Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 39471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 197(@200wpm)___ 158(@250wpm)___ 132(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 197(@200wpm)___ 158(@250wpm)___ 132(@300wpm)
I lifted my head, my gaze pinned on his very narrow waist, one that had very defined abs. I could see the ridges and dips of that six-pack through his white T-shirt. I let my gaze travel higher, over a wide chest and broad shoulders, and I finally looked at Roman.
I’d just been checking him out and he’d seen it all.
My face heated and I looked away, embarrassed.
I had assumed he’d left, but he’d been out here this whole time?
I looked back at him and pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose, my ponytail blowing slightly as the wind picked up.
“Careful there,” he said in that deep voice of his, one I’d dreamed about more times than I wanted to admit.
“I thought you’d left,” I said softly. He probably thought I was shy and awkward because I was this geeky girl. But the truth was, I was like this because of him, because of how I felt for Roman. It was complicated and consuming.
“I was going to, but I got a call from the shop. I was just hanging out here until I finished.” He smirked, just the corner of his mouth kicking up.
I felt my heart beat a little bit harder at that sight. I nodded and licked my lips, looking away again, focusing down the street and on my run. I was trying to concentrate on something other than him standing right in front of me, the scent of his cologne intoxicating.
We stood there for long moments, neither of us speaking, but my awkwardness increasing, no doubt. I started to feel sweaty, nervous standing in front of Roman, my arousal too strong. And the way he watched me was almost… intimate.
I cleared my throat and took a step back on instinct. He was much bigger than me, well over six feet tall. He was like a giant compared to my short five-foot frame. His body was hard, defined and lean, a specimen of male perfection.
God, now I sounded like a textbook.
Time for me to go before I made a fool out of myself.
I took one more glance at him before giving him a smile that probably looked a little too forced. “See you around, Roman.”
I headed down the porch and started at a slow jog, feeling his gaze on me the entire way. I looked over my shoulder to see him watching me, his look almost ... feral.
It was only when I was down the street and around the corner that I stopped and braced my hands on my knees, sucking in a lungful of air that had nothing to do with me running and everything to do with Roman Silvers.
Chapter Three
Roman
I reached over to my toolbox and dug around for the half-inch ratchet. Once I found the tool, I got back to work underneath the hood of the car.
I moved the matchstick I had in my mouth to the other side, keeping it between my lips and teeth as I worked on the engine. Keeping a matchstick in my mouth while I worked was a nervous habit I’d picked up at the shop. That, coupled with my grease-stained coveralls, made me look stereotypical as fuck.
The sound of classic rock pumping through the speakers in the corner of the garage couldn’t drown out my thoughts. I should be focusing on the task at hand, getting this engine up and running because it was due for delivery to the customer by the end of the week.
But the only thing I could think about was Kennedy.
It was always about her.
I was finding it harder each day to keep my distance and not admit how I felt for her. Two years was a hell of a long time to keep a secret that you were madly in love with someone.
It was a hell of a lot of time to be celibate, too, especially given the fact she was the only one who did it for me.
I couldn’t even look at another girl without comparing her to Kennedy. If I were being totally honest, looking at any other female disgusted me.
So, for years I’d pined after a girl I shouldn’t technically want, couldn’t really have.
Because being with her, my step-cousin, would no doubt complicate a shitload of things.
I got up under the engine and started tweaking it. My fingers were a bit too big, and I jammed one into a sharp edge. Cursing and pulling my hand out, I looked down at the gouge, blood welling up from the wound.
“Fuck.”
“You okay, man?”
I glanced up at Jacks, who was currently working under the hood of a cherried-out 1960 Chevy Impala. “I’m good,” I said as I made my way toward the sink off to the side.
I cleaned off the wound and reached for the first aid kit, which was on a little shelf above the sink. I fished out a bandage, wrapped it around my finger, and turned to see Jacks standing behind me. “Damn, close enough? What’s up?”