Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 82747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
"Oh, I more than like it, Riley," he says, his tone low and welcoming. "But the electricity has been turned off at the house because of the fire, and you'll freeze. Plus, it's a demo day. You'll need long sleeves, pants, and boots if you have them."
"Ok," I whisper, a little surprised that he's actually okay with me tagging along.
I rinse my coffee cup and walk past him, but his hand grazes my stomach as I begin to pass, and it halts me immediately.
I look down at the touch, wondering why I would normally be embarrassed with a man touching me there. It's one of my trouble spots, that I can't seem to get under control, no matter how many times I cut carbs or exercise.
"I want to thank you for letting me stay here," he says, his thumb brushing back and forth until it slinks under my sleep shirt and brushes my bare skin.
"You don't even have the good bed," I say when nothing else comes to mind.
I feel a little breathless when his eyes drop to my mouth before he speaks.
"Is that an invitation to sleep in yours?"
I'm not a complete idiot. I can decipher the tease in his tone, but my body urges me to jump up and down or attempt a back flip which will no doubt put me right on my ass. Before I can formulate an answer, his hand drops from my stomach and it's as if some sort of spell is broken.
I walk away without saying a word, and despite thinking of a million and a half things that would've fit into that brief moment of silence as I make my way to my bedroom, I feel like a fool for not being able to think of anything to say.
As I move clothes around in my closet, trying to find an outfit that not only works for what he needs help with today, but will also have him looking in my direction for other reasons, an argument begins in my head. It's not the first time that I've questioned my sanity where Mac Hammer was concerned. The man has spent more time in my head than any man probably should've.
I don't know if he's manipulating me with the looks, and that touch moments ago in the kitchen. I highly doubt he's trying to fight the same draw I have for him. It's too easy for him to exploit the crush I've had on him all these years, although I'm not so sure he's even aware of it.
The man did act like he'd never seen my face before in his life not long ago at the bar, despite what we did in high school.
And that may hurt more than him actually trying to manipulate me. I can't count the number of times I've been overlooked by more than just Mac. I learned not long after leaving Lindell to go to college that there are a lot of men out there who feel like they can treat certain women with less respect because of their size. I've borne witness to it, been on the receiving end of it.
It's not fair to put any of that on Mac, but it does make me feel a little more cautious around him.
I pull a long-sleeved Henley from a hanger and pull it over my head before grabbing a sweatshirt and putting that one on as well. Layers are my friend, especially when there's any sort of manual labor coming my way.
I decide not to bother with makeup, knowing I'll probably just sweat it off in a handful of minutes. My hair ends up in a messy pile on the top of my head because I'm all up in my feelings and hating the world as I leave my room.
I know I need to work on my self-esteem, but that isn't going to start right this minute despite wanting to go out and find Mac and tell him that I won't be going along with him today. I told him I'd do it, and I always do my best to stick to my word.
"Ready," I grumble when I make it back into the living room to find him standing at the front window.
Instead of turning back to look at me, he continues to watch out the window. "Your neighbor is sweeping their driveway."
I pull in a deep breath. How could I have possibly forgotten about what a rumor mill this little town is?
"We'll be the topic of discussion in the town social media group," I say, irritation forming on my tongue as bitterness.
Mac turns to face me, letting the curtain drop closed.
His smile seems genuine, and I sort of hate him a little for it.
"I can go across the street and explain that we aren't hooking up. I'm sure they know about your house fire," I say.