Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 73192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
I shrugged, unwilling to talk about that man any longer. “Anyway, I have a date already. We’re going to see the new Avengers movie.”
Janie rolled her eyes. “You and those Avengers. You do know that Thor isn’t real, right?”
I gave her a crestfallen look. “You’re lying.”
Janie rolled her eyes and snorted out a laugh, causing the baby on her chest to momentarily lift her head. Luckily, she just twisted and repositioned her face on the other side and went back to sleep.
“Shew,” Janie said. “I need her to take another solid hour nap, otherwise she’ll be cranky tonight.”
I picked up my keys at that comment and started walking toward the door.
“You’re not even going to say goodbye?” Kayla asked.
Janie hummed in agreement.
“Bye.”
***
The next night, I was at my movie with a massive bowl of popcorn and a Dr. Pepper the size of a two liter. I’d just found my spot, leaned down in my chair while putting my feet up onto the bars in front of me and started munching away while watching the previews when I felt the seat beside mine pull down.
Now, the theater was fairly crowded, but I’d purposefully chosen a seat that was in the middle of the theater, in the middle of two chairs, with people on either side of those chairs. That way, no one would sit beside me.
Apparently, I was wrong.
Someone did sit beside me.
Someone that I really, really didn’t want sitting there.
Tyler.
Police Chief Tyler Cree, according to Janie and Kayla.
I narrowed my eyes at the man while giving him a sideways glance and then decided to ignore him.
I’d have done a damn fine job of it, too, had he not tried to take over the freakin’ armrest. I gritted my teeth and leaned toward the other armrest while also shoving a handful of popcorn into my mouth.
Normally the armrest that your drink rests in is ‘yours.’ That’s just common movie theater etiquette. It was more than apparent that this man had none.
Otherwise, he wouldn’t have sat there in the first place.
The theater lights dimmed and I shifted in my seat, trying to find a more comfortable spot so that my ass didn’t hurt.
Apparently, during my fall yesterday in the mud, I’d royally bruised my ass and I was now paying the consequences for my clumsiness.
“Are you okay?” he asked, seemingly worried about me.
That had to be some sort of a trick question. The man couldn’t actually be concerned about little old me, could he?
Was it really even concern I heard in the asshole’s deep, sexy voice?
I shouldn’t have fallen for it.
I really shouldn’t have.
“When I fell yesterday, I must’ve done it on a rock or something in the mud. My asscheek is tender,” I told him.
I got up to use the restroom before anything good happened, intent on ignoring any more of his questions.
The only problem was that he followed me outside and caught me before I could so much as make it two steps out of the theater.
“Wait,” he ordered.
I sighed and waited, not surprised in the least when he made his move.
He circled around my body and I instantly regretted wearing the shorts.
“Hmm,” he said. “Looks just fine to me.”
I stiffened at his words.
“If you didn’t trespass on people’s land, then you wouldn’t get hurt,” he suggested.
I felt my hands clench in anger and when I turned around to confront his rude self, he was already walking away.
***
The next couple of hours were torture.
He sat beside me, eating my popcorn whenever he could sneak a handful during the action scenes while I wasn’t paying attention and succeeded in making me feel incredibly annoyed.
It was when we were walking out, him at my side, that I’d had enough.
“You’re a jerk,” I told him.
Tyler shrugged. “I’m honest. If that makes me a jerk? Oh fuckin’ well.”
He’d made it to his car at this point and I decided that we weren’t done.
Stomping toward him, I stopped about a foot from his car and said, “A police chief shouldn’t talk like that in public.”
He snorted and got into his truck—which was, of course, my dream truck and that made it even worse to be standing next to him and his vehicle.
Why did he have to have what I wanted? I couldn’t even admire the truck because that would give him an even bigger head than he had already.
And if he knew that I liked it, I had no doubt in my mind that he would taunt me with it.
He’d drive it past me, windows down, making me want to smack him. Or throw a rock at it, which would just get me in trouble with the law—as well as him.
I looked away from the beautiful truck—the 1969 GMC ¾ ton single cab lifted with thirty-two-inch tires.
I’d first seen the truck in my favorite movie, Sweet Home Alabama. From then on, I promised everyone who would listen that it would one day be mine.