Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
What I needed the bra for was to conceal my pointy nipples that never seemed to go soft.
Yet, I hadn’t put one on, and I wouldn’t question myself why.
Oh, who was I kidding?
Chevy Clayborne, sexiest doctor at Dallas Medical, biker extraordinaire, was my end goal.
If I could pick one man in the universe to be mine, it would be him.
Granted, everyone and their brother knew that he was way out of my league, but you couldn’t blame a girl for trying, right?
He turned without a word and took me in, showing no outward signs of emotion.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Why are you here?”
“I already told you why I was here.” He jerked his chin toward the living room. “I don’t want to sit on your bed with dirty hospital clothes. Let’s go out there.”
I went out to the living room, bypassing the couch to go to the kitchen.
He took a seat at the tiny postage-stamp-sized kitchenette while I went to the fridge and opened it.
I had one beer, ketchup, mustard, and a water bottle.
I took both drinks out and offered him a choice.
He jerked his chin at the beer and said, “But only if you don’t want it.”
I gave him the beer and said, “I don’t drink alcohol. It’s only here because Silver likes it.”
He twisted the top off, and I marveled at the way his muscles, veins, and tendons moved.
“I think that wasn’t a twist-off,” I supplied.
“It was.” He flashed me a small grin, and I felt like the whole entire world had just shifted on its axis.
Chevy Clayborne had just smiled.
At me.
Birds were chirping, and suddenly the moon was brighter.
What. The. Fuck?
I’d never seen him smile, not once.
And if he had somehow performed that miracle, he hadn’t aimed it at me.
Holy wow.
My heart was pounding now, and I shakily twisted the cap off the water and took a hasty sip.
“About why I’m here,” he said. “Where do you want to donate the money?”
I whirled around, then nearly smacked myself on the forehead when I realized that in doing so, my shirt had puffed out and my ass was exposed.
Acting like I didn’t know what I’d done, I went to the counter and searched through multiple late notices—who needs cable TV anyway?—until I found the name of the charity that I’d written down last month.
I tried to volunteer my time when I had it, and I’d heard about One Love, Dallas, through a patient.
“This one,” I said as I turned. “They help veterans around the city find whatever they need. They’re a sister charity to one out of Kilgore that helps vets find jobs, homes, psychiatric help, and anything else a veteran might need in the city.”
He took the piece of paper and smiled. “Aella, honey. This is our charity.”
Aella, honey.
Why did those two words, paired with his voice, make me want to melt?
“Oh.” I smiled. “I was just about to start volunteering.”
His eyes crinkled at the edges.
Was that another smile?
What was happening right now?
“Mercy Spurlock runs the Kilgore, Texas branch. One day while we were visiting, we volunteered our time to help with building a house. We all got to talking, and we liked her mission, so we decided to carry her idea to Dallas. We’ve been running the show, with her in the wings offering input when and where she can, for about ten years now,” he explained.
“Wow,” I breathed. “That’s just, wow.”
“One of our longest standing members, Cakes, runs the show here,” he said. “If you’d like, I can take you to meet him.”
“I’d love that,” she said. “But don’t tell him that I’m the one that donated the money. Because I didn’t.”
“Why?” he asked, looking curious.
“I just don’t like it when people pay attention to me,” I admitted honestly. “It makes me nervous.”
His brows rose. “Is that why you run away every time someone talks to you?”
I snickered. “Kind of.”
He looked like he wanted to know more, but that was one thing I wouldn’t be telling him.
I didn’t want him knowing that my mother brought around all kinds of strangers when I was little, giving me a complex when it came to talking to someone I didn’t know.
He’d just feel sorry for me, and him feeling sorry for me was the last thing that I wanted from him.
He knocked on the table and stood up, invading my personal space.
He ran his fingers through my still-wet hair, then said, “I’ll see you at work tomorrow, Aella.”
“O-okay,” I stuttered.
“And Aella?” he asked when he reached the door.
“Yeah?”
“You need to get a better door. This one sucks.”
Heart pounding, I watched him walk out the door and close it without another word.
He wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know.
But unfortunately, I didn’t have the kind of spare cash that I could just throw at a new door.
Let alone a dead bolt that worked.