Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
I gasp, but it quickly turns into a giggle. “How rude.”
Hartley winks at me.
“I’ll study up,” I say, standing up and taking my bowl to the sink on the other side of the room. “I’ll be the best damn euchre player Tennessee has ever seen.”
The brothers share stories from their childhood and how their pap would cheat at cards. I listen as I knock the crumbs from my party mix into the trash and then rinse the bowl before putting it in the dishwasher.
Hartley’s kitchen is as cute as a button. The decor is stuck in the nineties with ducks in sun hats with dusty blue bows around their necks on the wall border. The cabinets have a distinct orange hue. Blue-and-white checkered curtains hang on either side of the window overlooking the sink, and containers labeled sugar, flour, and coffee are displayed beneath the microwave. It’s oddly charming.
I ensure the lid is fastened to the plastic ice cream container that housed the party mix before returning to the table.
“We probably should be going,” Gray says as I reach my chair. “Are you about ready?”
“Yeah. Sure. Can I get my shirt out of the dryer?”
“If you want to take them with you, then you better,” Gray says.
I roll my eyes at him and head to the laundry room.
We inadvertently spent the whole afternoon and evening with Hartley. Hart took us on another ride in the side-by-side to look at different fields. We stopped to check on the goats, which was my favorite part of the day aside from witnessing this version of Gray—a relaxed, happy Gray.
More than once today, I’ve thought about the picture that I saw at his apartment. This must be the man that woman loved. I can easily see Gray making her laugh like she was in the image, tossing a ball back and forth on the beach, and earning the look of adoration that was so heavy in her eyes.
My stomach squeezes as I shove it out of my mind again.
“You have to be kidding me,” I say, pulling my damp shirt out of the dryer. “How can it not be dry? It was in there for two cycles.”
I shouldn’t have washed it and my bra in the sink, but I didn’t have a choice. Now I don’t really have a choice—I’ll have to wear Gray’s shirt home. Thankfully, my bra is dry enough to wear, so I put it on beneath the shirt.
The feeling of Gray’s fabric against my skin sends a small thrill through my body. I lift the neckline for the hundredth time and breathe in the scent of his cologne mixed with laundry soap. It feels forbidden to have something of his touch me like this, and it also gives big red flags that I like it. God, I like it. And I wish I didn’t.
Every time our eyes have met, I’ve wondered what he thinks about me wearing his shirt. Does he like the idea of it? Does he hate it? Does he not have any feelings about it whatsoever?
I sag against the dryer when my phone buzzes.
Gianna: Still doing okay, babe?
Me: Yup.
Audrey: Are you home yet? Need us to come over?
I frown in anticipation of their reaction.
Me: I’m still in Sugar Creek.
Audrey: Still?
Gianna:
Audrey:
I snort.
Me: We’re at his brother’s house and are heading home now. Settle down.
Gianna: This is what I’ve been working on today …
A picture of a urinal fashioned into what I think is a bird bath fills the screen. I narrow my eyes, taking it in from every angle. I’m not sure how to respond to this, so I wait for Audrey to take the lead.
Audrey: So creative!
Me: Just what I was thinking.
Gianna: It’s a fountain, but I don’t have the water flowing correctly yet. Anyway, see my vision now?
Me: Totally.
Audrey: Absolutely.
My fingers hover over the keyboard when the sound of a male’s voice that I don’t know cracks through the house. Who is that?
Me: Gotta go. Xo
I shove my phone in my pocket and tiptoe into the living room.
Oh. A man who’s a little taller than Gray, with light hair and a shit-eating smile stands next to Hartley. His face is washed in mischief. He screams trouble in a way that would make Gianna very, very happy.
I lift my chin, clear my throat, and then enter the room with a confidence I don’t quite feel.
Gray’s brows pull together. “Still not dry?”
I hold my shirt in front of me. “Nope. You really need to get your dryer repaired, Hartley.”
“Cathy’s been saying that,” he says, sighing. “I—”
“Well, excuse the hell outta me,” the other man says, his sights set on me. “But I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Brooks Dempsey, and who might you be?”
Gray elbows him in the ribs. “Brooks, this is my assistant, Astrid. Astrid, meet my friend Brooks.”