Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77842 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77842 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
“I’m not drunk enough for that,” Owen teases, but the way his face stays serious, I suddenly don’t think he’s joking.
Coming around the other side of their place the cold shadow of the murder house swallows me whole, as if the sun doesn’t exist in its presence. Gobsmacked, I swallow and stare at it, wondering what exactly happened. Did the wife see it coming? Did the husband make it fast? Now I see why Owen and Flynn haven’t mowed on the side of their house, being over here is fucking creepy. Someone special is going to have to move into this house to turn it around for the neighborhood.
“Do you think anyone will move into that house?” I ask out of curiosity.
“Probably not. I mean, not anyone with a conscience. Then again, I didn’t think anyone would move into your place.” A chill tickles down my spine. Ever since I found out the husband that used to live in my house murdered the man in this very house , I’ve been paranoid. Like the dark energy that walked through the very hallway I do is still attached and waiting to pounce on my family at any moment.
“Flynn, the new Bridgerton show is on!” Owen snaps his fingers, his face glued to his phone.
Walking across the street and into my house, the cool air-conditioning kisses my skin, soothing away the blistering heat. Taking a deep breath, I await for Heston to rush out with something exciting, but instead he’s pacing the living room floor with his phone to his ear. Feeling let down, but hopeful there is something that is going to make me happy I head to the kitchen for a snack, snatching a muffin from the cupboard, I lean over the kitchen island and peel back the paper wrapping, trying to hear what Heston is talking about.
“Yeah, I’m not doing anything.” He laughs gleefully, making me raise a brow. I expect a man to sound like that only when he’s talking to his mother. Am I actually going to get to meet her?
Pulling the phone away from his ear, he looks to me with bright eyes and smile.
“What?”
“That was my boss. He invited me to play golf.” I can’t help the detached expression that masks my face. I was not expecting him to say that. I thought he had something romantic planned or was naked ready for a hot quickie. Not kissing ass at his job.
“I didn’t know you played.” I say with an exhale.
“Uh…I don’t really. My dad and I would sometimes on the weekend, but that was it.”
Another tidbit about his father—the man who left him as he got older.
“Yeah? Was he any good?” I ask, making conversation. I feel stupid to think he had something planned for us, this whole proposal thing has me distracted.
Heston is silent, my question falling on deaf ears. I don’t press him, not wanting to push, but I wish he’d tell me more. Walking to the closet I usually store throw blankets in, he opens it and reaches inside, tugging out a blue Callaway bag. Golf balls fall everywhere. I slightly remember him having a golf bag when he moved in, but must have overlooked it.
Sinking my teeth into my muffin, I watch him pull out his drivers and inspect them.
“I could come with you. Maybe the idea of a family man would make an impression,” I offer.
He stands up straight, rubbing his head with one hand, the other on his hip as if he’s thinking.
“No, I better do this alone. I have some ass kissing to do. I can’t let you be a victim of seeing that.”
I laugh, licking my lips.
“All right. I guess Paige and I will order pizza and watch a movie tonight.”
He nods, like he’s going along with what I’m saying, but not really hearing me. He’s nervous, and I find it cute. He really cares about his career, and I can respect that.
He hurries off to our room, and by the time I’m finished eating my muffin, he’s standing next to his bag, wearing blue chino pants, a blue-collar shirt, and clean white shoes I’ve never seen before. He fits the stereotypical golfer perfectly, and I have to keep myself from laughing. On second thought, I’m glad I’m not going. He would probably have me in a plaid skirt and one of those damn hats with a green see-through bill.
Dusting my hands of crumbs, I come around to kiss him goodbye.
“Alright, I think I have everything,” he mutters, before looking up at me with a heavy exhale.
Rubbing my hands up his chest and onto his shoulder, I give him a reassuring squeeze and look into his eyes.
“You got this babe, relax.” He nods, blowing out another calming breath.
“You’re right. I mean, if he’s invited me to go golfing with him, it has to be for a good reason. It would be awkward to fire someone on the green then keep playing,” he says out loud, like hearing himself say it gives him strength.