Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 124923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 416(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 416(@300wpm)
“That for me?” I ask, nodding toward the plate.
“Thought you might be hungry. The food in the fridge is still cold, so we might as well eat it before it goes to waste.”
I shove my sweaty hair off my forehead, taking a step closer. “You made this for me?” I ask, inspecting the plate.
She rolls her eyes. “It’s just a turkey sandwich. Take it or leave it.”
“Did you poison it?”
“Nope. Lucky for you, you’re fresh out of poison.”
“Spit in it?”
“Is that a request?”
“Are you offering? Kinky, but I’m not opposed.”
“God, you’re gross.”
“You didn’t think I was gross last night.”
She shoves the plate into my chest and I grab it, laughing as she spins around and heads for the kitchen.
I drop my shit to the floor and follow, unable to keep my eyes off the way her ass sways as she walks. Unfortunately for me, she’s now wearing pants, but it doesn’t stop me from appreciating the view. She stops at the island in the middle of the kitchen and picks up half of the sandwich she made for herself. Mayonnaise, a bag of bread, a jar of olives, and the whole ass turkey are scattered across the countertop. I make a mental note to pack the fridge with snow later if the power doesn’t kick back on soon.
We eat in silence, her on one side of the counter and me on the other. She stands in some weird ass flamingo position with the flat of her foot braced on the inside of the opposite thigh, her hip propped against the counter. She sticks the tip of her thumb between her lips and sucks something off it—an innocent, thoughtless gesture on her part—but the sight goes straight to my dick. If I tried to kiss her right now, would she let me? If I were to lift her onto the counter, spread her smooth thighs and—
Fuck.
I need something else to do. Quickly. I scarf the second half of my sandwich down in two bites. Valen looks at me with a mixture of shock and disgust.
“What…is happening?” she asks.
“Thanks for the food,” I mumble around a mouthful. She wrinkles her nose, watching in confusion as I hurriedly throw my plate into the sink and storm out of the kitchen.
I ran out of shit to do two hours ago. I haven’t caught a glimpse of Valen since lunch, and I don’t know who is avoiding who at this point. The sky is getting dark fast—still no power—so I head downstairs to start lighting the candles I collected in my attempt to stay busy. I even found an old lantern in the garage.
I stop short when I see Valen standing in front of the window. Her back is to me, but her posture is rigid. Her arms are folded across her chest, her fingers toying with the tiny butterfly charm of her necklace as she stares ahead.
“Valen.” She doesn’t seem to hear me, so I walk over to stand right behind her. It’s snowing steadily again, but it’s not dumping like it was for the last day and a half. “You good?” I ask, causing her to startle.
“How long do you think this will last?”
I shrug. “Could be weeks.”
“Weeks?” she yells, her head whipping around, eyes wide. She’s nervous. Maybe even on the verge of a panic attack.
“I’m fucking with you.” I lay my palm on the nape of her neck in an attempt to calm her anxiety. “My phone still has some charge. If we don’t get power soon, I’ll hike until I find a signal.” What I don’t tell her is that we’re going to be out of firewood by tomorrow.
She nods, some of the tension leaving her body as I rub my thumb up and down the back of her neck. The fact that she seems genuinely nervous takes me by surprise. Aside from the night in my pool, I’ve never seen her show even a hint of vulnerability.
“Do you know what my name means?”
She turns to face me, and I reluctantly let my hand fall away with the movement. Her crossed forearms brush against my chest as she looks at me. “What?” she asks, not following my sudden change in subject.
“My name. Got bored and looked up the meaning one day last year after the one-thousandth Holden Caulfield reference.” I thought anything would be better than a character known for being a self-absorbed, whiny little shit. I was wrong.
“And?” she asks.
“It means hollow.” I huff out a laugh. “My name literally means empty.”
Her eyebrows pull together as she looks up at me. “And are you? Empty?” Her question catches me off guard. I only started this conversation as a way to distract her from our current situation.
“As a wasteland,” I joke in an attempt to cover up the truth in my words, because yes, I’m fucking empty. And I’ve been that way for a long time. “Do you know what your name means?”