Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
I start to leave, but he stops me again, and it’s all I can do to bite off the loud sigh sitting in my throat. A smile I know looks fake on my lips, I turn back.
“Hey, listen, I get off here when we close at eight tonight,” he says. “How about we go get a drink over at Hanks?”
“Look, I appreciate the offer, but I’m just here to unplug. I just… Thank you for the offer, but I’m going to pass.”
Before he can say anything more, I turn and hurry from the store, wanting to put as much distance between me and him as I possibly can.
4
ELI
Blowing out a long, frustrated breath, I knock on the door. A moment later, it opens, and I find myself staring at Emery Pierce, the haunted girl I saw in the woods the other day. She’s wearing a pair of black yoga pants, thick socks, and a black t-shirt featuring what I assume is a band. One I’ve never heard of. I’m doing my best to keep from gawking at her, but it’s hard not to notice the way her clothes cling to her curves. Even dressed down and casual, she’s stunning.
“Hey,” she says. “Thanks for coming so quick.”
“Yep.”
I step into the small cabin and am pleased to see that if nothing else, she’s tidy. Soft music is playing—something classical, it sounds like. Not my normal thing, but it’s miles better than the bubble gum pop or that rap garbage most people her age listen to these days.
“I don’t know what happened,” she tells me. “I was trying to make some dinner, but the stove isn’t working.”
Walking into the kitchen, I set my toolbox down. “No worries. I’ll figure it out.”
“That’d be great. Thank you.”
“Yep.”
I take a few minutes to check out the stove and assess the situation. As I work, I can feel her hovering. Can feel her eyes on me. She’s got this nervous energy, and I can hear her shifting on her feet behind me. Frankly, it’s kind of driving me nuts. And it’s distracting me enough that it takes me twice as long as it should to diagnose the problem. I finally do, though, and am glad to see it’s an easy fix. Shouldn’t be more than fifteen or twenty minutes, and I can get the hell out of here.
“So, uh, do you know what’s wrong with it?” she asks.
“Yep.”
I dig around in my box for the right tools, and as I do, I happen to find myself staring into her deep brown eyes. My gaze slides lower, taking in her full, heart-shaped lips. They look soft. Pillowy. And as I gaze at them, I find myself wondering what they might feel like pressed to mine. Or on other, lower parts of my anatomy. Giving myself a quick shake, I turn back to the work at hand. I need to fix this and get the fuck out.
“So, were you born and raised in Greencrest, too?” she asks.
“Nope.”
“Wh—where are you from?”
“All over.”
“Oh. Okay.”
All I want is to get this oven fixed and get the hell out of here. Being around this girl is fogging my mind. I’ve always said I don’t really have a type when it comes to women, but if I had one, it would be her. And the way she’s standing there staring at me, doing her best to make conversation, I feel like she’s trying to make some kind of a connection. It’s the last thing I need. It’s the last thing I want. People are complicated, and I don’t need my life to be any more tangled up than it’s already been. I just want to live in peace.
At the same time, I’m having trouble not engaging her. There’s just something about this girl that triggers something deep inside of me. I wish I could say it’s because she’s hot and I’d love nothing more than to bend her over this table and bang the shit out of her. But it’s not that. I mean, yeah, I’d definitely be into spending some quality alone time with her, naked. But there’s something more than that bubbling below the surface. I know myself well enough that I can feel it.
Which is yet another reason I need to finish this job, pack up, and get the fuck out of here. The very last thing I want or need is a complication like that. Throughout my life, I’ve had a bad habit of collecting wounded birds and trying to nurse them back to health. It’s never worked out well for me. And yet, I keep trying.
Until now. Not anymore. It’s not hard to see that Emery is a wounded bird. I saw the haunted look in her eyes the first time I saw her, and it hasn’t lessened a bit since then. She’s looking at me like she somehow just knows I fix broken things.