Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64527 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64527 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
She brought the mug over to the couch and set it on the table, taking a seat a few feet from me. She settled into the couch, and I couldn’t help wishing that she’d come closer, despite the fact that I knew I was asking for trouble. It wasn’t a great idea. It would make me want her, and for longer than she was likely to stay.
Bucky came and jumped up onto the sofa, settling between us, and it was all too easy to imagine hundreds, thousands, more days like this.
14
MACY
The days were passing more quickly, and before I knew it, we’d spent two weeks together. After that first night when I’d cooked for him and we’d fallen asleep together on the couch, we’d kind of made a habit of it, and we’d been slowly but surely opening up to each other more and more. And as nice as the making out was, and as hot as Dillon was, we still hadn’t slept together a second time.
I didn’t know why; it was almost like we’d gone so far, so fast, that now we needed to walk it back about five thousand steps. In fact, we hadn’t even mentioned it again, but I knew we were both thinking about it. I could tell that it was on his mind from the way he oriented himself around me, when I caught him peeking at my ass at random moments or following me with his eyes every chance he got.
The night before, I’d learned some particularly good information about him, and I was using it to my advantage by making dinner again. Unfortunately, the open concept living room made it hard to surprise him, but I’d made him promise to keep his eyes on his work, no matter what he smelled coming out of the kitchen.
It had been so worth it when six thirty had come and he’d shut down his computer and gotten up to stretch, allowing me to return the ogling favor for a second. Then, when he turned around and came to the couch, he’d given me the goofiest grin I’d ever seen on his face.
“Did you seriously make chili and cornbread?” he asked, coming over to look over the spread I’d put out on the coffee table.
“Yep,” I said, pressing my lips together into the hard p as I took in his grin. “I guess you must really like chili. Do you know how many beans you have?”
“I know exactly how many beans I have,” he said, grinning at me as he went over to the couch and took his seat there, pulling the bowl over to him. I took my own seat next to him, and we started eating our dinner.
Somehow, we’d fallen into a quick and easy routine together, and I hadn’t even noticed when it had happened, but somehow… I was happy. The restrictions that he put on me—which I understood were for my own safety—still chafed, sometimes badly enough to make me a little nuts, but I was doing my best to compromise.
“This is amazing,” he said, wolfing down his chili without reservation. “I didn’t realize you were listening that hard.”
“I’m a therapist, remember? Listening is kind of my thing,” I said, dipping a hunk of cornbread into my bowl and ripping some off with my teeth.
“Yeah, it’s hard to put away those well-honed instincts, isn’t it?” he said.
“It is. You know, I can’t believe I never asked you about this, but what kind of work do you do now? I see you at your computer every day, and I hear you typing, but I have absolutely no idea what it is you’re working on.”
He chuckled. “I do cyber security for different corporations. I’m a freelancer, but I’ve been doing it for long enough now that my name gets passed around, and I work pretty consistently. It’s been good to me.”
I took another bite of my dinner. “That’s kind of a departure from being a detective.”
He shrugged. “I went to the police academy right out of high school, but I was taking computer science classes at community college at the same time. By the time I made it into my third year as a patrol officer, I had enough units to transfer to U of Tennessee.”
I chuckled. “I see that I’m not the only one who worked hard.”
He shrugged. “Being a cop doesn’t pay all that much, so I wanted the chance to do some other flexible gigs on the side to bring in some extra money.”
“Makes sense.” We ate in silence for a little bit before I asked quietly, “Do you miss it?”
It was the same question he’d put to me when he’d been asking me about my work as an art therapist, and I could tell I’d touched a bit of a nerve when he stopped eating completely. His fingers wrapped around his fork, and he took a deep breath before he finally answered, “Sometimes. Not really.”