee can be both casual clothing and bedtime wear. Because comfort matters. This, however, is not how I would choose to meet the man. I undo the deadbolt and open the door.
I am about average height and weight. But he’s six-foot-something with longish blond hair and a face that belongs in Hollywood. He’s all square jaw and sharp cheekbones. The dude belongs on the cover of one of my books, and not even the shadows beneath his tired eyes can detract from his appeal. How he sets my loins afire.
“Hey,” he says, removing his ballcap.
And there I stand in silence with my mouth hanging open.
“You must be Riley.” There’s a hint of a smile on his face. “I heard we were dating and thought we should meet.”
CHAPTER THREE
“Ha. Cute.” I lean against the doorframe and cross my arms over my bountiful breasts. A bra with padding would not have been wasted. His hotness is so in your face. It shouldn’t be allowed at this hour of the night. For shame. “I thought maybe you were here to get your messages.”
He frowns down at me from his lofty height. “Sorry about that.”
“You’re a very popular person.”
“I just wanted a quiet weekend. I had no idea they reused numbers right away.”
“Me neither.”
“I’ll have to ask my niece about it,” he says, scratching at the stubble on his chin. He’s wearing black boots, jeans, and a faded old gray t-shirt. Someone needs to start a GoFundMe for the poor thing. The breadth of his shoulders are testing the cotton material to its utmost. “She works at the phone store next to the grocery shop.”
The exact place from whence my new number came. Makes me wonder if she chose to mess with her uncle through me. “Is that so?”
“Yeah.” His smile is faint, but proud. “Just on weekends. She’s a high school junior.”
I nod. “Well…I don’t know about you, Connor, but I feel like we’re already couple goals. We’re the talk of the town.”
His frown returns in full force and he hesitates. Like maybe he’s run out of words or something. “Yeah. About that. My grandmother said you’d been in contact with…”
“Ava. We texted. I tried to tell her I didn’t know you, but she wouldn’t believe me. The woman has trust issues.” I step back from the door and try to smooth down my out-of-control hair with a hand. “Come inside. Let’s not wake the neighbors.”
He moves cautiously through my entryway like this might be some sort of single-girl trap. The idiot. But guys like him don’t go for girls like me. Which means I don’t have to worry about trying to impress or please. Thank goodness, since I’m no good at such things. My second-date ratio says it all. Any relationship skills I have are strictly fictional and for the page.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll get my car in the morning.” I grab my cell off the kitchen counter. “Of course, I don’t know who any of these are from. But your texts from over the weekend are as follows. It kicked off with the whole Ava wanting to talk to you and not believing me thing.”
Nothing from him.
“Second: Any news on the mustang? Third: You were right the bronco is dead as a doornail. Fourth: Can you pick up some beer if you’re coming over to watch the game? And fifth was a selfie from Ava, along with her best wishes for the weekend. Sweet of her.”
More nothing from him.
“Sixth: Any idea about the number of people invited to this party? Will the back room be big enough or should we have it in the bar? Seventh: Are we still on for Seattle? We can talk price on the mustang. Eighth was a request for you to call. And, last but not least, number nine was an invitation to dinner for you and Ava.”
Another furrow is added to his forehead with each mention of her name. These messages do not make him happy.