The Things We Leave Unfinished Read Online Rebecca Yarros

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Chick Lit, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
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“So romantic.” She rolled her eyes, but color flushed her cheeks.

“I never claimed to be, remember?” I smirked, leaning back against the counter.

“Ah yes, the bookstore. Noted. So you’ve never broken a promise?” Her voice pitched in disbelief.

My face fell.

“Not since I was sixteen and I forgot to take my little sister, Adrienne, for ice cream after I said I would.” I winced, remembering the sound of the beeping hospital monitors. “My mom took her and got into the accident I told you about.”

Georgia’s eyes widened.

“Adrienne—my sister—was fine, but Mom…well, there were a lot of surgeries. After that, I made it a point to never commit myself unless I was sure I could follow through.” I’d also drafted my very first book the following summer.

“You’ve never missed a deadline?”

“Nope.” Though that might change if she didn’t start communicating with me about this particular book.

Curiosity sparkled in those crystal blue eyes. I could have written an entire novel dedicated to them. In a way, I guess I already was, given that she and Scarlett had the same ones.

“Never blown a New Year’s resolution?”

I grinned. “I never make them,” I admitted like it was a dirty little secret.

She tugged her bottom lip between her teeth.

Shit. I wanted to suck it free. The bottle crinkled in my hand.

“Never stood a woman up for a date?”

“I always say that I’ll do my best to make it, and I do. I never promise a woman I’ll meet her unless I’m already there.” Anyone who went out with me knew that if I was sucked into a story, chances were, they were getting a cancellation text. Granted, I’d send it hours in advance, but the story came first. Always. “I’m not exactly the guy you depend on during a deadline. Unless you’re my publisher.”

“So you’re more about the semantics,” she argued, sipping her tea.

I barely managed to keep from sputtering. “No, I’m more about defining expectations and either meeting or exceeding them.” We locked eyes, and that tangible hit of electricity struck me again.

“Uh-huh.” She clicked her tongue. “Do you still have dinner with your mother?”

“Once a week. Unless I’m on book tour, a research trip, vacation, that kind of thing.” I gave it some thought. “Sometimes she makes me cut it to every other week.” My lips tugged at the corners.

“She makes you cut it?”

“She does.” I nodded. “She would prefer I spend less time at her house and more time finding a wife.”

Georgia startled, nearly spit out her tea. “A wife.” She set the mug on the counter. “And how is that going?”

“I’ll let you know,” I managed with a straight face.

“Please do. I’d hate not to be in the know when it comes to your love life.”

I laughed and shook my head again. She was something else.

“Gran would have liked you,” she mused quietly. “She wasn’t a fan of your books, that’s true. But you, she would have liked. You have just the right mix of arrogance and talent that she would have appreciated. Plus, it doesn’t hurt that you’re pretty. She liked pretty men.” Georgia rubbed at the back of her neck. It was long and graceful, just like the rest of her.

“You think I’m pretty.” I grinned, raising my eyebrows.

She rolled her eyes. “Out of all that, you dwell on pretty.”

“Well, if you’d said sexy, handsome, well-endowed, or body-like-a-god, I would have dwelled on those, but you didn’t, so I’m just making do with what content I have.” I tossed my water bottle in the recycling bin at the end of the island.

Her cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink.

Mission accomplished. She’d been so pale there for a while that I was starting to wonder if I’d get to see that fire again.

“I can hardly testify to those last two.” She took her mug to the dishwasher.

“Guess your friend didn’t show you every article,” I teased. I liked that she was neat. Not that I had any business liking anything about her, to include the way her shorts clung to her very nice ass, but there I was, doing it anyway. How had that ass escaped my attention last time I was here? Or those mile-long legs? You had other, more important things on your mind. “So the first two are in?” My eyes trailed down the nape of her neck as she returned to her seat.

“Depends on how much you’re pissing me off at the moment.” She lifted a shoulder.

“And right now?”

Her gaze swept over me from head to toe and back up again, taking in my cargo shorts and NYU shirt. I would have worn the Armani had I known there’d be a test.

“I’d say you’re a solid seven.” Again, she pulled it off straight-faced.

Nice. I lifted a single brow. “And when I’m pissing you off?”

“You slide right off the scale into the negatives.”



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