Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 155037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 775(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 517(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 155037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 775(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 517(@300wpm)
“Those assholes.”
She snorted. “I probably wouldn’t have gone with them. I had another year of college to go. Loki was here. My friends were here. I was better off in Wishingbone.”
“Doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.”
Slowly, she nodded, staring over his shoulder.
“Isa? Look at me.” He kept his voice soft but firm.
Those gorgeous eyes turned to him. She still looked tired. An exhaustion that went bone deep. He hated it.
“It’s their loss. You’re amazing. They should have fought to have you go with them. Or they should have stayed to be with you.”
“If it wasn’t for the fact that they took my brothers from me, I would have been fine with them going. No more awkward Sunday dinners where I felt like a stranger in my own home. A visitor in the house that used to be my mom’s. And I know I sound like a bitter stepdaughter, but . . .”
“You don’t apologize for your feelings,” he told her. “They’re fucking valid.”
Her mouth dropped open, then her eyes twinkled. “Is that your qualified opinion, doctor?”
“Don’t start with me, brat.”
“Sorry,” she said, sounding anything but. “Your feelings are valid too. Feel free to lay them on me.”
“My feelings are that your dad is a fuckwit.”
Isa sucked in a breath and he worried he might have gone too far. “That’s what Loki says too. Well, sometimes he says more colorful things than fuckwit. Like ‘that fucking horse’s ass wouldn’t know a good thing if it swallowed his cock and said blow’.”
“That makes absolutely no sense.”
“Yeah, Loki often doesn’t make much sense when he gets worked up. But he loves me.” She watched him carefully.
He’d seen the way she spoke about him, how she looked at him.
With longing.
He needed to make her forget about her feelings for her best friend.
“I can tell he’s been a good friend to you.”
Something filled her eyes. Pain?
“Yeah. The best. So, um, is that dinner?”
He glanced down at the plates of cold food. “Fuck! Dinner. Shit. It’s ruined.”
“It’s all right,” she protested. “Just a bit cold. We can still eat it. Or reheat it.” She reached for a plate, but he moved into her way, blocking her.
“It’s sat out too long. Anything could have touched it. You’re not eating it.”
No way. Not happening. His girl wasn’t eating food that might have been contaminated.
“Remy, it’s fine. I’ve eaten worse.”
“No!”
She shied back from him. Fuck. He hadn’t meant to scare her. He opened his mouth to say something, he wasn’t sure what, when she gave him a soft smile.
“Okay, we won’t eat it.”
Relief filled him and his rapid heartbeat started to slow. “Yeah. Good.”
“I’ll throw everything out.”
“I’ll do it.” He stood, looking down at the food as though he expected to see mold . . . to see bugs crawling on it . . .
There’s nothing there, you idiot.
The food is fine.
Fuck. He hated these fucking flashbacks. They didn’t happen often. In fact, he’d hoped they had stopped.
Seemed not.
He put the plates down on the counter so heavily that one of them cracked.
“Fuck! Shit!”
“Hey, it’s all right.” Isa came up behind him, lightly placing her hand on the small of his back. “I think we might need to replace these plates anyway. Want to break some more? I heard it can be therapeutic.”
“What?” He turned to gape at her as she moved away, grabbing two plates from the cupboard. She handed him one with a sassy grin. “What are you doing?” he asked.
She threw the plate on the floor with a whoop! And then she laughed. “Here’s to shitty parents!”
“Isa! Fuck.” He put the plate down on the counter as she turned to grab another plate. She wasn’t wearing shoes! What was she thinking? She was going to slice her feet open.
He swept in and picked her up, grateful he hadn’t taken his boots off before.
Quickly, he deposited her on the counter, taking the plate from her hand.
“Hey! I wanted to throw that.”
“That’s not happening. You can’t just go around breaking plates.”
“Why not? It was a buzz. I felt like an out-of-control rock star, smashing up my hotel room. It was fun.”
He gave her a stern look. “No. No breaking things deliberately. Especially when you could hurt yourself.” He grasped one foot and pulled it up, lightly running his finger over the bottom.
“This feels like déjà vu. Do you have a foot fetish?” she asked.
“No, brat. I don’t have a foot fetish. But you seem to attract trouble.”
“I do not. How rude. I might take offense to that,” she said as he looked at her other foot. Both were fine.
“Are you?” he asked.
“Am I what?”
“Taking offense,” he said.
“To what?”
He shot her a look, noticing the way that she bit her lip. Oh, she was full of sass, wasn’t she?
“You’re in trouble.”
“Me? Why?”
“For breaking a plate and worrying me. For nearly hurting yourself.”