Total pages in book: 16
Estimated words: 15387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 77(@200wpm)___ 62(@250wpm)___ 51(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 15387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 77(@200wpm)___ 62(@250wpm)___ 51(@300wpm)
It was a bitter pill to swallow, but when I talked to Keith, he urged me to come home. Dad was in London with his new wife, and Mom was cruising with her friends. That’s fine. It had always been just my brother and me.
So I packed my bags and drove home. Halfway through the trip, I had not one but two flat tires. Then, while I was withdrawing money, the machine swallowed my ATM card, so I had to make do with whatever cash I had left. Thus, the convenience store and Starbucks dinner. Half an hour away from the town square, my car broke down. And now, this…
“Hey. Come home with me. I know you’re tired, and you can stay there as long as you like. I live alone. Well, my cat Alvin likes to think of the entire space as his, but he’s okay. It’s not as big as this house, but I’m not as messy as your brother. I promise.”
I chuckle at that. Keith is messy. He doesn’t mind leaving dishes on the sink or ignoring his overflowing garbage can. “Are you sure? I really don’t want to impose. You’ve done so much for me already.”
“No. I’m not leaving you here. You’re coming with me. No more arguments. Let’s go.”
My mind is a mess, just like my whole life. So hearing him take charge and tell me what to do is such a huge relief. I’ve been independent way too long—mostly because being away from Keith forced me to—that having someone decide for me is weirdly…freeing.
“Okay.” I grab my phone from him and start to walk back to his truck when my heel catches in a gap between the floorboards. My arms pinwheel comically, a poor attempt at steadying myself and catching my balance, but my body continues to stumble.
How long will my string of bad luck continue?
I wait for the moment I fall flat on my face, but it doesn’t happen. A strong arm wraps around my waist, pulling me back. As if on instinct, I shift my body and grip his biceps, fingers digging into his hard muscles.
Electric current zaps through the air, and I suck in a sharp breath, something warm pooling low in my belly. My gaze locks on his, and his pupils are blown wide, face darkening.
We’re just inches apart, and something magnetic draws us together, closer and closer until the tips of our noses touch. With my face warm from his rapid breathing, the pulse in my temple pounds wildly.
Is he about to kiss me? Am I going to let him?
Yes. Yes, I totally am.
His jaw is tight like it’s about to snap, eyes searching my face. Then, he closes them and inhales deeply.
“Christ, Nora,” Noah growls as his hand wraps around the back of my neck, pulling me to him.
RING!
That single sound breaks the spell between us, and we jerk apart. He curses under his breath and takes out his phone, a muscle ticking in his cheek. Noah looks at the caller ID before ignoring it.
“It’s probably important.”
“No, it’s not,” he says and puts his hand on the small of my back, just below my crop top, making me swallow a whimper.
His skin on mine makes my head foggy with desire. I don’t know if it’s because I’m exhausted, hungry, or both, but I melt under his touch. I melt and turn into a lusty pile of mush.
Behave, girl. This is not you!
No matter what I do, my eyes stray toward him, so I end up stealing glances every few seconds. I can’t tell if he feels it as intensely as I do, but the ride to his place is filled with so much tension that I can almost taste it on my tongue. My body hums with nervous energy and excitement.
Is Noah attracted to me too? It doesn’t seem possible, but there’s no other way to explain what happened—what almost happened—earlier. If his phone didn’t ring, would we have kissed or made out?
We stop in front of a two-story building with a weathered exterior. His auto shop has a wooden signage hanging above the entrance, which is currently closed. “Nash Auto Repair” is painted in large, bold red letters.
Above the garage is what he calls home apparently. It has a small porch with a white wooden railing and climbing vines along the edges, the tendrils pointing upward. The light gray paint is already worn, and he has white-trimmed windows with lace curtains. Huh. Never pegged him for a guy who likes lace curtains…unless.
Horror blooms in my chest. Is someone waiting for him here? Because if he does, I don’t think I can live with myself because I did just try to kiss him. But no. He said he lived alone.
“Follow me,” he says.
With my duffle bag on his shoulder, he climbs the steps toward the second floor, the boards creaking softly. My nostrils are greeted by the pungent scent of motor oil, some kind of petroleum, and rubber. I don’t want to be rude so I force myself not to cover my nose.