Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“Then you’d just be up shit creek again once I go back to school.”
“I know.” He sighs. “But that gives us time to hire someone while you’re there helping out, taking some of those tasks so we can interview. You can help too. I feel like I never get to see you anymore. Working with us all summer will be great.”
“I live here,” I remind him with a soft laugh.
“I know, but I work long-ass hours, and it would be nice for us to work together. Next summer, you’ll be graduated and off to do great things in the operating room.”
“I’m going to be a surgical tech, not a surgeon.” I shake my head at my brother, always my biggest cheerleader. I spent my first year of college doing my prerequisites and this past year, and next is my concentrated curriculum.
He shrugs. “You’re doing big things, little sister. I just worry, and I know once you graduate, I’ll get to see you even less.”
“I’m a big girl now, Forty.” I hold my arms open, and he leans in for another hug. “You don’t have to worry so much, big bro. You’ve done your job. I know how to throw a punch, and I know how to adult because of you.”
He gives me a sympathetic look. It’s hard to believe that we turned out the way that we did with the parents we were blessed with.
“Well, we’re having a party for your birthday at the end of the summer before you head back to college. No arguments.” He points his index finger at me. “I don’t care how old you are. You will always be my little sister. I want to do this for you, Emmy.”
“I don’t need a party.” I tell him the same thing every single year. However, every single year he insists on throwing me one.
“You’re turning twenty. We have to celebrate that.”
“It’s just another day, Forrest.” I chuckle.
“You’re no longer a teenager,” he reminds me.
My face heats. Embarrassment washes over me. My brothers and his friends are all the same age. They’re ten years older than me. The last thing I want is to remind Roman of our age difference.
“Just another day,” I say again.
“It’s going down, little sister.” Forrest grins.
“I’ll be here,” I assure him. Not because I want or need a birthday party, but because he’s my big brother, and after everything he’s done for me, the least I can do is show up for a party he’s having in my honor.
Forrest grins. “I knew I’d wear you down.”
“On that note, I’m heading to bed. I’m exhausted.” I stand and give my brother one more hug. “Night,” I mumble before looking over my shoulder at Roman. His eyes are already locked on mine. “Night, Rome.” I smile sweetly and turn back around, walking toward the stairs.
“Night,” his deep, gruff voice replies.
I grin, feeling like I might have the upper hand where Roman is concerned.
Once in my room, I shut the door, grab my phone from the nightstand, flop down on my bed, and text Monroe.
* * *
Me: I saw him.
Monroe: Tell me everything.
Me: I told them I was going to bed. Too much to text.
Monroe: Not cool, Em. Not cool. You can’t tell me that you saw him and then leave me hanging.
* * *
Me: Fine, but I have to whisper.
Monroe: Go to the bathroom. That will help muffle the sound.
* * *
Sliding off the bed, I walk to the en suite bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind me. I already showered, so I can’t turn the water on as a distraction. I’m just going to have to talk quietly. Not that I’m not allowed to talk on the phone. I realize I’m acting like that’s the case and shake my head at the absurdity of it. That’s what the man resorts me to. Acting like a kid afraid to get in trouble for being on the phone.
I dial Monroe, and she answers immediately. “Hello.”
“Hey,” I whisper.
“Tell me everything.” She repeats the same words she said in her text message.
She wants the details, and I need to talk about this. About him. So that’s exactly what I do. I start at the beginning and tell her everything that has transpired since our earlier phone conversation.
“He wants you, Em. I told you that hot piece of tattooed, muscled man meat wants you.”
I don’t reply because I’m not sure that she’s right, but then I’m not sure if she’s wrong either. The way he touched me. The possessive hold he had on me. The way his green eyes blazed with what could only be described as desire… it’s got me reeling.
The last time when I was home on spring break, and we had our mutual self-love incident, he was drinking. I chalked it up to a night to remember and one he would either forget or want to forget, but now I’m not so sure. He’s bossy and seemed to be pissed about my clothing choice, but that could be because I’m his best friend’s little sister. But he’s never touched me like that before.