Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 51647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 258(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 258(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
He tilts his head to the side and scratches his jaw as if thinking about our next move. Another bang on the door causes both of us to jump.
“I know you’re in there, Dean,” Theo says. “Open up.”
Unsure of what to do, Dean points toward the closet. My mouth opens in horror. As if this situation isn’t awkward enough, I have to hide in a fucking closet that probably smells like ball sweat. Well, knowing Dean it’s not too bad since he’s a clean freak. But still, this is bullshit.
Theo slams his fist into the wood again. Fuck, this is not happening. Out of options, I hurry across the room and open the door to the closet. What choice do I have?
I have enough room to duck under Dean’s clothes and sit on the floor. Sharing a space with a Brauer hockey bag that smells like a locker room wasn’t what I had in mind when I threw myself at Dean last night. I was hoping for something a little more romantic. The breakfast he promised me would have been a nice start.
“About fucking time,” Theo says, barging into Dean’s room. “You’re alone?” He sounds confused. “What happened to the puck bunny you were banging? She was giving my girl a run for her money last night.”
Oh. My. God. I could die in this closet from shame.
“I kicked her to the curb hours ago,” Dean says in his usual cocky tone.
At this moment, I’m no different than a puck bunny, balled up on the floor with his hockey bag. Another ten minutes pass, where Dean and Theo discuss my porn star moans and what their girls did with them in bed. My stomach turns from their conversation. While I know Dean is playing it off as if I were some random hockey hooker, I want to puke in his sneakers just for talking about me like that. What a dick.
After the door slams behind Theo, Dean opens the closet door and lifts me into his arms. I hadn’t realized I was crying until Dean wipes the tears from my cheeks with his thumbs.
“I’m sorry, Kitten. Please don’t cry. I had to lie and act like you were some girl I met at the party.”
“This is why we never did this, Dean,” I choke out between sobs. “We can’t even be together in the traditional sense. Am I supposed to sneak around with you for the rest of my life? I had to hide in a goddamn closet while you and Theo talked about me like I was a porn star you were auditioning last night.”
“I’m sorry, Kitten,” he whispers. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
Starting with my forehead, he plants kisses on my skin, making his way down to my cheeks. He kisses away my tears along with my anger. I melt into him as he inches his way along my jaw. When his tongue invades my mouth, I get lost in him, almost forgetting about the rage that had bubbled inside me only a few minutes before. But between those kisses, reality sets in for me. I still have to make my walk of shame out of this house.
How the fuck am I getting out of here without Theo and Travis seeing me? They will never believe that I stayed in the same room as Dean and a puck bunny.
“I have to get out of here,” I say when our lips separate.
“What about breakfast?”
“You honestly think we can walk out of here and say hi to Theo and Travis after the things you said about me?”
“I didn’t say them about you. I would never talk about you like a puck bunny.”
“Well, you did. But that’s not the point, Dean.”
He runs his calloused thumb along my bottom lip, causing my breath to hitch. “I’m sorry.”
“Help me find a way out of here without my brothers seeing me.”
Dean sighs, his eyes downcast, and then he nods. This feels like the end when I had hoped it would be the beginning.
Chapter Twelve
DEAN
The dirt crunches beneath the weight of my shovel. I slam the metal into the wet ground that’s soft from all of the rain we’ve had in Florida over the last week. Sweat slides down my forehead and into my eyes, the sun blaring down on my back.
Fuck, I forgot how hot it gets here. After living in Florida all of my life, you would think I would be used to the hundred degree days and the summers filled with nothing but rain and bugs. Lots of fucking bugs. I swat a wasp away from my face, irritated.
“Hey, Dean,” my foreman says from behind me.
I glance over my shoulder at Tony, a tall, middle-aged man with sandy blond hair.
“Can you work another ten hour shift tomorrow? We got a big job and can use all the hands we can get.”