Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
But I don’t think Kim Kardashian and her designers at SKIMS tested a caveman’s carry for the stay-in-placeability of their products. To note: they fail, and I will be writing a scathing review.
Pounding his back, I exclaim, “You did not just do that!”
In answer, Jesse spanks me on the other cheek, then shuts my front door. “Keep at it, and I’ll do it again.”
That’s the final straw. I kick and flail, scream and scratch, not giving two shits about the hour or what my neighbors will think.
“What in the heavens—” I hear Roxy who lives next door exclaim as she opens her door.
Upside down and trying to get my hair out of the way, I plead, “He’s kidnapping me! Call Officer Milson!”
But she smiles and leans against the doorframe, casual as can be. “Oh, hey, Jesse! Hey, Wren! You two have a good night.” And with that, she shuts her door.
“Are you kidding me?”
Jesse opens the passenger door and heaves me into the seat. Pissed off, but physically okay, I cross my arms and glare at him with every ounce of anger and hurt I possess. I expect him to be mad, too, but he looks at me with surprising softness in his brown eyes and cups my jaw, which is clamped shut and jutted forward stubbornly. “We’re gonna get this shit straightened out, I promise you that. Give me a minute, ’kay?”
He buckles me in, carefully making sure I’m safe before closing the door on me. I consider making a run for it as he walks around the front of the truck, but I’m stuck in place. Not by the seat belt, but by my own deep, dark, hidden desire to finally know what the hell I did wrong, other than be me.
Is it needy? Yes. Am I mad at myself for wanting to know? Also yes. Do I say, Fuck it, that’s his problem and get out of the truck? No.
Because I want to sort this out too. It might be the only way I’ll be able to move on.
As he gets in and pulls out of my driveway, I swear I see Roxy’s blinds move like she was watching the whole show. “FYI, I’m going to kill your sister.”
“Don’t say that out loud,” Jesse says, sounding softly amused. “It makes it premeditated murder. You lawyer types know that.”
Is he joking at a time like this? I turn my head slowly to give him shit, but his eyes are focused straight ahead on the road. With every streetlight we pass, I get a quick glimpse of his profile. He hasn’t had a haircut in a while, and the ends of his dark hair are starting to flip up in the back in the way that makes me want to twirl them. His jaw is set as stubbornly as mine, but covered in dark scruff that I know firsthand leaves lips and thighs deliciously raw. The short sleeves of his shirt have pulled up over his biceps, revealing the line of his tan and . . .
Is that a new tattoo? Was that there when I barged into his house?
I try to remember, but admit to myself that I was a little distracted by his man nipples and work-honed abs, and didn’t look elsewhere.
I can’t see the whole thing, only the edge of some black lines peeking out, but the idea that someone else has seen his body since I last did washes through me painfully. Even a tattoo artist. She was probably gorgeous, with purple hair, dimple piercings, and tattoo-covered skin that Jesse traced with his tongue after she left her mark on him with permanent ink.
A growl rumbles in my chest, and I have to remind myself that it’s none of my business. Despite what Hazel and Avery said tonight, what Jesse does or who he does is not my concern. I jerk my eyes back, forcing myself to stare out the window at the passing town.
It doesn’t take long for me to figure out where he’s taking me. We’ve been here before. In fact, at one time, I thought this was “our place.” Jesse and I never went out. We’d meet at his place or mine, whichever was more convenient. Sometimes, one of us would bring food if we were hungry, but it was never like a date.
Until here.
Jesse did a small side job for someone well outside the city limits and found a creek down a dirt back road where he could fish. He told me he wanted to show it to me, and we came out here a few times, and though we had sex on a blanket on the shore, it felt different. It felt more.
We’d talk, sit and watch the sun set and the moon rise, and hold hands while we walked up and down the bank of the creek. He said it was so I wouldn’t fall in the sometimes-sticky mud, but in my head, it was because he wanted to touch me, even when we weren’t fucking.