Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 106065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
He thought that was amusing. “I have reading glasses at home. But no, I’m not a music teacher. I’m a car mechanic and tattoo artist.”
That was cool. Then he was great at drawing, like me.
“I’ve always wanted a tattoo,” I admitted.
Since I was a masochist, one might think I’d run to the nearest parlor, but the thought of a needle piercing my skin a billion times scared the bejesus out of me. I’d tagged along once when Lane was still working on his full sleeve of snake scales, and I remembered the sound of the buzzing tattoo machine.
Sloan hummed but said nothing, and I made quick work of putting on the T-shirt. It was a little large but very comfortable, and the label didn’t bother me. Because it wasn’t a label, I discovered as I ran my fingers along the neckline. I loved tees that had the label stamped on the inside of the fabric instead.
“So are you ready to get out of here?” he asked. “I’m sure Greer and Archer are itching to leave too.”
“Yes, please.” I nodded and put on my shoes again. “Should I call him Archie or Archer?”
“I think I’m the only one who calls him Archer,” he chuckled. “It’s a beautiful name.”
It was, but I liked Archie.
On our way out of the cabin, I made sure to thank Sloan for all his help. He had no responsibility toward me; he didn’t owe me any kindness or generosity.
“I will repay you and wash the clothes, of course,” I finished.
Sloan didn’t answer, and once I stepped out onto the little porch, my attention shifted to the main house up the hill. The smell was…overpowering. Enough that it made me feel nauseated.
The smoke had turned white, and it looked so thick in the moonlight.
It hurt to see. All the times I’d been here, all the events I’d participated in, all the nights I’d spent on the third floor… The house had never been empty. Never. Someone was always around in a community of 150 members. A light was always flicked on. But now…it was a dark, wounded shadow with shattered windows, and it reeked of charcoal, burning electrics, and wet wood.
Um. “My car keys are up there.”
“We’ll find a way to get them,” Sloan replied. “I don’t think the third floor is very damaged, but we’ll have to wait and see what the fire marshal says. In the meantime, you have us. We’re all going to the city on Sunday anyway.”
I tried to process that as I spotted Archie coming out from one of the other cabins. Kit gave him a big hug, and they exchanged some words too quiet for me to hear before Mr. West poked his head out too.
“Wait, so are we having a sleepover tomorrow also?” I asked Sloan.
“If you want.” He smiled slightly. “We can get you home too, but I know what we’re hoping for.”
I scraped my teeth along my bottom lip and hesitated. More than one night seemed like a lot. Like I would be intruding.
“You don’t have to decide now, Corey,” he murmured. “Come on, let’s get out here. We might need to pull Greer away from the emergency personnel if they’re still here.”
That made me grin a little. Greer was definitely one of those who had to make himself useful in a crisis.
So was Sloan, evidently, but more on a support-animal level.
That was the fucking problem. I felt weak enough to want to fall into the first set of arms willing to embrace me, and Sloan struck me as a natural. Yeah, I had to keep my distance from this particular Daddy Dom.
I was used to it. House Mclean had lots of amazing Daddy Doms, and it was too easy to wonder and compare and wish and doubt.
Oh my God, Sir Greer Finlay had some ’splaining to do.
See, we knew he ran a company with his brothers—he came from a big, big family—and he was the resident delivery guy in Mclean. Basically, their business was all about stocking up supplies at restaurants, bars, smaller hotels, stuff like that. From takeout containers and cocktail decorations to party supplies and even alcohol. A mixed bag, in short.
I also knew he used to be in the Marines and had seen war zones up close.
What he’d failed to mention, at least to me, was that he had his own farm!
I jumped out of the truck as soon as he killed the engine, and I ran toward the picket fence with my half-eaten burger in my hand. We’d stopped on the way, and I was one kiddie-meal toy richer.
“Wow!” This was just not what I’d expected at all. It was a big farmhouse, surrounded by a huge lawn that seemed to go around the property, and I spotted a chicken coop too.
The pale moonlight revealed a sandbox, a swing set, lots of empty flower beds, trees, and bushes. What did they call flower beds that were for growing vegetables? ’Cause that’s what those looked like. Countless of them were lined in four rows along the western fence.