Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Sitting across from him in the living room, I remind myself this isn’t about that. I can’t let the memories of last night rule me. The two kisses will have to be enough. I have to remember that he may be a killer, that Mom disapproves, that he’s going to be gone soon, and this could get me fired.
How many reasons does one girl need? Still, I can’t stop obsessing.
“The middle of the night,” he says, sighing and rubbing his large, powerful hands together. “Damon’s a sick fuck, and he knows how difficult it would be to get a police team out there to monitor it. Even then, he might have cop contacts, dammit.”
“There must be something we can do.”
“Me, Lily,” he growls, staring at me almost like he did last night with that nobody-else-exists look. “Not us. Clearly, you’ve been warned about me.”
“Why’s that so obvious?”
“Because you’re looking at me like you know something.” He rests his elbows on his knees. He’s wearing a sleeveless shirt and shorts, showing off his massive, muscled arms. The outlines of his strength are evident in the cutting lines. “Or you think you know something.”
I sit up. “This isn’t about anything else. Just The Row.”
“I’ve already figured out what I’m going to do,” he says.
“Well … what?”
“It’s safer if you don’t know,” he grunts.
“So we’re done?” I say.
He nods. “As far as The Row goes … unless you want something to drink or eat.” His voice tilts up at the end, a note of hope entering it. I know I should tell him no.
Instead, I smile. “Are you offering to cook me a meal?”
He laughs. It feels so normal and effortless despite everything—so natural. It’s almost like we were destined to be together. I stop the thought before it can finish as if it will make any of this more manageable.
“I’m not much of a cook, but for you, I’ll try.” He stands up. “I’ll check what we’ve got.”
Once he leaves the room, I try to convince myself to get the heck out of there. “I’ve done my part,” I try to reason with myself. I didn’t have to tell him what Grace told me. He knows now and says he has a plan, but I don’t want to leave even if I should. Even though Mom will be pissed, and the nerves twist through me at the idea of going all the way with him.
Nobody will see us together. My job can’t end because of a meal.
When he returns, he’s got this almost boyish look on his face. I think it’s just the excitement of me saying I’d hang around for a while. It makes me grin and fills me with much more positive emotion than should be possible between us, considering everything.
“Pizza, okay?”
I laugh. “Pizza sounds perfect.”
“I don’t use this room much,” he says when he sees me looking around his dining room at the tall ceiling and its sheer space.
“It’s perfect for dates …”
He shakes his head. “I meant what I said. I haven’t dated in years.”
“Even then,” I murmur, remembering a shimmer dancing over me. “It wasn’t like with us …”
“Exactly,” he growls.
“I didn’t get a chance to ask what you meant by that.”
“You shouldn’t be asking now if this is strictly business.”
“I am anyway,” I say, then take a bite of my pepperoni pizza so I don’t keep going. Do you feel the same as me? This crazy mixture of everything being new, exciting, dangerous, yet oh-so-natural?
“Natural,” he says, like he’s reading my thoughts. “That’s how it’s felt, being with you, but your mother is right. It hasn’t been long.”
“Is that all she’s right about?”
“I wasn’t lying about the health stuff,” he shrugs. “That’s life; it is what it is.”
“But …” I almost chicken out but force myself to continue. “What do you want with me, then? I guess Mom had a point there.”
“I want you,” he says fiercely. “I can’t put a label or a trajectory on it. It’s probably damn unfair of me to even tell you this. Maybe your mom’s right. Maybe I mean too much for you to think clearly—”
“I can make my own decisions,” I snap.
“Either way,” he remarks, “it makes no sense for me to tell you this. You’re just so damn beautiful, so kind, so intelligent, so sassy, so determined, so impressive.”
My body floods with so many warm emotions that it makes me suspicious.
“You think I’m love-bombing you,” he says, looking closely at me.
“It’s that obvious?”
“It makes sense. I met your father, remember? I know what he was like. What sort of man he was. I’m not, by the way. I’d never do that to you. I said all that because it’s the truth. You are an amazing person, whether or not you like me saying it.”
“I never knew my dad, not really,” I murmur, changing the subject. “I saw him hurt Mom sometimes if he was drunk. You saw the bruises.”