Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 76780 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76780 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“Hey,” we greet but don’t linger to get caught up in conversation.
Once inside my room, Cormac closes the door. I strip down and change into some shorts. I’m sure Cormac just got a nice view of my ass, but it wouldn’t be the first time. It’s not like I’m shy. He remains clothed but removes his shoes.
“What’re you working on over here?” he asks, gesturing to my pile of sketches.
Atlas’s carmine, raspberry, barn red lips.
“Nothing.”
Cormac smirks. “Okay.”
I pick up a sketch book and then dig out all my yellow variations. We both settle on the bed beside each other while I draw several words in the different shades of yellow.
“Haven’t ever really seen you do this before.” He lies on his side, watching me. “I know you’re into art shit, but I haven’t ever like witnessed it.”
Because by the time I became friends with Cormac, I was feeling the stress of what Hank was doing to me. Kind of hard to be inspired to draw or paint or create when someone is harassing the fuck out of you.
“Feeling better last few days,” I admit. “Life’s been…weird.”
“I can tell,” he agrees. “I…”
I stop shading to glance at him. “What?”
“Zak’s taking this hard, huh?”
Guilt is a ticking bomb. With each passing second, I feel like it’s going to explode in my face.
“I’ve told him from the beginning, it’s not like that.” I gnaw on my bottom lip until it stings. “He says he gets it, but…”
“He fell in love anyway?”
“I’ve kept my distance. Well, with sexual stuff.”
And, since I met Atlas.
“That cop guy likes you,” Cormac muses, reading my thoughts. “In case you didn’t notice.”
I laugh and shrug. “Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t.”
“Those sketches over there look an awful lot like his mouth.”
“It’s a sexy mouth.”
We both chuckle.
“Maybe this cop guy is just what you need,” he offers. “To, you know, get back to you.”
“Maybe.”
Cormac falls silent, and I continue to draw in the peacefulness of just our breathing. The golden-yellow letters become BFB PD. Cormac doesn’t give me shit for it. I sketch until we’re both yawning like crazy. After turning off the lights, I snuggle against Cormac. He’s not demanding of affection like Zak, but I know he craves it. Cormac’s so sweet and withdrawn that you can’t help but want to give him love and so much more. Luckily, he understands our friendship is just that. And, I’m not stupid enough to do anything sexual with him since it went over so damn well with Zak.
I fall asleep dreaming of Atlas’s eyes and mouth and calloused fingers.
When I wake the next morning, Cormac is gone. Typical. Zak and I think he’s homeless, but he always turns up showered, so he must have someplace to stay. One day, I’ll drag the answers out of him. One day.
“You up?” Jax asks, peeking in the doorway.
“Yep.”
“I need your help. Zak went to work, and Cameron left. Your brother had to go into the B&B to see Shelly about something. I need your muscles.”
I snort out a laugh. “You must be desperate.”
He chuckles. “Be ready to go in five minutes.”
Groaning, I climb out of bed and rush through a quick shower. I dress in skinny jeans, a long-sleeve yellow shirt with Miley Cyrus’s face on the front, and my bright yellow Docs. After mussing up my hair with some gel, I find my yellow glitter eyeliner and smudge it on. Not neat but kind of messy because it looks cooler. I manage to devour a PopTart and brush my teeth with a minute to spare. If I had more time, I’d have switched my nail polish from cherry red to pineapple yellow.
It’s a yellow day.
“I seriously don’t know how you do that,” Jax says, shaking his head. “It takes your brother an hour just to do his hair.”
Not really, but I smirk, imagining Dante fussing over his hair.
I pull on my winter coat because it’s snowing a little outside and then follow Jax out to his Tahoe. We climb in and drive to the end of the road. He makes a left and then turns left again down the street behind his. Almost directly behind where Jax lives, he pulls into a driveway of someone else’s house.
“We could have hopped the fence,” I say in amusement.
“In this cold-ass weather? No thanks.”
We make our way up to the front of a house that is similar to Jax’s. He raps on the door while we wait. I’m stifling a yawn just as the door opens.
No. Fucking. Way.
“Sheriff,” Atlas rumbles, his gaze not anywhere on Jax but boring into me.
Atlas’s gaze is sharp despite obviously working the night shift. The shirt he’s wearing is a crisp baby blue that molds beautifully to his solid chest. I crave to grab him by the material and pull him to me so I can smell him. I bet he smells like summer days and blueberries and freshly washed denim.