Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 30466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 152(@200wpm)___ 122(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 152(@200wpm)___ 122(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
“I’ll just bet.” Deke pulls into the parking spot in front of the store. When Emily and I told our parents we were going into business together, they were speechless, excited but quiet. I’m sure they remembered all the times we fought, but once we grew up and didn’t live under one roof, things changed for the better. Now our small boutique is thriving and our relationship is fun. We’re the yin to each other’s yang.
“Thanks for the ride. I take it we’re even now?” I take my feet off the dash and unclick my seatbelt, grabbing my purse all before he’s put the car in Park.
“Yep. You have an issue like before, call me. A restraining order doesn’t mean dick to some assholes.” I don’t think I’ll ever understand Deke. That’s okay, though, because I doubt very seriously Phillip will mess with me again.
“Don’t I know it.” I open the door and step out, closing it quickly before opening the back door. Deke doesn’t even have a chance to step out of the car. I’m ready to disengage in all areas possible, plus I doubt he wants anything to do with me on a daily basis, what with his whole talk after the delicious orgasm he gave me. I’ll be keeping that for spank bank material, though. “It was a fun weekend. See you around.”
“Kels.” I hear him say my name, but the door is already shutting. I wave over my shoulder, pulling my keys out, at the ready, and ducking my head. You could call me cowardly, but honestly, I think Deacon Hart needs a dose of reality served, and I’m going to be the one to dish it up for him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
deke
“That fucking woman.” I look down at my phone for what’s probably the eighteenth time in the last two hours after dropping Kelsey off. I think I’ve finally met my match. I don’t want all these thoughts running through my head, wondering if she’s okay, if she made it safely home, or God fucking forbid Phillip came snooping around her. I’ve prided myself on not getting attached, so feeling the need to pick up the phone and call Kels is driving me insane.
The place I have here in Gulf Shores is sufficient enough, yet not what I would buy if I were to live here full-time, which is looking more and more like what I’ll be doing in the near future. This location here in Alabama is thriving with new construction as well as remodels. I’d be stupid to quit taking the work on. The crew has no problem working, which I’m sure has a lot to do with overtime for the time being. And if Leena can handle the administration side, Montana the plans, we’re solid. I’d hate to have to be stuck inside the trailer all day, working on the shit Tanner does. It’s not for me. Half the time I don’t think it’s for him either, but he makes it work.
An alert on my phone pings. I’ve already told myself that I’m not answering it. I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks or might say. There’s no way I’ll be looking at my phone, not right away at least. I veer off into the hallway, shaking my head. That dark-haired beauty is sucking me into her vortex, one that I want no part of. She’s fiercely independent, can hang out with the best of them, and I bet if I asked for a repeat performance of this morning, she’d be game. Hell, with the way Kelsey acted this morning, she’d be leaving just as quickly as she came.
My phone goes off again. I figure it’s just a reminder alert for the previous text. Since I’m still wired from the drive home, plus the weekend, I figured I’d go over some paperwork, projects that need to get started this week. Better than grabbing a shower, jacking off to images of Kelsey that are permanently ingrained into my memory, then going to bed, where I probably won’t get a wink of freaking sleep.
Another ping comes from my phone. I swear it’s like the world is out to get me tonight. I’ve barely sat down in my office and started up my computer when it’s like a rapid-fire succession in text alerts.
“Son of a bitch.” My first thought is it might be the never-ending family group chat. No matter how much you want to put them on silent, you know the minute you do, an emergency will come up. I stand up, the chair screeching across the floor. That’s what I get for buying cheap for the time being, unsure if I’d need to plant some roots. A folding table and kitchen chair is what I’m currently using. Clearly, things are on the up and up, which means I’ll need to find a more permanent place than the rental I snatched up that allows me to pay month to month.