Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Yeah, well, this is me. Sometimes I need to voice out my thoughts just to hear how stupid I sound.
“Here let me help you.” The deep voice shocks me enough that I trip backward, my heart pounding.
“Oh, God. Jesus. You scared me.” My hand flies to my chest, trying to calm myself.
It’s the guy from the other day. The one who didn’t introduce himself. The one whose name I still don’t know.
Without waiting for permission, he grabs the books from me, my nerves crackling with sparks when his fingers brush mine, and starts walking upstairs. I’m so surprised to see him that he’s almost on the second floor when I finally recover and sprint to catch up to him. I’ve never been so fast in my life.
He doesn’t say anything, just carries the books in his huge, veiny hands. His biceps and forearm flex, and I have to check whether I’m drooling or not. The first time I met him, I thought him handsome. Now, this up close, he’s actually a whole lot sexier and more good-looking, especially with those piercing blue eyes that make me feel like I’m standing naked in front of him. Or that he’s stripping me naked.
Get a grip, Zara. Not now.
We walk side by side without talking, and I struggle to breathe normally because the most exercise I have is pacing the entire length of the emergency room.
My nostrils flare while I pretend that there’s no invisible weight pressing against my lungs and my legs aren’t burning.
As if on its own volition, my head spins toward him. He’s a good deal taller than me, and the shoulder-length hair covers the sides of his face. This way, it’s not easy to tell he has a scar. He’s also wearing another collared shirt.
Yet another weird thought, but his hair looks shinier and softer than mine. I just want to run my fingers through them.
I’m well aware I’m staring, but I can’t help it. I may not get this chance again. He already has a low opinion of me—based on our previous interaction—so why not play to his first impression?
His ear pokes between the strands, and I see a silver helix piercing and another piercing below it. Damn. Why do I find it sexy? Why do I find everything about him sexy?
When my gaze lands back on his face, his forehead scrunches, and he clenches his jaw. Ah, yes. The rigid jaw, which is not only defined but looks so sharp I feel like it will cut me if I run a finger along it.
All of a sudden, the air in the stairwell feels hot and stifling. Has it always been like this here? Or is it just because I’m close to someone who looks like he should be on the billboard?
When we reach the third floor, I decide to push my luck a bit. We still have two more floors to go, and I may never get another shot at being this close to him.
“I’m Zara, by the way.”
“Yes, you told me the other day.” His baritone voice feels like a caress on my skin, and my core clenches unexpectedly.
Really, girl? Are we now getting aroused by this?
“I’m on the fifth floor,” I tell him, feeling like someone desperate for attention. Which I am, to be honest.
He doesn’t respond. It’s starting to feel like I’m talking to a wall, but I’m nothing if not persistent.
“You know, common courtesy dictates that when someone offers you their name, you tell them yours.” I give him the stink eye. “Unless maybe your name is either difficult to pronounce like Ermenigildo or something you’re embarrassed to say, like maybe Horatio or Archibald or Wilbur.”
The corner of his mouth curls up, and it feels like a win. “Alec.”
“Alec.” His name rolls off my tongue, and yes, he looks like an Alec. “What floor?”
“Sixth.”
“How long have you lived here?”
“Three years.”
“Does the elevator usually break down?”
His eyes crinkle in the corners, but he still doesn’t look at me. “The right question is, does the elevator usually work?”
“No.” My shoulders droop, and all thoughts about how sexy my neighbor is are forgotten. “You mean, I have to walk every day?”
“It’s not so bad. Besides, it's good exercise.”
I rear my head back and scowl. “It’s not? Easy for you to say because you’re a walking advertisement for protein powder. Okay, maybe not really but look at me. Do I look like I voluntarily go to the gym? Do I look like I will sign up without a gun to my head?”
He casts me a sidelong glance and smirks. I almost tumble and fall face down because God, Alec smiling causes something warm to pool low in my belly. “You’ll get used to it.”
“I don’t want to get used to it.” I huff in exasperation, still debating if Alec is worth staying here for. “Have you always lived in Ferncombe?”