Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 140184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 701(@200wpm)___ 561(@250wpm)___ 467(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 701(@200wpm)___ 561(@250wpm)___ 467(@300wpm)
As much as I’d like to keep touching her, I should probably do my part. I grab myself a skillet and the pack of bacon out of the fridge and stand beside her at the stovetop getting everything ready.
By the time the sandwiches are finally assembled and finished, we’re moving around the kitchen in tandem. It reminds me a bit of how things were with me and my wife when we were young and had just moved into our first place. It was a shoebox-sized apartment with a tiny-ass kitchen. We didn’t have as much room to work as we do here. But to be honest, even once we moved here and had the room, we still stayed close whenever we had the chance to.
I guess Kennedy reminds me of her a little bit.
Maybe it’s just the feeling. I haven’t been in love with anyone since my wife died. Haven’t even been seriously interested in anybody. Not until her.
The boys were little back then. I guess Kennedy would have been, too.
That’s where my mind is when Kennedy starts to reach past me for something on the other side of the counter. She stops when she sees my face. Softens, despite everything.
“Is everything okay?” she asks softly.
I nod. “Just thinking.”
“About what? You looked a little sad.”
My lips tug up, but not with real amusement this time. “I was thinking about Edie.” She frowns, her face showing no recognition. “My wife,” I explain.
“Oh.” Her gaze drifts a bit awkwardly toward the sink. I didn’t expect her to know what to say, but I don’t need her to say anything, I was just answering her question.
Absently, I take a lock of Kennedy’s long hair and wind it around my finger. “She had curly hair, kinda like yours. A little darker, but it felt the same sliding through my fingers.”
She swallows and doesn’t look at me. I can’t tell what she’s thinking. “How did she die?” she asks softly.
“Car accident. Drunk driver. She was on her way home from work.”
“Oh, wow. I’m sorry.”
I shrug. Probably an asshole thing to do, but I don’t particularly want Kennedy comforting me about my dead wife and I don’t even know why.
“That’s life,” I tell her. “Sometimes it’s fucking tragic.”
“Yeah,” she murmurs in quiet agreement.
I grab a serving plate out of the cupboard and take the last sandwich off the stove. “I guess that does it.”
She picks up a stray piece of cheddar from the counter and walks it over to the trash. “I’m going to wash up real quick before we eat. Which way’s the bathroom?”
I point her in the right direction. “Second door on the left.”
She murmurs a thank you, then takes off down the hall. I’m distracted watching the gentle sway of her hips.
An idea takes hold, but I know I shouldn’t do it. I glance at Jet, but he’s still entirely preoccupied with his robot.
Ignoring my better judgment, I take off down the hall after her.
I’m taller than she is, so my steps cover more ground. Just as she’s about to close the door, I brace a palm against the wood and stop her.
Startled, Kennedy turns around to face me. “What are you doing?”
“You said you were going to wash up.” I push the door open, letting myself inside with her. “I thought you might need a little help.”
Chapter four
Kennedy
My eyes widen and fixate on the crazy man who just forced his way into the bathroom with me. “You can’t be in here.”
Milo turns the lock on the door, then turns to face me, cocking a dark eyebrow at my assertion. “It’s my bathroom.”
I feel my face heat. I back away as he moves closer. “I—I know it’s your bathroom, but I’m using it right now. What if someone saw you come in?”
He cuts off my frantic thoughts, reaching out and grabbing my hips. “I’m already getting tired of your preoccupation with what someone might see.”
Just as he’s starting to draw me closer, I push his hand away and walk to the sink. I need to get away from him, but that’s impossible in the tight space of the narrow bathroom.
I’m facing away from him with my hands braced on the sink, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He walks up behind me and moves so close, I can feel his muscular front against my back. His heat seeps through my shirt and warms my skin.
I don’t know what I expect him to do next, but it’s not secure his arms around me and hug me from behind.
My heart skips a beat.
“You can’t be in here,” I repeat, my tone a little weaker as I fight the urge to sink into his embrace. “You can’t do… whatever you’re doing.”
“If you don’t even know what to call it, how do you know I’m not allowed to do it?” he teases.