Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
JT grabbed my chin and forced my head up to meet his eyes. “I know your business comes first, Flynn. And that’s okay. Don’t worry about me. I’m a big boy.”
I reached down and stroked his dick through the towel. “Braggart.”
When I turned and walked out of the house, he was still laughing. I entered the back door of the Tavern with a big goofy smile on my face.
And he was right. When I came shuffling back to the house after midnight, JT Wellbridge was naked and ready.
But I wasn’t.
I was beyond exhausted. My feet hurt, my legs hurt, my entire body smelled like spilled beer and fried food, and I had the beginnings of a headache.
“You look like ass,” he said as soon as he saw me.
“You silver-tongued devil,” I muttered, kicking off my shoes and yanking at my filthy clothes. JT stood up from the small sofa where he’d been lounging under a soft throw, watching videos on his computer. He helped me take off my clothes and then led me to the shower. “You’re already clean,” I said stupidly when he took off his own clothes and joined me under the hot spray.
“Mm-hm. But you’re filthy. You’ll sleep better after a shower.”
“Was gonna bang you,” I said, leaning into the warm strength of his body. “Bang you so hard.”
“Well, when you put it so seductively…” I felt the vibration of his chuckle. “Rain check.”
“Sorry.”
“Nope. No sorries. Besides, I had a few guys swing by for an orgy earlier, so I’m good for now.”
I barely had the energy for a laugh. JT’s hands felt amazing on my body as he washed every inch of me. His touch lulled me into a kind of trance.
“Castor doing okay?” he asked.
“Yeah. He was feeling a bit better when I talked to him an hour ago. But I told him he could take tomorrow off, too, if he needed.”
“Hmm. Probably good. Sucks since you need all hands on deck this week. Tough being a brother and a business owner at the same time, huh?”
“Mmm.” My head lolled on my shoulders. “Sometimes, I wonder if I’m doing the right thing,” I confessed in a low voice.
“How do you mean?”
I hesitated, but I was too tired to measure my words, and they all came tumbling out. “I worry that Cas should be pursuing something bigger and better than working an hourly job as a server at a restaurant. And PJ… I haven’t heard from him in weeks other than one-word answers to my texts asking how he’s doing. Is that normal? Was I right to send him to Boston alone? And McLean… now that my parents are gone, he’s all alone out at the Retreat having to deal with the guests by himself during the busy season. I haven’t had time to help at all this week. What if it’s too much for him? Too much people time? If I didn’t have the Tavern, I could help them all more, except…”
“Except you couldn’t because there’d be no money,” he finished gently.
“Yeah.”
He poured shampoo into his hand and began massaging my scalp. I let out a groan of satisfaction.
“Flynn, you’re talking about adults. They need to find their own way. I’m not suggesting you stop supporting them, but you have to let them make their own choices and learn their own lessons.”
“It’s hard.” I leaned into him and wrapped my arms around him. JT widened his stance to keep us steady and then moved me under the water to rinse the shampoo off. Suds ran down his chest to his thighs. I watched the bubbles move over the curves of his leg muscles and down to the tile floor.
Simply being here like this with him was a gift in so many ways. A gift so precious, I was scared to think too closely about it for fear it would wash away completely like the soap suds.
JT made a sound of agreement that rumbled through his chest. “Yeah. I’m sure it is. But you’re giving them a firm foundation, and your commitment to the Tavern and Meadery helps them know your family will always have a home here in Honeybridge regardless of what happens with your parents’ place.”
“I guess.” Thankfully, my parents’ property—the center, artists’ retreat, and campground—was owned free and clear and held in trust. It had been passed down in the Honeycutt family for generations. Even if they fucked it up, the land was still ours.
“I understand, though,” JT said. “I sometimes worry if I’ve made the right call, too.”
“You?” I snorted tiredly. “You’ve got your shit together. Kicking ass in New York. Confident in your path, and you’re ticking off milestones along the way. It must feel good.”
He didn’t answer for a moment, long enough that I looked up to see his expression.
“Not always so confident. I feel a lot of family pressure, too, just in a different way. Your parents left you alone too much, too young. Mine have never left me alone, no matter how old I’ve gotten. I had to leave town to escape from their expectations, or who knows what I’d have become. Probably Patricia Junior, winner of the Box Day competition,” he said dryly.