Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 110(@200wpm)___ 88(@250wpm)___ 73(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 110(@200wpm)___ 88(@250wpm)___ 73(@300wpm)
She smiles, a little surprised, like I’ve caught her off-guard with the question. “What do you mean?” Her voice is light, playful, and it punches me straight in the heart.
"I figured it must be a big change for you not seeing your best friend every day," I say, trying to sound casually curious, though I'm unsure if it comes across that way.
Eloise shrugs, her curls bouncing with the movement. "I still chat with Sage several times a day, so it’s not too bad," she jokes. "But I’m definitely missing Winnie." Her smile starts to fade, revealing the truth beneath her lighthearted words.
"I get it." I sigh. "I hate to admit it, but I miss Pork and Beans, too."
"It's surprising how quickly you get used to having those furry little guys around," she says, her eyes shifting with an intensity that I wish I could ease.
Eloise nods, and I watch as she carefully corrals a stray curl behind her ear. “I’ll probably get a cat or something once you move out.” I don’t like the mention of leaving. Fuck no. She’s not getting rid of me that easily.
A thought suddenly occurs to me. As soon as my house is done, I’m going to ask Eloise to move in with me. Then I’ll get her a dog of her own.
Every second with her feels like I’m jumping off a cliff, and it’s a free fall I don’t want to ever end.
We spend the rest of the day doing pretty much nothing, but it’s the best goddamn day ever. After dinner, I invite Eloise to watch a movie with me, but she refuses, stating she’s exhausted.
After Eloise heads to bed, I sit on the sofa and turn on a movie, hoping she’ll come out to watch it with me. An hour later, I’m still sitting alone while some chick flick I’d never normally watch plays in the background.
When my phone rings with the Walking Dead theme, Dawson’s ringtone, I’m actually a little relieved to have someone to talk to. I had no idea how accustomed I’d become to the chaos of Beckett’s house. Damn. I’ll have to keep that little tidbit to myself. “What do you need, dickhead?”
“Well, hello to you, too.” I can picture him rolling his eyes dramatically. “I was calling to check on you.” Meaning his nosy ass wants to know what’s happening between me and Eloise.
“Who put you up to calling?” I put the phone on speaker and sit back.
Big fucking mistake. “When are you gonna make a move on Eloise?” His words echo around the room as I fumble to take it off speaker.
This asshole. “I’m not gonna fucking make a move on Eloise,” I hiss, hoping the goddamn walls are more soundproof than they appear. My dumbass brother just doesn’t get it. I lower my voice even more. “I’m going to make her my wife.” His sharp intake of breath confirms he heard me.
Dawson sighs, calling me on my situation. "Pussy-whipped after two days. Both you and Ian are giving us Hot brothers a bad name."
"Fuck off," I growl, the words dripping with irritation before I abruptly hang up on my nosy ass brother.
The truth of the words hits me right between my eyes. I'm not just planning to make a move on Eloise; I'm determined to make her my wife. I want her with an intensity that burns through every thought, every breath. This isn't a fleeting impulse. It's fucking everything. She is the one, the singular focal point of my universe, and while it defies all reason, it is the most profound truth I have ever known.
I turn off the television and head to my room. I come to a dead stop in the hallway when I find Eloise standing statue-still. Her stiff posture and drawn-up shoulders tell me she overheard at least part of my conversation. "Everything okay?" I ask, trying to gauge her mood.
She glances over at me with narrowed eyes before she blinks several times and pastes a fake ass smile on her face. “Great.” Without giving me a chance to respond, she retreats into her room. "I have a headache. I’m turning in early," she mutters, the door closing with a decisive, echoing click that slams shut any hope of further connection.
Fucking hell. There’s no way I’m letting this go on. Fuck it. I knock on her bedroom door. She opens it and glares at me. “Did you need something?”
“Yes.” I step in and stand close enough for her delicate scent to wrap around me. “I want to talk to you about why you’re suddenly pissed at me.”
"Why do you care? It’s not like you’re going to make a move on me," she challenges, her eyes narrowing as she recalls my words from the conversation with Dawson but only part of them. It seems like she missed the most important part. It's time to clear up this misunderstanding.