Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“We will,” Sara says even though the server wasn’t talking to us. Only Maddox.
She smiles as she walks away.
Rebecca clears her throat. “Thank you for paying for ours, Maddox.”
“Yeah. Thanks for coming to see Ashley,” Sara says. “I didn’t have to do anything for my meal for once.”
Rebecca stifles a laugh. But Maddox just shrugs … his eyes on me.
“Despite the fact I told you not to—thank you,” I say as if it pains me.
“Was that so hard?”
“Yes, because you never listen.”
“Last week, he came into Smokey’s and bought a man’s dinner at the bar after the man told him it wasn’t necessary,” Rebecca says, looking at him. “Do you always just do whatever you want?”
“Most of the time.” He shifts in his seat. “Not always, though.”
“Right,” I say. “Name one time you didn’t do something you wanted to do.”
He slowly places his wallet in his back pocket, holding my gaze steadily. The intensity causes a shiver to curl down my spine. Then just as quickly as the intensity came, it evaporates, and he smiles as if that whole moment didn’t happen.
“I wanted to throw this dad out of the gym last night for being too hard on his kid at wrestling practice,” he says, his eyes darkening for a quick moment. “But I didn’t.”
“Ah, so you do have self-control,” Rebecca says.
“Clearly,” Sara says under her breath, lifting a brow at me.
“Eh, kind of,” he says, disregarding Sara. “I sent Banks over and let him have a talk with the guy instead.”
I laugh as I imagine the youngest of the five Carmichael brothers—Foxx, Jess, Moss, Maddox, and Banks—having a talk with a kid’s dad. Heck, even their baby sister, Paige, is a firecracker.
“Bet that went well,” I say, giggling.
“The guy apologized before he left, so I think it’s safe to say that Banks was effective.”
“Oh, I bet he was,” I say, ending it with a snort. “Probably politically correct too.”
The fact that Maddox has always coached little kids in wrestling has always endeared him to me. He was a high school standout and had scholarships to wrestle in college. For whatever reason, he didn’t go on to the collegiate level. But he did volunteer to be involved in the local youth organization. I love that about him.
Sara hoists her purse onto her shoulder. “I’m going to go. I left the house at five this morning, and I’m dead.”
Rebecca nods. “See you at home, Ashley?”
“Yeah. See you there.”
They give us a little wave and then make their way toward the exit. As soon as they’re gone, Maddox turns to me.
The air between us settles into a familiar ease. He picks up a glass of water that’s gone untouched in front of me and takes a sip.
“So …” Maddox’s eyes sparkle. “Are you leaving, or do you want to split these tacos with me?”
“So tempting, but I need to get to Becca’s. As you can imagine, my life is in shambles, and I need to start picking up the pieces.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
We exchange a soft smile as we rise from the booth. Maddox waits for me to grab my purse, and then we head toward the exit.
He walks beside me through La Pachanga. Patrons shout his name from the bar as we pass, and more than one table extends a hand to him as we walk by. He makes sure to bring me into every conversation. It’s amusing. Watching him interact with each person—giving them his undivided attention and then expertly extracting himself from the chat—showcases his charm.
It’s what makes him so likable. I never saw Eton do anything like this. He ignored everyone who couldn’t do something for him.
Memories of uncomfortable dinners and receptions make my stomach twist.
Finally, after what feels like a hundred pauses, we make it to the door. He holds it open for me. I make a great effort to get around him without touching him. I’m not sure if it’s intentional or not, but the way his body is positioned makes that difficult.
I manage. Somehow.
“Whoa,” he says as we step into the heat. “I swear that it’s gotten hotter since I got here.”
“It’s so hot it’s offensive. Sometimes I wonder why I love this place.”
The air is thick and humid as we make our way to our cars. His Jeep is parked next to my Telluride beneath a palm tree at the end of the lot. He checks his phone, and I use the time—and the privacy offered by his distraction—to check him out.
Brown dress pants hug his behind and highlight his muscled thighs and narrow waist. A white shirt covers his chest. It’s tight enough to skirt the lines of his body but loose enough to keep prying eyes guessing about the rest. Except I know all about the rest. I’ve seen him shirtless more times than I can count.