Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 68735 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68735 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Reaching into my pocket, I withdrew my phone, smiling when I saw my lock screen.
It was a photo I’d taken of Creole on the beach.
She’d been sitting with her knees to her chest, arms wrapped around her knees.
Her hair was wild in the wind, taking over the front of her face.
But it was the laugh on her face that had me pulling my phone out and taking a photo.
Her skin was sun-kissed, lips red and glossy. Her teeth perfectly straight and white.
She was the entire package.
Another text buzzed, reminding me why I’d pulled my phone out to begin with.
Creole:
Hey
Creole:
Do you think you can get someone sick with your semen?
I thought about my answer for a long second before I replied.
Me:
I’m not sure that’s the type of bodily fluid you can share and get sick. I would think it would be droplets of spit or snot.
Creole:
Gross. Anyway, I’m dying over here. How sick are you?
Me:
Sick enough that Eedie won’t get anywhere near me.
Creole:
You should come home. I have the cure to what ails you.
Me:
I think I need to stay at my place, and you at yours, until I’m better.
Creole:
Funny. I think you are beyond the point of being able to get rid of me. Sickness and health, remember? Or was this ring just for show? Should I take it off? Maybe go to Walmart and see who I can pick up?
I growled under my breath.
Me:
Try it, and I’ll be leaving this stupid meeting early to show you who you belong to.
Creole:
The door to the coffee shop opened and a man matching the face on the website I looked up when I got here walked through the door.
“That’s my cue to leave,” Eedie said. “Good luck.”
I jerked my chin at her before saying, “Don’t bother waiting. You can head to the office and I’ll be there as soon as I’m done.”
“Ten-four.” She walked away, smiling at my prospective next client as she left.
I fired off one final text to Creole before placing my phone back into my pocket and standing up to offer the man my hand.
Me:
He’s here. Gotta go.
I felt the phone vibrate in my pocket, but ignored it as I said, “Mr. Gunter?”
The man, in his late fifties, early sixties, offered me his weathered hand.
His website said that he was a farmer and had struck oil twenty years ago. From that point, he’d branched out into nuclear energy because his son had been interested in it at the time. Now his son was a nuclear physicist, and he funded his son’s dreams.
There was more, but I’d gotten bored with his explanations and had skipped around a lot.
Reading wasn’t my favorite thing in the world to do, especially when it was reading biographies.
I was much more apt to pay attention if I was being told, not having to read.
“Wesson, please,” he said. “Sorry I’m late. My son has a passel of grandkids now and they stop over whenever they want.”
I flashed him a grin. “I bought a place out in the country a couple of months ago. I was hoping to move my dad and my fiancée’s dad out there in their own houses. Form a little family compound. I think it might be pretty awesome to have my kids being able to go run around and see their grandfathers.”
“It’s nice, until you’re naked in your hot tub thinking you’re alone, and your grandkids show up with their friends.” He chuckled.
I blinked. “Maybe I’ll need to get a fence.”
I could see myself spending lots of time outside with my future wife, doing all kinds of naughty things.
What a thing for a dad to walk up on you doing to his daughter…
“I’d highly recommend the light system.” Wesson smiled. “It keeps everyone gone if the light’s off. When the light’s on, it means it’s okay to come over. We found that one out the hard way, too.”
I winced. “I don’t want to know.”
His eyes were sparkling for a long second before he frowned when a man came up to our table from the left.
I’d clocked the man out of the corner of my eye, but I’d given him none of my attention because I wanted the man I was meeting to have it all.
I should’ve at least glanced over, because if I had, I might’ve been able to prepare Wesson on the complete douchebag heading our way.
As it was, Russel Stoker, shitty MD, came up to our table without me stopping him.
“Ahh, if it isn’t the bad influence on my patient.” Stoker smiled. “How’s Creole doing? Had any bad breakdowns lately?”
I gritted my teeth and said, “Dr. Stoker, I’m in a meeting with a client. Also, I think it’s highly inappropriate, as well as against the HIPAA laws, to be speaking about one of your former patients. I ask you kindly to leave.”