Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 88262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Christ, he looked good.
Hottest fucking cowboy I have ever seen.
Never in my life did I imagine I’d have that thought about a man, but here we were.
Draven insisted that we take his truck. It was the fanciest pickup I’d ever been in, the front seats decked out in a buttery soft black leather. The whole front of the cab smelled faintly like him, woodsy, spiced, but with a warm undertone like vanilla. As we made our way down the country roads and onto Laurel Ave, Draven’s eyes scanned the world like he was looking for threats.
He was looking for threats.
It was all a little bit ridiculous. And a lot more fussiness than I needed, all centered around me.
“Quit acting like you’re my bodyguard and I’m some kidnapped kid in a movie,” I told him. He rounded the corner of Second St.
I reached down, fiddling with the knobs on his stereo, pressing the one that connected it to his phone.
Instantly, the screen popped up as music started to play: Fearless - Taylor Swift.
The song blared in the background as I looked over at Draven, a smile coming over my face.
“No fucking way,” I said.
“Little reminder that I am capable of killing you, Max Burnett.”
“You’re a Swiftie,” I said. “That is a Taylor Swift song that Lily always used to play when we were kids. Did Lily get you into her music?”
Draven shook his head.
“You listened to Taylor Swift before?”
“Always liked her.”
“I thought Draven fucking scowl-cowboy Lyons would listen to some damn black metal, or intense classical music, or something with guitars that rip your eardrums out,” I said. “Not Taylor freaking Swift.”
“I know every word to the songs on this album,” Draven said. “Get me drunk enough and I’ll sing ‘em.”
He started humming along to “Fearless” and I smiled like a giddy fucking kid.
“Never thought I would see the day,” I said.
My heart was doing funny things as I watched Draven tap along on his steering wheel to the Taylor Swift song, driving down Second Street until he pulled into the lot beside Red Fox Diner.
The music I used to listen to, on his lips.
This wild, new world I’d entered lately, in my hometown, with this terrifying and exhilarating man.
As if everything was normal.
“Now you’re just trying to win me over with your deep voice singing Taylor songs.”
“Maybe I’m just a man taking my hot date to breakfast,” he mused, cutting me a green-eyed glance that made my chest go a little molten. “You did come so well for me last night, baby.”
“Ugh. Shut up,” I protested, even though the memory of last night was enough to make me hard in about two seconds flat.
I stared out at the bustling street in front of the diner as Draven found a spot and pulled into park.
How interesting that would be, I thought idly. A fucking date.
It sounded so far-fetched. So at odds with the strange turn my life had taken in the last month. Draven was my sister’s ex, and the man who had first filled me with rage, and then confusion.
Now, he was…
I didn’t know what the fuck he was, to me. He seemed to exist purely to drive me crazy, but also to make my life more interesting than it ever had been.
“Look at you two. Welcome in, Max. Morning, Draven,” Thomas said as we walked into the diner.
“This place smells like cinnamon-soaked heaven,” I said.
I wasn’t usually much of a morning person, so I had no idea the diner would be so busy this early in the day. The long, red breakfast counter had almost no empty stools left, and at least half of the booths by the windows were taken. I nodded at a few people I recognized, including one of my old high school math teachers, Mrs. Rosen, a guy who lived down the street from my parents, and a regular from the Hard Spot.
“Fresh batch of cinnamon rolls just came out,” Thomas said over the clatter of dishware and sizzling of bacon on the flat tops behind the bar. “I made a few with orange icing, if you want to try one.”
“God, yes,” Draven said.
I lifted an eyebrow. “What happened to your healthy green juice morning?”
“I’m bad at resisting temptations. You know that by now, love.”
I felt a slow blush creeping up on my cheeks, even though Thomas probably had no clue what Draven was referencing.
Thomas led us down to one of the booths past the big corner window of the diner.
“Yo, Burnett,” I heard from the end of the bar and saw that Andrew and Robbie were there, parked across from two cups of coffee and cinnamon rolls.
Andrew gave me a fist bump. “Dude. Made your Sucker Punch cocktails last night for a few of my football buddies, and they drank, like, six of them each.”