Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70516 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70516 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
“At least you only have to see her for the rest of this season,” I muttered. “I had to spend the last four years dealing with her since she was the head of the soccer booster club.”
“Are you too tired to drive home?” Weaver asked.
I shook my head. “Actually, I was going to stay at my place tonight.”
Weaver caught my arm and said, “Bossy, go wait in the truck.”
Bossy gave me a “god help you” look and kept walking, a smirk on her face.
I waited until she was mostly far enough away that she wouldn’t hear what I assumed was about to be an argument before saying, “What is it?”
“You’re going to stay at your place?”
I nodded. “I…”
“Will be staying with me at my place. I have your cat. I have almost all of your clothes. And I have your bathroom shit.”
I opened my mouth and closed it.
He was right.
He did have all of those things.
“I can pick it all up.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
I bit my lip, then decided, fuck it.
“I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”
His eyes gleamed. “When I’m tired of you, you’ll know it. In the meantime, you’ll stay at my place. Sleep in my bed. Eat the breakfast that I make you. And come home to me every night.”
I gasped. “That’s rather high-handed of you to assume that I’ll just stay over there because you want me there.”
“High-handed…” He bent down and skimmed the tip of his nose along my throat. “Or practical? Will you be happy sleeping alone?”
No.
“Will you enjoy waking up without me every morning?”
Double no.
“Do you want to walk back into that bare apartment without your cat or Bossy or me?”
Definitely not.
“Based on the look in your eyes, I’m guessing no.” He smirked. “Now, do you want to ride home with me, and I’ll take you back in the morning? Or do you want to drive?”
I scrunched up my nose. “I have this fancy little driver that just got a Montana learner’s permit. She can drive.”
He pulled me into his arms, right up against his hard body, and said, “How did the doctor’s appointment go?”
I knew exactly what he was asking.
“I’m cleared for light to moderate activity as long as it doesn’t hurt my ribs.”
He pulled away, but not before pressing his very rigid erection against me before saying, “See you at home, Edith.”
Twenty-Six
If he is willing to give you the moon and stars, you should be willing to sacrifice Uranus.
—Eddy to Nettie
Eddy
I was walking around like I’d been electrocuted.
My nerve endings were frayed.
My body felt like I’d stuck my finger in a light socket.
My toes were curling.
My nipples were pebbled.
My vagina was clenching.
And all of that was due to the way the man was walking around his kitchen in nothing but sweatpants.
Bossy didn’t blink an eye at her father’s state of dress, clearly used to it.
I, on the other hand, was finding it hard to breathe.
“Night, Dad. Eddy,” Bossy called as she headed out of the kitchen and to her room.
I was at the sink washing dishes.
The front of my shirt was soaked due to my inability to keep my stomach or boobs from catching the spray of the faucet as I washed single-handed.
My nerves felt like they were being unwound, one at a time.
“Night, baby,” Weaver’s deep, melodic voice called out to her.
The bedroom door closed at the same time that I turned off the faucet.
I grabbed the kitchen towel next to my left arm to wipe down the sink area.
When I went to move toward the dishes in the drainer, two strong, naked arms came to rest on the counter on either side of me.
“Leave ’em,” he ordered. “They’ll dry on their own. I’ll put them away in the morning.”
I felt my stomach flip as butterflies started to take flight in my core.
“O-okay.”
His mouth skimmed down the length of my neck, pressing soft kisses every so often until he got to the neck of the t-shirt I was wearing.
“You’re all wet,” he mused.
I was.
Very, very wet.
Washing dishes wasn’t the easiest when you had one arm in a cast that you couldn’t get wet.
Yet, I’d been determined to do it.
“I am,” I admitted. “I need to go change my shirt. It’s cold.”
He hummed and pulled me away by his hand on my belly, splaying over the largest of the wet spots.
“Follow me,” he ordered.
I went as he guided me into the laundry room and closed the door.
When the lock snicked into place, I breathlessly said, “I’m not sure I’m up for a ride on the washer.”
His eyes went molten as he murmured over the sound of the spin cycle, “We’ll see.”
He pulled the shirt off of me, being careful not to catch it on my cast, and tossed it to the basket.
The shirt slid off the edge and fell to the floor.