Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 68177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
A pretty girl like you? Really? I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “As I mentioned after you sat down, I’m here with someone. They should be back any minute.”
“Right.” He smiles like he doesn’t believe me and picks up his beer. “So do you live around here?”
“Why?” I ask and move away when he tries to cage me in like Braxton had me minutes ago.
“Just making small talk. I live in the building across the street.” Shit, does that mean we live in the same building? “What about you?”
“I’m new to the area,” I answer vaguely, and he thumbs the label that’s beginning to peel off his beer.
“I’d be happy to show you around sometime.”
Lord help me. “I—”
“Sorry it took me so long, baby.” Braxton appears out of nowhere, cutting me off, setting a glass of wine next to my now empty one, and cupping the back of my neck with his hand before turning to look at the man in his seat. “Thanks for keeping my girl company.”
Whatever his name is—his eyes widen like he’s just seen a ghost and he practically falls out of the chair. “Shit, sorry, so sorry,” he rushes out then stumbles away from the table. I watch him rush across the room, wondering why he looks like his life just ended.
“Are you all right?” Braxton asks, stealing my attention by moving his hand around to cup my cheek, and my eyes lock with his.
“Yeah.”
He searches my gaze for a long moment before taking his seat, caging me in once more, and just like that, the buzz that runs across my skin in his presence is amplified. I pick up my new glass of wine and take a gulp then set it down, wondering if I should do what I want to do.
“What are you thinking about?”
Asking you back to my place. Before I can make something up, people start shouting, and we both look toward the bar where a fight is breaking out.
“Fuck, let’s get out of here,” he says when a barstool is thrown across the room. Without giving me much of a choice, he stands and pulls me up with him. Then before I even know it, we’re standing outside. He takes off his suit jacket and swings it around my shoulders, helping me into it before he starts down the sidewalk, holding my hand.
Then, just like it’s prone to do in Seattle, the skies open up and rain begins to fall. Not a little but a lot.
Thinking, Screw it, I throw caution to the wind and pull him under an awning by tugging on his hand. “I live just down the street,” I shout over the pounding rain and nod toward my building that can be seen over the others on the street. “We could go there and dry off.”
I can’t understand the look in his eyes but let out the breath I was holding when he squeezes my fingers. “Lead the way.”
I don’t lead him. Then again, I doubt anyone has ever led him in his life. He pulls me across the street when the traffic is clear, and by the time we make it to the entrance of my building, we’re both soaking wet. I acknowledge the doorman with a small smile then head for the elevators.
I laugh when I catch my soaked reflection in a mirror on the wall then look up at him when he joins in. I press the button, and when the doors open, we fall inside still laughing. I hit the number for my floor, and as the elevator rises, I shiver from being wet in the air conditioning.
“Come here.” He drags me against his chest, and I soak in his warmth and scent until the doors open once more. We step out of the elevator and walk down the hall, and when we reach my door, I pull my phone out of my purse and tap it to my keypad and let us in. I flip on the lights and take off his jacket, hanging it on the handle, and then move to the kitchen.
“Do you want some tea or something?” I ask, and his eyes pull away from my place and focus on me. “I might have some Jack from when my brother and his bandmates helped me move in.”
“I’m good with water.” He follows me, and I fill up a teakettle, placing it on the stovetop before grabbing a glass for him and filling it from the tap. I hand it to him then go in search of towels. “Your place is nice.”
“Thanks.” I look around. I got a few purple pillows to add some color to the black couch and a silver-and-white throw that matches my bedding but haven’t done much else. “It was furnished when I got it, so I can’t take credit for the furniture.”