Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
"You're actually kind of funny when you aren't threatening to buy the building," I admit, setting my empty cup down. "It's a bit disorienting."
"I'm a man of many layers, Tinsley," he says, a hint of the old smirk returning, but it's warmer now. "Most people just never bother to peel them back. They're too busy looking at the bank balance."
"Well, I'm not interested in your money," I say, standing up. I need to leave before the hyperawareness of his presence becomes a permanent state of being. "I have to get to work."
"Tinsley," he says, stopping me as I turn away. He doesn't reach for my hand, but his gaze is just as tactile. "Let me know what you decide about the car."
“You’ll be the first to know.” I walk out of The Golden Mug with my heart doing a strange, rhythmic dance against my ribs. I catch my reflection in a shop window and realize I'm wearing a goofy smile.
I force the idiotic smile off my face and head straight for work, pretending that the little flutter in my chest has nothing to do with a cowboy in denim and everything to do with caffeine. I’m not fooling myself. I spend the rest of the morning distracted, stabbing at spreadsheets and dodging Shana’s side-eye as she breezes through the lobby.
After my shift, I lock myself in my apartment and pull up my laptop, bracing for pain. The reality check hits hard. My savings account mocks me from the online banking portal. I take a breath and start the loan application, hammering out every answer like it’s an Olympic sport. Income? Not much. Assets? Nonexistent.
I calculate the monthly payment I could swing without selling a kidney. It’s not much, but I take pride in the ugly number. Next, I start the online search for my new ride, my standards dropping by the nanosecond.
Scrolling through the listings depresses me. Then I actually see something that doesn’t make me want to hurl my laptop across the room. Black Toyota Corolla, reasonable mileage, listed by some guy in Houston. It isn’t glamorous, but neither am I. I click the “Contact Seller” button and try not to overthink it.
The seller messages back, wanting to meet up this weekend. I stare at the screen like it might bite. First of all, I have no way to get to Houston. Plus, meeting a random dude in some parking lot is a really bad idea. That’s how people get murdered on Dateline. My gut twists just thinking about it.
I need someone who won’t let me get ripped off or end up as a cautionary tale on a true-crime podcast. Dammit. I’m going to have to swallow my pride and actually ask Hudson for help.
I can’t believe I’m considering this. But I need a car that runs without blowing up.
I grab my phone so fast I almost drop it. My thumb hovers over Hudson’s name for a full minute before I type out a text.
Me
I made a decision on the car.
Almost immediately, three little dots appear on the screen, and I hold my breath while waiting for his reply.
Hudson
What did you decide?
Me
I’m going let my old car go to car heaven and buy a used car.
Hudson
Do you need my help?
Well, that’s the perfect opening. I hurry up and type out my reply before I’m able to talk myself out of asking for his help.
Me
I actually do. I found a car in Houston, but I don’t want to go look at it by myself.
Hudson
When do you want to go?
Me
Does Saturday morning work for you?
Hudson
See you then.
I blow out the breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. I did it. I actually asked Hudson Carrington for help, and the world didn’t end. Who knows what’ll happen next.
CHAPTER SEVEN
HUDSON
The heat is already setting records, and it’s not even eight a.m. yet. I pull my truck up to the curb outside Tinsley’s apartment building, engine ticking over as I watch the sun’s rays pour across the parking lot. I’m sweating before she even appears. Partly from Texas humidity, and partly from the anticipation binding my stomach tighter than a sailor’s knot.
She steps out with her hair up and her shades already on. She’s wearing a pink T-shirt and white shorts. My cock turns to stone in my pants, and I know this is going to be a long goddamn ride to Houston.
Tinsley slides into the passenger seat and drops her bag on the floor.
“Thank you so much for helping me with this,” she says, adjusting the vent so the blast of cold air nails her straight in the face.
“Anything for you.” I keep my voice easy, but I’m fighting the urge to kiss her until neither one of us remembers our own names.
She grunts and thumbs through her phone. “We’re supposed to meet the guy at ten sharp.”