Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 73311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Something that was sexy—which was what I usually wore under my coveralls seeing as it was less likely to burn me alive if I wore it during this oppressive heat that our little town was currently undergoing.
“How’s your head?” he asked when I bent over to slip my feet into my shoes again.
“It’s throbbing,” I muttered. “I probably shouldn’t have worked as much as I did today, but I was trying to work off my anger.”
“Your anger at your husband?”
I laughed then.
“That’s not my husband,” I said. “Never was, never will be. In fact, it’s downright laughable that Rod would even be considered for the job. He’s slime.”
“Tell me how you really feel,” Aaron drawled.
I turned to see him leaning back against the doorframe with his legs crossed in front of him.
Planting a fist into the desk once I got my shoes firmly in place on my feet, I started clicking buttons on my computer, closing out programs to get it ready to power down.
He watched me work, his eyes taking in everything I was doing at once. I could practically feel them boring into my head as he watched me.
And as I left five minutes later, I secretly wondered if the broody, scarred man was that talkative with everyone, or if it was just me.
I hoped it was just me.
Chapter 3
Count orgasms, not calories.
-Coffee Cup
Aaron
“Hi, Mr. Sims,” a boy, the same boy I’d reprimanded yesterday, called to me the moment I got off of my bike.
“Hey, boy,” I murmured. “What are you doing out here all by yourself?”
The boy was maybe eight or nine, at most, and that wasn’t an age that was good for a kid to be outside by himself. Especially in our shitty neighborhood.
He pointed at his aunt, the one who took my breath away each and every time I saw her.
“Aunt Imogen is talking to my mom,” he smiled happily. “She should be coming home soon.”
“Where is your mom?” I asked.
Please don’t say prison.
“Mom’s a Marine.”
“Oorah!” I called, a smile kicking up the corner—the working corner—of my mouth.
Well, it wasn’t that the other corner of my mouth didn’t work.
It did.
But I didn’t get the same productivity out of it like the other side.
I guess that was what one would expect out of a severely burned body, though.
“Semper Fi.”
I blinked, looking down at the kid.
“You know what that means?” I asked him.
The kid nodded stoically. “Always faithful.”
“I like you, kid,” I told him as I reached into the saddle bags and yanked out a couple of bags of food that I’d stopped off to get at the store on my way home from work. “Especially when you’re not throwing a stupid fit.”
The kid looked down at his feet.
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be,” I agreed. “But you shouldn’t be apologizing to me. You should be apologizing to that Aunt Imogen of yours.”
The kid looked to where his aunt was talking, and he hung his head once again.
“What’s your name, kid?” I asked.
“Davis.”
“Well, Davis.” I pocketed my phone and started down the path towards him, which also led to the apartment doors. “Everyone has moments when they’re an asshole, even if they don’t mean to be one. You just have to suck it up, apologize and move on. What’s done is done. Look forward to the future, and don’t dwell on the past.”
Though I silently laughed to myself.
If only I could live by the same words.
I was still back two years ago, married to a woman who had made my life a living hell. A wife who tried to kill me and, in the process, cauing of all of my scarring, leaving me with a persistent bad attitude, both of which ultimately made me unhirable in my own hometown.
Though the city council of Kilgore, Texas didn’t flat out say that that was the reason I wasn’t getting rehired, they’d pretty much insinuated it, and that was enough for me to read between the lines.
Then when I was offered the job out of pity after a forced town vote, I’d decided enough was enough.
The first thing I did was call my mom, who instantly offered up her house.
Though, I’d gotten out of her house quickly enough.
It wasn’t that I didn’t love my mom, because I did.
I just didn’t like living with my mother when she was so fucking nosy about every little thing I did.
“What?” I heard screeched. “Can they even do that?”
I turned to find Imogen lifting her hand to her hair where she looked like she’d been punched in the gut.
“You wanna come into my place for a while?” I asked, my eyes never leaving Imogen.
Davis made a sound of acceptance.
“Sure,” Davis replied. “I’m going to tell Aunt Imogen that I’m coming with you.”
I stopped him by curling one hand around his shoulder. “Let me do it.”
Davis nodded.
“Can you grab the bag for me?” I offered one of my bags.