Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 101398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
This girl is wasting my fucking time.
I’m five seconds away from deciding for her and putting my truck in drive and leaving her here when she finally elects to move her ass and hop inside the passenger’s seat.
She shuts the door with a gentle click, and the scent of jasmine mixed with vanilla assaults my nose. It’s a kryptonite mix of shyness and seduction. Innocence and sex. Years ago, this could’ve been my downfall.
Now, though, I simply look toward the road and wait for her to put on her seat belt.
But the only thing she does is start rambling.
“Again, I’m really, really sorry about all this. Oh! Where are my manners? Sheesh. I’m Norah, by the way. Norah Ellis.”
I keep my eyes forward. It’s not that I’m unfriendly; I just don’t need any fucking friends. Plus, the more I think about how she got into a complete stranger’s truck without any concern for her well-being, the more irritated I become.
I could be a psychopath for all she knows, and yet here she is, willingly sitting in my passenger’s seat.
“So…I need to go to my sister’s house. Josie Ellis. I don’t know if you know her? She’s lived in Red Bridge for a long time. She’s past the center of town. Pretty sure the road is called Maple? Or is it Spruce? It’s a tree name. I know that much.”
A tree name? This is Vermont. There’re at least fifteen streets in this town that are named after trees.
“Let me see if I’m getting any service, and I can Google it.” She pulls her cell out of her purse and starts frantically tapping her fingers across the screen.
Frankly, it’s a useless endeavor. Cell service doesn’t get good for another mile and a half.
And I don’t need Google because I know Josie Ellis. She runs CAFFEINE, the only coffee shop in town. Hell, everyone in this town knows who her sister is, but that’s life in Red Bridge for you. Everyone knows everyone because most of them are nosy-as-hell and love to socialize.
Not to mention, she still hasn’t put her seat belt on so I can start driving.
“I know where Josie lives,” I tell her, thinking that’s explanation enough, but she proves me wrong by opening her chatty mouth again.
“You know my sister?” she asks, turning her body in the passenger’s seat to face me. “That’s great news. Well, I hope it’s great news. I mean, I hope you like her.” Her laugh might as well be a woman named Uneasy who is trying to put on a Cool, Calm, and Collected costume. “Because it wouldn’t be great if you, like, hated her and then had to drive her crazy-ass sister into town.”
Her crazy-ass sister who hitchhiked a ride from a damn stranger on a back country road like it’s a completely normal and safe thing to do in this day and age.
If any female in my life pulled this shit, I’d be furious.
But that doesn’t explain why you’re furious for her. A woman you don’t even know…
Clearly, I need to get her out of my truck. The sooner, the better.
Norah
“Put on your seat belt so I can start driving.” His voice is eerily quiet, and I swear, his jaw ticks with each word.
“Oh. Right.” My cheeks heat with discomfort. “Sorry.”
Sheesh. Tough crowd in here.
Quickly, I buckle my seat belt, and he shifts the engine into drive and takes off toward town. The sound of the door lock engaging makes my eyes widen with a little bit of worry, but I don’t say anything. This man has, against all odds, agreed to give me a ride, and I don’t want to be rude.
Though, he’s not exactly rolling out the red carpet for me. Goodness knows, I’ve apologized at least fifty times without him offering any sort of acceptance and introduced myself without any response in return.
I don’t even know his name.
And yet you’re sitting in his truck…
Discreetly, I glance over toward my nameless driver and note the way his dominating, strong frame commands attention behind the wheel. My eyes flit down his prominent biceps, over the veins of his forearms, and they don’t stop until they land on where his big hands grip the steering wheel. The splotches of dried pastel-colored paint still mar his skin. But my eyes notice something else that’s etched in black ink across the skin of his left ring finger.
A tattoo. Three letters are all I can make out—S-u-m.
Sum?
Or at least that’s what I think it spells out. It’s hard to tell without leaning in for a closer look.
What in the heck does Sum mean? Is he obsessed with math? Or is it some kind of secret tattoo for a woman?
God bless any woman who would be able to put up with this guy.
Curiosity is a near choke hold around my neck, but I promptly clamp my mouth shut. It doesn’t take a genius to understand the less I say around him, the better. Plus, it’s not like he’d actually respond. He appears to be highly skilled in avoiding conversation or coming across as anything that’s remotely close to friendly and amicable.