Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 56295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
The weird part about this equation is that Nix’s truck isn’t in the driveway. Rory texted me earlier saying he was picking them up from their extracurricular activities and they’d see me at home. Which means they should be here, at least starting on their homework, since it’s seven o’clock at night. That saying, the lights are on, but nobody’s home. It really hits me right now as I walk around the house, noticing just about every freaking light is on in the house. Never do I leave the house with a light on, minus the one above the stove. Bills aren’t cheap, especially the electric bill. Luck is on my side because I know for a fact that my bedroom window is unlocked. Yeah, yeah, leaving windows unlocked isn’t smart. I can hear Nix now giving me all kinds of shit about it. Needless to say, I never heed his warnings, which is why my hands are pressed against the glass, sliding it up an inch at a time. Damn my body for being on the shorter side for a female. Five foot and four inches is not tall when your teenager and preteen are slowly looming over your stature.
“Jackpot,” I say to the quiet surrounding me. The only noise are the trees swaying with the subtle breeze, crickets and frogs croaking. Our neighborhood is on the older side, most of the houses built in the fifties. Some of the houses have additions built, and some have been remodeled, taking away the old-world charm. My house is not one of them. The only things that’ve been upgraded are the windows, doors, and flooring. There was no knocking walls down for an open floor plan. The kitchen was already open enough; no need to turn it into some modern work of art that would never fit the home. Once I have the window open, making sure it’s completely up and won’t fall back down, I use every ounce of muscle in my body to lift myself up, making it until I’m doing a teeter-totter, my stomach taking the brunt of it.
“Stupid short arms. Stupid short legs.” I kick my legs, trying to gain some momentum to move my body off the ledge to get inside. If I’d have only used my phone, maybe called one of the girls, and yes, my ten-year-old has a phone. Sue me. We all have such a crazy busy life that adding a phone to the mix has helped, plus I can track either of them at any given time. For that matter, they can track me, which they do all the damn time, except maybe for tonight.
“What in the actual fuck?” I lift my head, making my whole body do this weird wibble-wobble action. I lose whatever traction I did have, causing me to slide backwards. Damn this body of mine.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I sputter out. My head drops down, hands grasping at thin air, knowing there’s nothing or no way to break the fall that’s clearly about to happen. God, if my girls followed Nix into my room, had their phones with them, there’s not a single doubt in my mind they’d be videoing my shenanigans. And the first person they’d send it to is Ophelia, followed by Ya-Ya and Baboosh. Though, the last two members of the family would need help on how to watch the video.
“Jesus, Leigh, are you trying to kill yourself?” That air I was grasping at becomes Nix’s firm shoulders, the tips of my fingers pressing in, unconsciously, as he prevents me from falling to my near death. I mean Nix did use the words kill yourself, so I’d say it’s okay to be a teeny bit dramatic. What I’m not expecting is the way he continues to hold me, my chest pressed against his body, my nipples pebbling in a way that I try not to admit even to myself only seems to happen with the Greek god present, or when I’m thinking about him in the still of the night. What I’m not expecting is to feel something thick and heavy pressed into my lower stomach. A hiss of air escapes his lips, or the fact that it’s me sinking closer to Nix.
I never did respond to his question, and right now doesn’t seem like the time to do so either. In fact, judging by the way he’s looking at me—tongue sliding along his lower lip as my eyes trace the movement, my core clenching, panties soaked like only Nix seems to do—I’d say right now is definitely not the time to question anything other than my sanity. This isn’t smart, right? He’s my future ex-husband’s best friend. There’s some forbidden bro code you don’t cross, right? Or am I making that up and it’s more of a sisterhood thing, like the sisters before misters.