Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 119152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
If that’s the case, she won.
Chapter 33
Makayla
I look over the table, checking off everything on my list. Running over to the oven, I pull out the tray of poblano peppers out, inhaling the smell of spices and bubbling cheese. “Get in my belly, you yummy little delights.”
I slide them onto a plate and put them on the table next to my impressive taco spread. Looking at the clock, I have exactly seven minutes until Ben gets home. I race into the bedroom and change, slipping into nothing but his fire department T-shirt. I’m finishing brushing my teeth when I hear the door open. “Showtime.” A nice dinner, a bubble bath, some hot sex mixed with a little sweet, hanky-panky lovemaking. Oh my god, did I just use the phrase hanky-panky? Yes. Yes, you did. Oh, hell, who cares?
I can’t fake this giddy feeling inside me. It’s crazy and exhilarating. Somewhat scary. But I wouldn’t change it for the world. I have a reason to stay. No, I take that back. I have a handful. Hannah, Jenny, Ben. . . This is where I make it official. Start with some foreplay in the form of tacos, followed by the main dish: me. Then I confess those three little words that have been on the tip of my tongue.
“Shit. . . okay. . .” I hop from foot to foot, suddenly nervous. “It’s going to be fine.” What if he doesn’t say it back? Then I drug him, and when he wakes up, I tell him it was all a dream, tuck my tail between my legs, and head for the hills. Shut up, Makayla. He’s going to say it back. There’s no way he doesn’t feel the same. The way his eyes burn into me, a fire of passion lit behind every glance, we’re definitely on the same page. And tonight, we’re going to confirm. Or deny. Shit!
“Mak?” His voice bellows from the hallway.
“Okay, I got this—coming!” I take one last glance at myself. Looking super cute, I walk out, offering him my award-winning seductive smile. “Hello, dear. Long day at work?” My smirk fades at his deep frown. I don’t mind him grumpy, but this is a bit excessive. “What. . . what’s wrong?” Something catches his attention, and he walks over to the kitchen counter. My purse is resting on its side. He stops in front of it, then grabs the card. Slowly unfolding it, he reads it. Shit. . .
“You tell me.” He faces me, turning the card between his fingertips.
“Tell you what?” His demeanor is off. His glare is sharp. Almost painful. He’s not looking at me with the intensity I’m used to. He’s radiating. . . disgust. For me. I slowly eye the card. Not really the time or place I wanted to explain that. But with the scowl he’s wearing, it looks like we’re discussing it now. “I can explain that—”
He looks to the table. “This all for me?” He turns back to me, pointing at my choice of outfit. “All that for me?”
I peer down at myself. “Well, yeah. What’s your deal? Did I do something?”
He scoffs and flicks the card at me. “No, Mak, it’s not what you did. It’s what you didn’t do.” Dismissing me, he walks to the fridge, grabs a beer, and pops the top. “I can’t believe I trusted you.”
“And what exactly did I do to make you not?” I ask slowly. Is he this upset over the card? He takes a long pull of his beer, not answering me.
My stomach churns. His mood is dark and ugly, and I’m not sure where it’s coming from. I also don’t appreciate it. “Well, I’m glad you’ve come to that conclusion, but maybe you can fill me in on why since I have no idea what I’ve done in the last. . . what? Ten hours? To make you not trust me. To be honest, I’m a little lost on what you’re so upset about.”
His fingers clench around the bottle. He takes another sip, like he needs the distraction to calm himself. It sparks my frustration. “You know what? This is stupid. I’m not playing games with you. If you have something to say, then say it. I didn’t do anything. And if you want to ask me about that card, then ask—”
I flinch and step back when he whips his beer bottle at the sink. He eats up the room within seconds and is in my face. “When were you going to tell me you were leaving?”
There’s so much anger in his tone. Fury seeping from his veins. His eyes, normally the brightest blue, are dark and void of the man I’ve fallen in love with. It takes me a minute to understand his question. “Why would I be leaving—?”
“Oh, don’t play coy with me. I told you, I’m done with these games.”