Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 155037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 775(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 517(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 155037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 775(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 517(@300wpm)
Holy. Moly.
“It’s not an act.”
She swallowed heavily.
“But if it makes you feel better, you can clean my cut.”
Okay, she hadn’t thought this one through, had she? She took hold of his hand and started cleaning it. It took every ounce of control she had to pretend that she wasn’t affected from touching him like this.
It’s just a hand, Isa. Not his cock!
When she was finished, she put a Band-Aid on. It looked a bit silly, especially since it was one of her rainbow ones. But he didn’t say a word; he just helped her pack everything back up.
“You need socks,” he grumbled.
“I can get them. Thanks for the eggs.”
“Those chickens are fucking nuts.”
“Shh.” She slammed her hand down over his mouth. Was he insane? Didn’t he know by now that he couldn’t insult the she-demons? “They’ll hear you.”
He just stared at her with those dark eyes. That’s when she realized she was practically pressed against him, her legs on either side of his body, her hand against his mouth.
It would be so easy to replace her hand with her mouth . . . to kiss him . . .
Pump the brakes, Isa.
She didn’t know what had come over her. This wasn’t her. A slightly ill feeling developed in her tummy.
This was wrong. What would Loki say?
Loki isn’t your boyfriend. He’s your best friend. And he’s never been interested in you like that. To him, you’re like his sister.
No matter how much she might feel differently.
But she still slid her hand off Remy’s mouth and moved back, away from him.
His gaze narrowed as he studied her.
“I’m gonna go shower. I have a change of clothes in my truck. Do you want me to get you some socks?” he asked.
“No, I’ll get them. There’s, um, spare towels in the hallway closet.”
“Got it.” Turning, he walked out of the house. And she felt this stupid sense of loss. What was wrong with her? Shaking her head, she got down from the counter and turned the oven on.
She squealed in shock as she saw what time it was. She had to get moving, or she wasn’t going to get these cupcakes made.
By the time she mixed up some batter and was pouring it into the baking pans, Remy had finished in the bathroom.
What was he going to do now? Would he go home?
Don’t you want him to go home?
She should.
As he grew closer, she snuck a glance at him.
Dear Lord. Why wasn’t he wearing a T-shirt? All he had on was a pair of low-slung jeans, and all of that delicious skin on display was making her feel light-headed.
He drew his T-shirt on. Why hadn’t he put it on before leaving the bathroom?
Was he trying to make her head explode?
Certainly seemed that way.
“I’m going to go get some breakfast for us. You need anything else?”
“Breakfast?” she repeated.
“Breakfast.”
“Oh, I don’t need any breakfast. I’m fine. And you must want to get home.”
“You going to be able to make all those cupcakes yourself?” he asked.
She stared down at the baking tin which she hadn’t even put in the oven yet. “Yes?”
Shoot. She hadn’t meant to make that sound like a question.
“You need help. And breakfast. I’ll be back. Lock this door behind me.” Then he paused at the front door. “And Isa?”
“Yes?”
“Put on some damn socks.”
She stared at the closed door for a long time. Had that really just happened? Last night . . . the accident, her car, Remy staying the night on her couch.
Leaning against the counter, she let out a deep breath.
This was nuts.
8
Remy studied Isa’s car. If she’d been driving faster . . . if she’d been driving a different car that couldn’t handle the conditions as well . . . yeah, he didn’t want to think about what could have happened.
Turning, he took in the tire marks on the road.
Who the fuck had been driving the other car? Had they deliberately pushed her off the road? Or had they just been a reckless idiot?
But to just drive off afterward without making sure that she was all right . . .
Fucking assholes.
He looked up as the tow truck pulled over and parked.
“Hey, I’m Evan,” the tow truck driver said as he climbed out of his vehicle. “This your car?”
“A friend’s,” he said shortly, not inviting small talk.
The man frowned. “Wait, this is Isa’s car, isn’t it?”
How the hell did he know that? He couldn’t possibly know every car around here.
“What’s it to you?” he asked.
Surprisingly, the other guy didn’t back off. “It’s my business because I know Isa. Is she all right? Why isn’t she here?”
“She’s baking cupcakes.”
“Oh, good. I love her cupcakes. She made me a batch after my Wilma died. She’s a good girl is Isa.” The look he sent Remy seemed to imply that he thought she was too good for him.