Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
It’s dangerous, a fact proven when she steps closer and whispers, “Of course, I’m happy to help,” sending twin waves of hunger flooding through my bloodstream.
I simultaneously want to pull her in for a friendly hug and pin her against the nearest wall and get my hands under her fancy skirt. A man could get lost under that skirt, and I already know I wouldn’t ever want to be found.
I’m about to make an excuse to bolt—or drag her in for a kiss right here in front of half of Bad Dog and likely several members of my extended family—when a piercing scream cuts through the air.
Starling and I spin in unison to see Nora climbing up onto the counter of the kissing booth, fleeing a snarling cat on a leash.
Chapter Seven
STARLING
I love Nora.
I love her and want to be patient with her as she works through her fear of all things furry and feathered but damn…her timing sucks.
For a second there, I was positive Christian was about to kiss me.
The shine in his bright blue eyes, the softness in his expression, the way his full lips parted ever so slightly as he dipped his head closer to mine—all signs pointed to a lip-lock and hopefully a vow to teach me all the Secrets of Sexy Times before he leaves town.
Now, instead of making out, we’re making haste toward the kissing booth, which is clearly unstable and not built for a grown woman to climb on top of it. It’s wobbling back and forth, making ominous creaking sounds as Carolina backs away, moving out of the path of whatever disaster is about to unfold.
“You take care of the cat, I’ll get her down,” Christian says.
“On it,” I say.
Christian makes a beeline for Nora, while I hurry over to the cat’s owner. On my way past, the cat—a fat black Persian wearing an eye patch, a pirate hat, and a fake peg leg—yowls and takes a swipe at me, making me grateful for the heavy skirts protecting my ankles.
“No, Killer, don’t scratch,” the owner—a scrawny brunette dressed as a pirate wench—says without any real conviction. She’s watching Nora climb the walls without any sign of compassion, either.
If anything, she seems amused by the scene she’s caused.
“Hey there,” I say, forcing a smile for the woman, though I can already tell we aren’t going to click. Anyone who would bring an aggressive animal into a public place—or force a cat to wear a costume that is clearly driving it batshit crazy—isn’t my kind of people. I motion over my shoulder toward where Nora is still hyperventilating atop the kissing booth. “My friend is really anxious around aggressive animals. Would you mind giving her some space and coming back to the kissing booth with your cat a little later?”
The woman shifts her flat brown eyes over my shoulder then back to my face without a spark of empathy. “Sounds like a her problem, not a me problem, and I want to get Killer’s picture at the kissing booth before it gets crowded.”
The cat hisses and takes another swipe at me before rolling onto its back in the gravel and thrashing his head back and forth in an attempt to dislodge his hat.
I clench my jaw and nod as patiently as I can, considering this wench’s lack of compassion for both Nora and her distressed pet. “I get it. Just give us two minutes, okay? I’ll get Nora out of here and you can be first in line.”
“Please, don’t make me,” Nora squeaks behind me. “I can’t get down, Christian. I just can’t.”
“It’s okay, don’t be scared. I’ve got you. I won’t even let your feet touch the ground, I promise,” Christian murmurs in that deep, soothing rumble that always puts the skittish new dogs at the shelter at ease.
But when I sneak another peek over my shoulder, Nora is still clutching the pillar of the rickety booth, shaking her head back and forth as tears stream down her face. “I can’t.”
I spin back to the wench and her cat, who is now batting his claws at the leash in a hopeless attempt to free himself from his torture. “Look, I’ll give you twenty bucks, okay? Just to go and come back later. Easiest money you’ll ever make.”
The woman arches an over-plucked brow. “Can’t get much with a twenty these days.”
“Okay, fine, forty,” I say, fighting the uncharacteristic urge to wipe the smirk off this jerk’s face with a flick of my fingers to her stubby little nose.
“A hundred,” she counters, summoning an outraged huff from my chest.
“A hundred?” I ask, incredulous. “You want a hundred dollars to do the right thing for a fellow human being? Something you should do just to be a kind and decent member of the community?”
The woman’s smile widens. “There it is. You always did think you were better than everyone else, Starling Baxter.”