Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 19885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 99(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 66(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 99(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 66(@300wpm)
We walk down the hall to her place hand in hand. The building is quiet this early on a Saturday morning, but Mrs. Winters does pass us in the hall, and I know the building grapevine is going to be buzzing like crazy.
The second we step inside her small apartment, I spot her cat perched on the windowsill like she owns the place. Poppy scoops her up and introduces us. “Jack, this is Moonpie. She’s the real boss around here.” The moment I reach out, the cat gives my hand an assessing sniff, then head butts my knuckles.
“She likes you,” Poppy says, sounding half-shocked, half-suspicious.
“I have a gift with furballs,” I tease as the cat hops down and rushes straight over to her empty food dish.
I stifle a laugh as Poppy shoots me a look like, See? Told you. The cat is already yowling for breakfast, acting like she’s on the verge of starvation. Meanwhile, Moonpie has at least twelve chins and a chunkier ass than my Frenchie.
“Her food is in the silver canister on the counter,” Poppy tells me. “If you feed her, you’ll be her friend forever. I’ll be right back.” She disappears into the bathroom while I find the canister and pour some food into the ceramic fishbone-shaped bowl. Moonpie gets right in there, all business, crunching like she hasn’t eaten since the dawn of time.
I’m still grinning at the cat’s feeding frenzy when I hear Poppy’s voice behind me. “Okay. Don’t judge, but this is my comfiest outfit.” I turn and nearly swallow my tongue.
Holy. Shit.
She’s standing there in tight black capris and a simple gray T-shirt that clings to her curves like a second skin. Her hair is still damp, curls going wild over her shoulders. She looks so goddamn cute that I actually forget how words work for a second.
I crowd her in two steps, pinning her against the wall with my body. My hands bracket her hips. “You look fucking perfect, kitten. You always do.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I groan to myself. Since I’m not on call, it must be my asshole brother.
I glance down at the screen and see a message from him.
Spare Parts
Your dog is a menace.
Me
What’s new?
Spare Parts
She’s singing the song of her people at earsplitting levels. Come get her before my neighbors complain.
Me
I’m on my way.
I glance up and see Poppy staring at me, her mahogany eyes wide with concern, bottom lip caught between her teeth. "Is everything okay?"
"Pepper is ready to come home. The little shit is causing a disturbance at my brother's place," I explain, sliding my phone into my back pocket. I reach for her hand, my fingers enveloping hers completely. Her skin is warm and silky. I can't help but stroke my thumb across her knuckles. "Let's go get my troublemaking Frenchie, then I'll take you to that little café on Maple with the cinnamon rolls the size of your head."
Her eyes widen like I just promised her a million dollars and a pony. “Oh my God, yes.” She’s already halfway to the door, all curves and attitude, and for a second, I just stand there watching her walk away from me. That ass should be illegal. I want to grab it with both hands and never let go.
I follow and catch her by the waist before she can open the door. She squeaks, twisting in my arms, and stares up at me. Her cheeks are pink, her breath fanning hot against my jaw. “Excuse you, Detective. I’m on a mission to rescue your dog so I can have a huge cinnamon roll.”
“You’ll get your cinnamon roll, kitten. But first, a kiss.” I don’t wait for permission. I bend down, take her mouth, and kiss the ever-loving hell out of her. She melts and her hands fist in my shirt.
Oh, man. I am in so much trouble.
If I don’t get her out of here right now, I’m going to end up tossing her on the couch and having my wicked way with her. Cinnamon rolls, Frenchies, and brothers be damned. She’s addictive.
I force myself to break the kiss, but not before stealing one last little taste. Then I grab her hand and lace our fingers together.
“Rescue mission,” I rumble, like I’m not seconds from losing control. “Let’s go.”
We head down the hall, her small hand tucked perfectly in mine. I swear, every time I look at her, I forget how to breathe. She’s got this bounce in her step, so her hips sway just a little, daring me to pin her against the nearest wall. I’m obsessed.
I probably look like a lovesick idiot, grinning at nothing, but I don’t care.
Jay’s apartment is a few floors down from mine, but the difference is night and day. Where mine is dark wood, black, and severe, Jay’s is a goddamn showcase. The entryway is flooded with natural light, tastefully arranged houseplants, and expensive art. There’s music playing, something jazzy and complicated.