Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“When they get home, I want to get Nalia out for at least a week,” he says, bringing me out of my head. I study him, trying to read his mood, the same thing I do when he or Mom talks about her. My sister Nalia and my brother Sage were both adopted. I don’t recall when it was, since I only ever remember them being a part of our family, but I know they were young, maybe around two years old. Not long after Nalia turned eighteen, she decided to get in touch with her birth mother, and now she lives in Denver not far from her. My mom and dad have both been supportive of her relationship with her mother, even if it hurts them to have her so far away. But Sage hasn’t been supportive. He won’t even speak about the woman who gave birth to him, and that has taken a toll on his relationship with Nalia.
“Maybe we can plan a trip to the Smoky Mountains, rent a couple of cabins and a boat, like old times,” he continues. “Your mom would like that.”
“I’d love that, so I know Mom would really love it,” I agree, wondering if Harlen’s ever been to the Great Smoky Mountains. He would love it there, nothing but tree-covered mountains and good people. I used to love going to the Smokies when I was a kid, visiting Dollywood and all the other places set up with things to do. The whole town is built with family and fun in mind.
“We’ll plan for it.” He smiles before taking a bite of his burger.
“Maybe I’ll invite Harlen.” I grin, and he grunts, making me laugh.
***
Feeling my skin prickle, I look at Harlen and catch him staring at me again. “You’re making me self-conscious,” I sigh.
“I can’t believe you cut your hair,” he says while I pick up my drink and down half of it. He didn’t say he liked it when he came to pick me up. No, the first words out of his mouth after I opened the door were “What the fuck did you do to your hair?” making me want to kick him in the shin.
“Well, I did, so drop it,” I snap, fed up and a little bit drunk. Okay, a lot drunk.
“Babe, I like it. It’s just going to take me some time to get use to it,” he soothes, and I turn to look at him again.
“Whatever,” I gripe, and he smiles, making me narrow my eyes. “I’ll be back. Can you order me another drink?”
“Sure.” He nods, and I slide off my stool. Going to the bathroom, I take care of business then look at myself in the mirror as I turn on the water.
“I like my hair,” I mutter to my reflection as I wash my hands. Once I’m done, I grab a paper towel and dry them quickly then use that same paper towel to turn off the water and open the door out of habit.
The moment I step out of the hall, Harlen’s eyes come to me. “Ordered you some water,” he tells me, and I shake my head.
“I wanted another drink, not water.”
“You can have one after you drink some water.”
“Whatever,” I mumble again, climbing up onto the barstool next to his.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” I turn my head and meet his gaze.
“You sure?”
“Yep.”
“Still pissed at me?” he asks, and I drop my eyes to his mouth and see his smile.
“No.”
“Angel,” he laughs, and my belly tugs. God, I love it when he calls me that. It’s not all the time, but it’s always sweet. “You’ll get over it.” He wraps his hand around the back of my neck, and I know he’s going to kiss the top of my head, but instead of tipping my head down to let him, I tip it back without telling myself to do it. Then I lean forward, putting my hands on his chest. The moment our mouths meet, my lips part and my tongue slips out, touching his bottom lip. My nails dig into his chest through his shirt, while one of his hands slides into my hair at the back of my head and his other molds around my hip. Tipping my head to the side, his tongue flicks over mine and I whimper.
“Fuck,” he growls. Then he’s gone. Ten feet away, across the room, with his back to me as he disappears down the hall toward the bathroom.
“Oh no.” Breathing heavily, I realize what I just did, what just happened, and I look around, jump down from the stool, and grab my bag, booking it to the door. I don’t think about what I’m doing or where I’m going. I run toward the end of the block. I didn’t drive us here; Harlen did. So I don’t have my car—not that I would drive in my state, but still, I could hide in it if I had it.