Total pages in book: 173
Estimated words: 174632 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 699(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174632 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 699(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
“Oh my God. You guys didn’t.”
“Course we did,” Ian replied gruffly, looking uncomfortable. “And before you start protesting that it’s too much and you can’t accept—”
“Blah, blah, blah,” Jack added irreverently.
“We bought them on sale. No returns,” Ian told her.
“And if you don’t wear them, then Jameson will have to,” Jack said. “Since we’ll give them to him for his birthday next month.”
“Good plan,” Ian said in agreement.
They were so ridiculous that she couldn’t help but roll her eyes. But she couldn’t turn away the boots without at least looking at them.
Right?
That would just be rude.
And she might be ridiculous and a disappointment, but she was not rude.
Well, not today anyway.
Opening up the box, she almost swooned. They were shiny black. The leather was pristine and they had that new shoe smell.
“They’re perfect.”
“Do you want to try them on?” Ian asked
“More than anything.” But she put them back in the box. “I can’t accept them, though.”
“Do you want them?” Jack asked, lying alongside her.
Lord, he looked gorgeous like this. What would it be like to wake up to that smile every morning?
Her mouth went dry at the thought.
“Of course I do. They’re gorgeous. But I know how much they cost. It’s too much.”
“I guess Jameson is getting them for his birthday, then.” Ian took the box with a shrug. “It’s a shame. They’re more you than him.”
“That’s because they’re women’s boots!”
“Nah,” Jack said. “That’s not it. Pretty sure he’s worn women’s boots before.”
“He has not!” She giggled at their foolishness. “You can’t regift them to him for his birthday. That’s not nice.”
“Last year, for my birthday, he got me therapy session vouchers to help me get in touch with my inner emotions,” Ian told her.
“They have vouchers for that?” she asked.
“Apparently.”
“I got a calendar with all these inspirational sayings, like: People who do not succeed should never try bungee jumping.” Jack rolled his eyes.
“What? What does that mean?” she asked with a giggle.
“God knows,” Ian said.
“Pretty sure it was a death threat,” Jack added.
She broke into more laughter. “Those are terrible gifts.”
“He’s the worst. One Christmas, he got me laxatives because he said I’m always complaining that I eat too much on Christmas day,” Jack moaned.
“Oh my God.” Tears ran down her face as she laughed. She wiped them away.
“These boots actually seem too nice to give him,” Ian said. “But if you don’t want them . . .”
“No! Mine!” She lunged for them, pain shooting down her hip.
“Careful!” Jack drew her gently back while Ian gave her the box.
She hugged it to her chest even as embarrassment filled her. “Um, sorry. I don’t share very well. I think it’s because I was always given my sister’s hand-me-downs. From her clothes to her toys. They were always hers. Never mine. And I really didn’t mean to blurt that all out. I’ve got to learn to filter myself.”
“Why start now?” Ian said seriously.
“Rude,” she muttered. But she was grinning. “Are you sure you want to give me these? I know they cost a lot.”
“Think of it as an apology for the way I talked to you when you first arrived. I know I was a bit . . . bossy.” Ian sat on the bed, facing her. There was a soft look on his face.
“Um, newsflash, you haven’t changed,” she told him, barely holding back her grin as he gave her a shocked look.
Then she could no longer hold it and a giggle escaped.
“Brat,” he muttered.
She honestly couldn’t remember the last time that she’d laughed this much.
“And it’s not an apology from me since I’m not a jerk,” Jack told her. “I’m the nice one.”
Ian gaped at him. “The nice one? You?”
“Yep. Aren’t I, baby girl?”
“Hmm. Sometimes you can be nice. And sometimes you can be . . . intense.”
Something simmered in his gaze. Hot and watchful. She sucked in a breath.
Then he smiled and it disappeared.
But she’d seen it. And she couldn’t unsee it.
“Are you sure?” she asked, even as she hugged the box against her chest.
“You’re keeping the boots, Little Misfit,” Ian told her firmly. “No arguments.”
She could point out how bossy he was being right now. But since he was telling her what she wanted to hear, she decided to be magnanimous and ignore it.
“Besides, they’d have to pry these boots from my dead hands,” she muttered.
Jack snorted as Ian shook his head.
“Um. I said that out loud, huh?” She gave them both a wide grin. “Oops.”
“What are we going to do with you, Little girl?” Ian sighed.
Hug me. Love me. Keep me forever.
Shit. Had she said that out loud?
She eyed them both. Nope. She thought she was safe.
“I really wish I knew what you were thinking right now,” Jack murmured.
“You don’t. I’m a mess.”
“I don’t like you saying that.” Ian frowned at her. “You are so lucky you’re not ours.”