Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
For a month, I’ve been keeping myself away from Shelby. I’ve got the Runner’s threat to my club to deal with and they can be dangerous. The fact Thomas could’ve died is proof of that. Starting something up with a good woman like Shelby is the last thing I need to be doing. But since I saw her, I haven’t touched another woman and I have no plans to.
Hell, I don’t want to.
It’s Shelby I hunger for, and I know that’s a feeling that’s not going to go away. Pulling away, I notice the slight blush to her cheeks. It makes her emerald, green eyes stand out even more. I lick the lingering taste of her off my lips. Her eyes are glued to my mouth. I think she’s having the same problem I am—resisting going in for one more taste. I want to, but that’s a slippery slope. I don’t think I could stop with just a kiss and that’s a step I don’t think she’s quite ready for.
“Way to upstage my favorite guilty pleasure, King.”
I grin, with one last sweep of my tongue. “I like the way you say my name.”
“I like the way you kiss.”
“That’s a good thing because it’s something I’m going to do a lot when it comes to you,” I confess.
Shelby rolls her eyes, grabbing the other bag. “Breakfast earned you one kiss, don’t push it.”
I look around the house, liking the earthy tones of everything with greens and browns. The pops of purple in varying shades really adds to the hominess of the kitchen and living room. One thing that stands out are the Fleur De Lis pictures in rich tones on the walls and little figurines mixed in with her images.
There are candid photos on the shelves and walls, mostly of her with Billie. One is with her and an older man with his arm around her. Jealousy flares up, rearing its ugly head before I can tamp it down. The question of who it is sits heavily on my tongue before I mentally shake it away. She’ll really think I belong on the third floor of the hospital if I ask that right off the bat.
“You brought a lot of food.” Shelby is pulling everything out and setting it on the counter—buffet style.
“I wasn’t sure what you liked,” I admit, turning from the photo and pushing it from my mind.
“I’m easy to please for the most part,” she says. I want to say something to that but try to hold my tongue. I have no doubt she has no idea how many ways that statement can be taken.
“I’ll be making a mental note of that,” I finally say, failing miserably at playing it cool.
She stops moving, making a show of rolling her eyes before I step back over to hand her one of the cups of coffee.
“Eww. Negatory, King,” she says, after leaning forward to sniff it, then grimacing. I notice the little wrinkle on her nose is cute as hell.
“You don’t like coffee?” I ask, setting it down.
“I love it,” she says. I pause. That makes absolutely no sense. Did I hear her wrong?
“You’re going to have to explain that one, beautiful.”
“I used to love when my dad would brew his coffee and the smell of it is divine. It always reminds me of him. But I’ve tried to drink it a million different ways, doctoring it up and putting tons of sugar into it, creamer, syrup—you name it. No matter what I do, it’s still just nasty.”
“Wait, so you’ve tried to make yourself like it because it reminds you of your father?”
“Well, yeah that and it smells good,” she says, shrugging.
“Okay so no more coffee. But if I bring you breakfast again, what am I supposed to get you to drink? Orange juice?”
“Um, this was a one-time thing.”
“Humor me,” I mumble.
She looks like she’s about to tell me to stop asking for a second. “McDonald’s hot chocolate is so delicious—especially close to Christmas which isn’t that far away.”
“So basically, I need to bring you breakfast that will have enough sweet shit to put you in a sugar coma?”
“Maybe,” she admits, coyly.
I grin reaching for the waffles and putting one on each plate before adding some of the sides—making sure to prepare her plate first.
“What do you have planned for the rest of the day?”
“Not a damn thing,” she breathes, “I need this day off so badly that it’s not even funny. She grabs the pancake syrup down from a cabinet before bathing her waffle in it. When it’s my turn, I put just enough that I can still taste the waffle. I can’t remember the emotion, partially because I’m not sure it existed before today, but I’m happy. I’m learning so much about Shelby and she makes me laugh. Hell, she makes me remember that I’m human. I love that she feels a connection to her father through food. She truly does have one hell of a sweet tooth, and I love that too. In fact, I’m enjoying every damn thing about this woman.