Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 28021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
"I'm not responsible for your actions, Zayne Carmichael."
"You are when you're squirming on my cock like you can't wait to feel me inside you, lamb."
She groans loudly, burying her face in my throat as I carry her toward the house, but she doesn't demand I put her down again. I like this cuddly side of her. She's sweet as hell in my arms.
Right up until we reach the end of the sidewalk and she remembers where we are, anyway. As soon as she does, she manages to slip out of my arms, damn near landing on her ass before she catches herself.
"Crap. I should have thought that through better," she huffs, blowing a strand of hair out of her face to peer up at me. "Stop working your sexual voodoo on me. I need to focus."
"On what?"
She opens her mouth like she's going to respond and then snaps it closed with a shake of her head. "Never mind, I'll just show you." A second later, she scurries up the steps and then flings open the door. "Gran, Bets, are you decent?"
"We haven't been decent since the sixties, girl!" an old lady calls back.
Another one cackles.
"That's what I need to focus on," she mutters.
I fight a smile, following her into the house…praying to God her grandmother and aunt are actually dressed, and I'm not about to see something I'll never recover from.
To my relief, they're fully clothed. Though, one of the old ladies is in a hot pink muumuu, and the other is wearing almost exactly what Richard Simmons wore in most of his videos. I'm not sure which twin is which, but they look identical to me. The house is…interesting. I suppose that's a word for it. The furniture is an eclectic mix of antiques in all shapes and sizes. Bright paintings mix with more subdued pieces and family photos all over the walls. The only things that match are the colorful area rugs.
"Well, I'll be," the twin in the '80s workout gear breathes, her eyes wide as she looks me over. "You could be on one of those book covers, couldn't you?"
"Bets," Emma groans. "Please behave."
"I ain't said nothing he can't see with his own two eyes, girl," Bets says, waving Emma off. "I'm sure the man owns a mirror."
Emma groans, looking at me with big eyes. "Zayne, this is my Aunt Betty Cooper, Bets for short."
"It's nice to meet you, ma'am. I've heard a lot about you."
"Don't believe a word of it either," Bets says. "And don't start with that ma'am shit. You call me Bets or Aunt Bets. I'm too old to be reminded how old I am."
"Yes, ma…I mean Bets," I say, grinning. She's feisty. I'm guessing that's exactly where Emma gets it from. My girl has fire in her soul and the devil in her eyes. I glance from Bets to Emma's grandmother. "You must be Ms. Cooper."
"Ms. Cooper, is it? Ain't had anyone call me that in sixty years."
"Sixty years, huh? Then my eyes must be deceivin' me because you can't possibly be a day older than that."
Her blue eyes light up as she cackles like I just made her day. "Oh, I like him," she says to Emma. "You should definitely keep doing what you were doing outside if it means he keeps saying such nice things to two old ladies, dear."
"What we were doing…?" Emma claps her hands on her red cheeks. "Were you spying on us through the window, Gran?"
"Of course we were, dear."
I scratch my face to hide a smile. I like these two already. They're hell on wheels and clearly not sorry about it.
"Gran! You can't just spy on me. It's rude."
"Pah." The old lady waves her hand in the air like she's swatting at a bug. "Don't start that baloney with me, Emmaline. If you didn't want us watching, you shouldn't have been doing it on the street."
Emma shoots a death glare in my direction, telling me without words that this is all my fault. I'm willing to take the blame. Her grandma doesn't sound upset about the fact that I was all over her granddaughter. In fact, she sounds…amused.
"So, you're the one she's been so worked up over, huh?" Gran says to me.
"I have not been worked up over him!" Emma objects.
I grin from ear to ear as her face burns bright red. Seems my little lamb has been telling tales about me to her grandma and aunt. Fuck. Why does that make me feel like a goddamn king?
"Whatever you say, dear." Gran pats her on the arm before turning back to me. "Are you staying for dinner? Or did she recruit you to babysit us like she did the neighbor? We might be convinced to behave for you, but it's not likely."
"I imagine the two of you behave just fine without a babysitter."