A New Enemy (Enemies #1) Read Online Cara Dee

Categories Genre: M-M Romance, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Enemies Series by Cara Dee
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Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 32824 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 164(@200wpm)___ 131(@250wpm)___ 109(@300wpm)
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Little?

That had to be Lily or one of the dogs, because I didn’t think 6’5” and 210 pounds was considered little.

“Uncle Blake, you hold these for Momma?” Teddy extended the flowers he’d picked.

Blake stood up and held out a hand. “Of course. You need any help gettin’ up?”

No, he didn’t.

“No,” Teddy grunted.

I revealed myself fully, preferring to let Georgia boy think I’d listened in without qualms rather than eavesdropping like some sneak.

Blake must’ve seen me in his periphery. He did a slight double take before facing me, and fuck me, the man was ten times more gorgeous in real life. Rugged as hell, soulful brown eyes, a couple days’ worth of scruff.

He furrowed his brow a little and touched the brim of his hat, and he dipped it a tiny bit, like they did in old movies. “Hello.”

I smiled. Soph had neglected to tell me how fuckable her brother looked. And sounded.

“Bastian, I see you!” Teddy exclaimed with a tired grin. He jogged over to me and hugged my middle.

“I see you too, buddy.” I squeezed him tightly and noticed Blake approaching. So I stuck out my hand. “I’m Sebastian, Teddy’s little friend.”

Blake wiped the dazedness of his surprise off his face. “I didn’t know what to expect. All the phone calls about his best friend, I just figured…” He shook his head, let out a chuckle, and shook my hand firmly. “Nice to finally meet you, Sebastian. I’m Blake.”

“Nice to meet you too.” I withdrew my hand and gave Teddy another squeeze. “I reckon I need to give Soph some crap for not telling her family about me.”

He smirked lazily. It was an unreasonably sexy sight. “She has. I’m the fuckup who doesn’t pay enough attention to connect the dots.”

Fair enough.

We moved the party indoors after that, and Teddy gathered his flowers and aimed straight for the porch. Blake followed, all while glancing around himself.

He was by no means little either. His presence in my living room demanded eyes on him, and he was easily over six feet. Which had always been a problem for me. I loved men that way. The rough-around-the-edges men who owned the ground they walked on—but who bent over like a greedy whore in the bedroom.

Jesus.

There weren’t that many of those around, and I didn’t expect Blake to be one.

I ducked into the kitchen to give the family a couple minutes to themselves on the porch. And so that I could flick off the switch that had me ready to pick up my next lay.

I removed the plastic wrap over the steaks and grabbed the pack of hot dogs from the fridge that I’d bought for Teddy. Burgers and hot dogs somehow worked—in fact, he was mildly obsessed—but after he’d learned in school that meat came from animals, he was reluctant to eat steak, ribs, and chicken. Except bacon. Bacon worked.

Sophia came in from the porch a beat later, and the look on her smug face spoke volumes. She was grinning by the time she not-so-gracefully slipped onto one of the stools behind the bar that separated the kitchen from the living room.

“You knew, woman,” I accused.

She laughed. “I had a feeling. I know your type.” Next, she pointed at the cupboards behind me. “Can you grab me a glass of water for the flowers?”

I grumbled to myself and did as requested.

“I can’t be certain because he doesn’t like to talk about it, but I’m pretty sure you’re his type too,” she revealed. “Do with that what you will. You know the situation—he’s goin’ home sooner rather than later, and he refers to himself as a permanent closet case.”

That last one was never fun to hear, and I knew it bothered Soph a whole lot. At the same time, I didn’t know him well enough to care about his life choices, and I’d be a liar if I said I hadn’t fucked around in several men’s closets in my day. It wasn’t any of my business.

“Just how closeted is he?” I asked, bringing out the potato salad from the fridge. The oven was ready for Soph’s garlic bread too; I’d spotted it in a container next to the coffeemaker.

“David and I know. And his wife. That’s it,” she responded. “From what I understand, he only meets men when he has work out of town. Or if he’s on vacation—stuff like that.”

I hummed and picked up the meat platter. The sides could wait until the food was almost done.

“I’m sure he appreciates you going shirtless today,” she added with a smirk.

“It’s eighty degrees out,” I stated. “When I’m off the clock in this heat, so are my shirts.”

“Eighty degrees,” she laughed. “You sweet, sweet northerner.”

Yeah, I left before she could get started on her annual speech on how Washingtonians didn’t even know what real heat was. It was a weird fucking brag to regale us with tales of 100% humidity and 110 degrees.


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