Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 126589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
“Christ, it’s lucky he didn’t bruise your ribs.”
“Oh, they definitely hurt for a couple of days, but nothing compared to my wrist, so I barely paid attention to it.”
His eyes darkened and he shook his head, dragging his jaw out of her hold. Her hands dropped to his shoulders instead.
“You’re not allowed to go paintballing ever again, do you hear me?”
“Says who?” she asked, with a soft, incredulous laugh.
“Me?”
“I mean, I don’t ever intend to repeat the experience, but you can’t tell me what I can or can’t do, Gideon.” Her voice lacked heat. Instead, she sounded affectionate.
He looked a little embarrassed but still retained that bit of defiance in his eyes when he glared at her.
“I know…” He hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted to say. He pushed to his feet, immediately towering above her again. He cleared his throat before continuing in a somber voice. “I know we’ve said and done things to hurt each other in the past, Beth. But—honestly?—I don’t like seeing you hurt like this. The wrist, elbow, everything.” His eyes flickered before he continued hurriedly. “I mean, obviously, I wouldn’t like seeing anyone hurt like this.”
“Yet you guys usually exchange pictures of your bruises like they’re battle scars. This bruise is no different from any of those.”
“It’s different,” he said, with a curt shake of his head.
And she tilted her head as she searched his eyes for answers to questions she didn’t even know how to ask.
“How?”
“It just is.”
Unsatisfied with that response, Beth sighed, and stepped out of the intimate little bubble they had created with their body heat. She sank back into her chair to clumsily rebutton and knot her shirt.
He remained hovering uncertainly for a moment before sitting as well.
Gideon knew he should start his walkaround, do what he’d promised he would do, but he was reluctant to move from this spot. He wanted to continue their conversation.
“Would you like to go out to dinner with me sometime?”
Shit. He had no idea where that question had come from, but now that it was out, he waited for her response with bated breath.
She stared at him with wide, unblinking eyes. She wasn’t wearing her owl glasses today. Instead, she wore the other pair—delicate rose gold brushed metal frames with a slight cat eye. She looked so pretty. Then again, he always thought she looked pretty, regardless of what glasses she was wearing.
“Dinner?” she repeated.
He nodded.
“Why?”
Great question. Fucking fantastic question.
Gideon wished he had the answer to that question himself.
“To solidify our blossoming friendship?” he suggested more than replied, but her soft, pouty mouth pursed as she considered that non-response.
“Okay.” Her voice lacked inflection and he couldn’t quite read her mood but he still
exhaled softly, relief in the quiet huff of breath.
“Right. Friday night?” Five long days away.
“Friday won’t work. I’m meeting Adam for dinner that night.” Still in that same frustratingly emotionless voice.
Shit, she was actually going on a date with that guy? Gideon fought hard to keep his expression neutral, but wasn’t entirely sure he succeeded.
“Saturday?”
“No, I’m meeting the book club on that day.”
“What works for you then?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound as frustrated as he felt.
“We could do lunch? On Sunday?”
Lunch? On Sunday? Like a couple of cozy gal pals?
Welcome to the Friend Zone, pal!
He couldn’t exactly argue with that. He was the one who’d mentioned friendship when he’d asked her out. And wasn’t that what he wanted from her? A cessation of hostilities? A permanent armistice? Nothing more. Nothing less.
“Aye, Sunday’s fine.” Shit, he should probably remove the pissed off growl from his voice. Friends didn’t growl at friends.
He scrubbed the palms over his denim clad thighs and got up.
“I should get started.”
“And I’ll get back to my raking.”
“Don’t push yourself too hard. If your wrist starts to hurt, stop immediately and I’ll finish up for you. Oh, and feel free to continue dancing. No need to stop on my account,” Gideon told her with a grin, and she graced him with another blush.
When did she get so frikkin’ cute?
She put the music back on, changing the playlist from the sultry tones of Nina Simone to classic rock. Even more awesome.
He drifted around her yard, checking gutters, downspouts, eyeing the abysmal state of the Koi pond in the middle of the yard, and the slightly decrepit—rusty in spots—wrought iron pergola, with black-eyed susans growing wild all over it. Her retaining walls and fences seemed fine.
“You got a ladder? Or should I pop around to get mine?”
“I think there’s one in the shed,” she called back, pointing toward the small, gray weatherproof plastic shed tucked away in one corner of the yard.
He checked and found a step ladder that was just tall enough for him to reach the roof.
He was up in a few minutes and checking the tiles for wear-and-tear.