Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 74875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
“Isn’t that Reed’s shirt?”
I grinned and looked down at it, laughing.
“Yeah, it was his old soccer shirt.” I nodded. “When Krisney and he split, she was going to throw everything away. I took it for safe-keeping.”
And wore it, because why the hell not?
The back of the shirt said ‘Hail’ with the number ten beneath it. It was obvious whose it was seeing as Reed was the one and only Hail brother that nearly went pro—so everybody knew who he was.
“Yeah,” I grinned. “Why?”
He was scowling, which caused my grin to slip away.
“What?”
His eyes came up to mine, and he gritted his teeth for a few seconds before saying, “I don’t like seeing some other man’s shirt on you, even if it was from when he was a little runt.”
I looked down at the t-shirt.
It was a large, and that was definitely not the size of Reed any longer.
Speaking of Reed.
“I saw Reed last week,” I told him, climbing his porch steps as I spoke. “Why is he here?”
Tate shrugged. “Been here the last few days, actually. Assumed he was done over there to be honest. However, I can’t give you a for sure answer without asking him, and honestly I don’t fucking care that much.”
So he didn’t know what was going on either. Interesting.
Making a mental note to ask Krisney about Germany again, I took a look around at Tate’s house.
The entire place looked like chaos. Electrical cords stretched everywhere. Tools on every available surface. Large sheets of plastic hanging down from the ceiling, and covering most of the floor.
And empty fast food cups everywhere.
“You are a mess and a half,” I murmured, taking everything in.
“I’m not usually,” he admitted. “Just fucking nice to be able to do shit that doesn’t have someone following behind me telling me I can’t. I have a stack of freakin’ clothes in my bedroom that I haven’t put into the washer yet, all because I don’t like to be put on a schedule.”
I could imagine.
I’d watched a documentary once about prisons. In it, they spoke about how the inmate’s entire life was dictated to them.
They had someone telling them when they could eat. When they could shower. When they could go outside, and what they were allowed, and not allowed, to do while out there.
Literally, there wasn’t a single thing that they could do without first having to run it past someone first.
They even had their mail read before they got it.
“Did you ever get marriage proposals from women who wrote you while you were in jail?”
His brows rose, and then he shook his head, grinning.
“No, can’t say that I did.”
“Darn, I guess you never got any of my letters,” I teased.
He burst out laughing and took hold of my hand, leading me deeper into the house.
“What the hell are you going to do with all this space?” I asked him, my eyes widening, further and further, the more rooms we passed through.
“Not a damn thing,” he said. “I’m gonna fix it up and flip it once I’m done with it.”
My heart deflated.
Knowing that he wasn’t going to be living next to me for the rest of my life kind of sucked. He would’ve looked so pretty mowing his lawn without a shirt on.
“That’s fun,” I lied. “How much more work do you have to do on it?”
He shrugged. “A lot. Another six to eight months worth if all goes well.”
I let my hands trail against the wall in the hallway, and then stopped when I saw the kitchen.
This must’ve been where he started, because it was the most finished out of all the rooms.
“Wow,” I said, trailing my hand across the cabinets. “This looks like it’s almost done.”
He opened the fridge and bent forward, coming back out moments later with two beers.
He offered me one, and I looked at it curiously.
“I’ve never had a beer before,” I informed him. “Do they taste good?”
His eyes sparkled.
“Try it.”
I watched him as I used my nails to crack it open, and when I took my first drink and nearly choked on the bitter brew, his eyes were filled with laughter.
“That’s kind of gross,” I admitted, sticking my tongue out to help get rid of the taste. “Why would you want to drink this?”
I took another sip and yep, that one was as bad, if not worse, than the first one.
“Acquired taste,” he said. “Keep drinking, it’ll get better.”
I didn’t believe him, but took another sip without grimacing.
“As to answer your question, the kitchen was the one thing that’d been started when I bought the house. I only had to put in the cabinets. The paint color was already neutral, which is what I would’ve chosen as well. The backsplash goes in Monday, hopefully, and it will be followed up by the countertops coming in on Friday.”
As he spoke, I watched his face, and realized that he loved doing this.