Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
He sits down on the edge of the couch. “No, we’ll take care of them. I’m good for something, right?”
He looks down with a friendly vulnerability in his eyes that turns everyone to putty in his hands.
I’m a little mad at him, contrary to what I told … whichever one of his brothers last night.
Oh my God, I don’t even know who it was …
But I should be angrier at Trace. I’m just not. What happened after I left his room has overshadowed whatever happened before.
I fist the blanket, staring up at him but still feeling the other one inside of me.
He cocks his head. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I meant to be gone already.” I start to sit up. “I’ll be out of here soon.”
“You don’t have to rush.” He stops me. “Krisjen, don’t pay me any mind, okay? I’m a shithead.”
“It’s fine. I’m fine.”
Guilt nips at me, because I’m really glad I left his room last night. What happened afterward was certainly weird. Would I do it again? Yes.
“But you did come with me, right?” he asks, studying me. “Like you didn’t fake it all summer, right? You were just teasing me about that?”
I finally let out a chuckle. I don’t want to lie, but I don’t have the heart to burst his bubble. Honestly, I never really minded. I didn’t come with Milo, either. I just liked being touched. Being close to someone.
But last night …
On the couch …
That was something I didn’t know existed.
I have every confidence Trace will get better with time, but I don’t think it will ever be like that with us.
He stands up, tsking. “You’re so mean to me. I always had an orgasm with you.”
I snort, but as soon as he disappears into the kitchen, I scurry to find my skirt. I spot it on the side of the coffee table and grab it. Standing, I pull it on and zip it up.
Dallas rounds the banister just as I finish and slows as soon as he sees me. I go still.
His gaze never leaves mine as he heads past me, and while his eyes are the same color as Trace’s, they look completely different on Dallas.
I glance down, seeing the bracelet on his wrist. My stomach sinks. Whoever it was last night would probably still be wearing it this morning.
He enters the kitchen, and I bolt for the bathroom. Down the hall, into the half bath under the stairs. I close and lock the door, pulling up my skirt and sitting on the toilet.
Jesus Christ. How could I not stop him last night? At least to wear a condom? I’m sure I’m not pregnant. I’ve been on birth control since I was fourteen, but every single Jaeger sleeps around. Except Liv, of course.
I grab toilet paper and wipe, feeling the slickness between my legs as he leaves me. I clean myself up and flush, looking in the mirror.
I’m breathing hard again, but I just stare, letting myself process.
A bracelet. Bare chest against my back. Tall. He smelled amazing and tasted like meat with a hint of bourbon. And the beer he’d just swallowed.
He didn’t speak much above a whisper, he had rough hands, and there was so much heat on his tongue. All of the brothers could probably fit most of that description.
Fuck.
I look down at my body, not seeing any visible marks yet, but I feel them. An ache between my legs, some red on my neck from when he squeezed it. My arms are sore and my scalp hurts, but I’m not in pain. In fact, I fight not to smile as I feel all of it. Proof that he had me in his hands.
Could it have been Trace? He would’ve felt comfortable enough to go after me like that. None of the others have even looked at me twice. I didn’t see any tattoos, and Trace doesn’t have any yet, but then again, I didn’t see much of the man’s skin at all. Just the hands, wrists, maybe a forearm. Iron has a tattoo there. Would I have noticed it in the dark?
I grab someone’s brush on the edge of the sink and smooth out my hair, then take the tube of toothpaste and put some on my finger, wiping it over my teeth and rinsing.
I have to leave. If it was Dallas, he won’t be kind about it this morning. God, please let it not be Dallas. He hates Saints. He’s never been civil to me, let alone kind. As far as he’s concerned, we’re good for one thing.
And I really hope I didn’t give that one thing to him last night.
I head out of the bathroom, fold the blanket in the living room, and search the coffee table for my keys.
But they’re not there.
Spinning around, I scan the floor and then drop down on all fours, looking under the couch. Nothing. Did someone pick them up?