Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 73398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Consequently, there I was, walking sleepily into the kitchen, barely paying attention to my surroundings because of being in Coke’s house and feeling safe, when I hit the threshold of the kitchen.
All four men noticed my arrival despite two of them having their backs to me.
Upon seeing them, I looked down and studied my attire.
I was still in the t-shirt Coke had handed me last night after my shower. I had brought pajamas, but I felt better borrowing his things. The t-shirt hung on me like a dress and fell off one shoulder, revealing my bra strap. I had panties on, of course, but with how the shirt traveled down to mid-thigh, I was in no way in danger of revealing them.
The sweats I’d had on during the night were tossed into the laundry hamper, despite my desire to keep them on and wear them forever and ever.
The best touch, I thought, were the huge freakin’ socks that Coke had put on me in the middle of the night.
They ran up my calves, settling at the tops just below my knees.
I was bruised, aching and sore. There wasn’t a single part of me that was not hurting thanks to all the struggling I’d done when the men had kidnapped me, and it showed on these men’s faces when they realized it.
The one closest to me narrowed his eyes. The one farthest away, the only one with a beard, looked like he’d been sucker punched.
I’d avoided looking at my face in the mirror for that very reason. I didn’t want to see the damage. I had glanced at my thighs which felt like they were on fire, there were scratches, but I’d live.
I knew that I had a black eye. I also knew that I had a bruise on my chin.
There were bruises on my wrists, knees, and backs of my thighs—though they couldn’t see those quite yet.
My eyes darted around the kitchen as I looked for Coke who was so obviously not there.
“Uhhh,” I hesitated. “Hi?”
The closest one to me stood, the youngest one I was guessing, based on his particular shade of gray.
“Coke is next door sorting out your clothes, figuring out which ones go together. He was never very good at dressing Frankie either. I’m Ale.”
I took his hand and shook it. “Hello, Ale.”
Ale turned to the side and pointed to the other three chairs that were now occupied at Coke’s kitchen table.
“The old guy over there is Absinthe. The one to your right is Jim. And that one,” he pointed at the one closest to us. “Is Bellini.”
Ale. Absinthe. Bellini. Jim. Then there was Coke.
“So y’all are all named after drinks?” I asked the obvious.
Coke snorted, startling me with his appearance at my back. I jumped and whirled, my face likely white as a sheet, and gasped.
He looked apologetic the moment he realized that he scared me.
“We’re named after drinks Mom had to give up during her pregnancy. The ones that she really craved. She had gestational diabetes with me. And the rest were alcoholic beverages that she missed. Dad thought it was funny, so he allowed it,” he said, placing his hand on my shoulder.
He squeezed it lightly.
It was the most non-sexual touch I’d ever felt in my life, but the warm heat of his hand seemed to seep into my body and head straight for places that I thought I’d already taken care of before coming out here.
What the hell was wrong with me?
“Plus, they’re all pretty cool names…except for mine,” the one named Bellini said from his side of the kitchen.
My lips twitched, and for the first time in two days, I smiled.
“I kind of like it, though,” I admitted. “They’re very unique names, even Bellini.”
Bellini winked at me, and for a short moment, I felt like I was staring directly at Coke.
What the hell?
“Do your parents look anything like y’all?” I asked, turning to eye Coke. “And does anyone ever mistake one of you for your brothers?”
Coke shrugged, letting his arm fall from my shoulder.
I missed his heat instantaneously.
“Our parents didn’t look much like us, no. Dad was short and pudgy, while mom was small and petite. We think we got our height from our grandfather,” Coke said as he moved to the coffee pot. “Do you want some?”
I moved farther into the kitchen, very aware that I was in a t-shirt with nothing but panties on underneath in a kitchen full of grown men who were all very attractive.
Not as attractive as Coke, but still. They definitely weren’t hard on the eyes.
Not even a little bit.
“To answer your question, yes, people mistake one of us for another all the time,” Ale drawled, stretching his legs out in front of him. “But since we’re a military family, people don’t necessarily mistake us for one of the other brothers much anymore. Unless we’re all on the same base at the same time, which has happened before. Not to mention we were, and some of us still are, drill sergeants. The confusion was definitely warranted when we were all on base. Unless you’re ol’ Sin. He’s the only one with those fucking dimples. The rest of us have to get along with the ass chins.”