Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
And… I didn't mind Brant’s absence. It allowed me unfettered time with Lee, an opportunity that I was embracing with both hands. Every moment I held onto with claws, unsure how many more I would have left. Like an approaching storm, I could feel the end of our future, it teetering on a thin ledge of circumstance. Lee would disappear. I knew it, could feel it in every moment. And then, this entire cycle would start over with a new man, a new someone that would be my side piece to Brant.
As I watched, he stood in front of the open fridge, a hand resting on the top, his eyes skimming the interior as the cool air drifted through the space. "You have nothing," he announced.
"It's full. That hardly constitutes as nothing."
"No beer. No junk food. No ice cream. I could eat every item in this fridge and lose weight." He shut the door and sauntered into the living room. "Let's go grab dinner."
"Now?" I glanced at my watch. "It's almost nine."
"Which is why I'm hungry. That thing we ate for dinner was weak."
I rolled my eyes. The 'thing' was foi gras that I spent three hours preparing. It was Brant's favorite dish, one I expected Lee to scarf down with appreciation. I should have known, in this complicated scenario of conflicts, that he would hate it. "Fine." I stood, tossing my book down on the dark blue sofa. "I'll go change."
"Uh uh. You're fine." He grabbed my elbow and steered me towards the door.
I glanced down at my faded boyfriend jeans. "Where are we going?"
"Let's just drive till we find something. There's got to be somewhere around here that's got the game."
I grabbed my keys off the counter and pressed the button for the garage. It was a cool night and I paused in the doorway, then opened the coat closet and reached up, grabbing a folded black cashmere sweater off the shelf. By the time I stepped out and pressed the keypad, locking the front door, Lee was facing the garage, the full range of cars revealed as the doors swept up.
I stepped down the wide brick steps just in time to hear his low whistle. "Damn, Lucky. I might start fucking this guy."
Irritation flared. "I do have my own money, you know. Not everything is from Brant." It was a ridiculous defense to say to Lee, made more so by the fact that two of the four cars parked in the enclosure were gifts from Brant. I moved toward my Mercedes, my everyday car, but he reached out and stopped my movement. "Let's take the black one."
"The black one?" I stalled.
He was referring to 1989 Land Rover Defender. I'd traded my last vehicle in for it, falling in love with the beefy luxury SUV, which had been restored to mint condition, and converted from hard top to convertible. And, as awkward as this situation now was, I’d purchased it as a gift for Brant. It had been my attempt to, in some small way, repay him for the gifts he had a tendency to lavish on me.
Unfortunately for me, Brant hadn't been a fan of the vehicle. In the brutally honest fashion I loved, he’d told me as soon as he’d opened the black velvet box and paired the set of keys inside with the gleaming two-door in front of him.
"SUVs aren't really my thing." He’d passed the key box back to me, a sheepish look stealing over his face. "I don't like the insecurity of them. And the IIHS safety rating placed them in the worst classification for risk of rollover. The—"
"It's okay." I smiled at him. "I should have asked."
"I just don't need a vehicle I won't drive." He leaned over, looped a hand around my waist and kissed the top of my head. “Do you mind?"
Did I mind? I had stared blankly at the truck. "No babe. I'm glad you told me.”
And I was, sort of.
A BSX employee had driven the vehicle to my house, where it’d spent most of its life in the garage. Now, Lee was in my driveway and about to swoon over the damn thing. “You like it?” I asked, already convinced of the answer, giving the way he was circling the truck, his eyes aglow.
“It’s fucking sick. Is this the V8? What year is this?” He was now on his knees, looking at the undercarriage, and when he hissed at what he saw, it was the same sound he made when he pressed his cock inside of me. I didn’t know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult.
“It’s an 89.”
“Shit, this thing must be worth a fortune. You got the keys?”
I guess there was no reason not to take it. What difference did it make? Still, it felt odd. I nodded to the lockbox on the wall. “The keys are in there. Code is 029.”