Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 95678 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95678 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
“Uh…,” I began. “I think…”
A holier-than-thou twinkle appeared in Dr. Beautiful’s smug face. “Mm-hmm. What do you think, Nico?”
I felt my teeth grind together at his tone, but there was no avoiding the way my name on his tongue made my groin tighten up.
“I think I may have just not burped her well enough, come to think of it.”
“Is that right? What made you realize that?” And as if on cue, a hearty burp came out of Princess Shits-Her-Pants.
I let out a breath and ran my hand through my hair. There was no getting around how bad at this I was.
“So you brought food?” I asked, standing up and hoping like hell the change in subject would wipe the smugness off his goddamned chiseled, J.Crew modeling face.
“I did. Picked up some pasta dishes from Lou’s. Hope you’re okay with pesto or Alfredo. I didn’t know what you liked.” West stood up from the sofa and followed me to the breakfast table with Pippa still on his shoulder.
“I like both. Thanks. I really appreciate it. I haven’t been out of the house since I got here, so anything from a restaurant is a nice change.”
I pulled down some plates and asked if he wanted a beer or soda. “I have some wine too, if you want,” I offered hesitantly. It wasn’t that I wanted to make nice with the doctor as much as I didn’t want to seem like a country bumpkin who only drank beer with his pasta.
“Nah, a beer is good, thanks,” he said. “You know… I’m happy to watch Pippa if you need to get out of here for a bit.”
I looked up at him, wondering exactly what he was getting at. Was he trying to get me to admit I needed a break? Well, fuck that. I wasn’t about to do anything to make him think I couldn’t handle the baby when I already knew he thought I was useless.
“Nope, I’m good,” I said a little too loudly.
West shook his head. “It’s okay to need a break, Nico. Taking care of a newborn isn’t easy. I wasn’t implying you go out clubbing. I just thought maybe you had errands you needed to run, and you yourself said you hadn’t left the house in days.”
He was beginning to sound an awful lot like a nice guy, and that didn’t exactly fit into my image of him. In fact, there was a part of me that didn’t want him to be nice. I didn’t want to like anyone in this shit town because then I’d have second thoughts about leaving when it was time to go. And I was sure as hell leaving the minute the adoption process was final.
“What’s wrong with clubbing?” I asked. “Surely there’s a good club here in Hobie, Texas?”
West barked out a laugh and shot me a twinkling look that nearly brought me to my knees. When his face lit up with a real smile like that, he was truly breathtaking.
“There’s a quasi motorcycle club. Does that count?” He snickered. “They meet up at Bud’s on the main highway but only on dollar-draft night.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle right along with him. Now that was the Hobie I remembered. Small town full of small-town people.
“I don’t think that’s the kind of club that would want me as a member,” I suggested.
“No, maybe not.”
I served us each some pasta from the takeout containers and thanked him again for bringing it. It wasn’t until I went to put a napkin in my lap that I realized I was shirtless.
“Oh shit,” I muttered, running my hand along my chest to my stomach as I stood. “Be right back. Sorry.” As I turned to place my napkin on the table, I caught West staring at my hand moving down my front. I was used to people staring at my tattoos with curious glances, but this seemed different. Appreciative of the body, not the ink.
I knew it couldn’t be attraction of any kind because the man screamed straight—from his clean-cut button-down shirt to his boring-ass khaki pants. I had to assume he was a good ole Texas straight boy through and through.
Then I remembered the incident in the movie theater. He sure as hell hadn’t been straight then. But he had been friendly with Curt Billingham, and that was enough evidence to convict him of being an idiot at the very least.
Instead of taking the time to think about it further, I made my way back to the baby’s room where my bag was stashed and fished out a clean T-shirt before returning to the table to eat.
“Why is your stuff in the nursery?” he asked.
I looked up at West before glancing back toward the bedrooms. It would have been obvious to him that I’d turned left instead of right.