Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 107687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
She visibly swallows as she asks, “The Russian guy?”
I nod slowly. “Yes, that’s me.”
She doesn’t lower the stick, but she takes a step back. “I’m staying here.”
I nod. “I see that. Again, there has to be a mistake, and I’m sorry I surprised you,” I say softly, calmly. She lowers the stick, her eyes not leaving mine. “Let’s start over. What’s your name?” I urge, still breathing hard.
Not just because I don’t feel like getting whacked any more today—let’s be honest, the hits have kept coming, literally and figuratively—but I think that since she is in my apartment barely wearing anything, I should at least know her name.
seven
Austen
Okay. Information and sensory overload. My body is shaking, my fight-or-flight senses firing off like mad, my heart racing like it’s trying to win a race with my brain. No part of me knows what the hell is going on. Blood is coursing in my veins and rushing through my body. I feel exactly how I used to when a man would enter my room when I was with New Beginnings. But for some reason, I know I’m safe.
Which is odd and really concerning.
But the real question is, why is Dimitri in my apartment?
I yank the stick toward me, but he doesn’t give; he just grins at me.
That is also concerning. What crazy person just smiles at you when you’re trying to take their head off with a stick?
I urge my blood to cool and my heart to slow. “Austen. Austen McDavid.”
His brow perks. “I don’t know you.”
“Well, no shit, Sherlock,” I say dryly. “Why would you?”
He smiles widely, and the most beautiful, deepest dimples I’ve ever seen appear. “I may not know you, but it’s really nice to meet you,” he says, his eyes holding mine hostage. Dimitri has the darkest hair, which makes his blue eyes shine. His olive-skinned jaw is free of hair, minus a very impressive ’stache. It covers only his top lip, neatly trimmed and shiny. His shoulders are wide, his shirt tight along his armpits and chest. He towers over me, causing my head to almost touch the back of my neck as I look up at him, my grip on the hockey stick not budging. He may be strong as hell, but so am I. “Even when you hit me with my own stick.”
“I don’t feel bad for that.”
“Obviously,” he says as his eyes search mine. “So, this is a bit of a situation we’re in. Who said this was your place?”
“Shelli Adler,” I say proudly, knowing he can’t trump that. “She gave me a key.”
His grin is fast and delicious. “I got my key from Elli Adler.”
Well. Okay. I feel defeat just as quickly as the words leave his mouth. “Well, then yes, I guess this is one hell of a predicament we’re in.”
“It is,” he drawls, his eyes trailing along my face and then down to my chest. Instantly, I remember I’m not wearing much of anything under my sleep shirt. I let go of the stick, covering my chest with my arms. He tries to hide his grin, but there is no hiding those dimples as he takes the stick, spinning it with ease before leaning it up against the wall. I watch the way his back flexes, but then he stills.
“Bro! You smashed my Xbox!”
I look over his shoulder to see the game console on the floor, and I’m pretty sure it’s supposed to have a housing, and wow, that’s what the inside of an Xbox looks like… Oh, the plastic covering is by the door. I grimace as he picks up the pieces. In a small voice, I say, “Oh, my bad.”
“Your bad?” he asks incredulously. “I brought this with me all the way from Russia with no damage!”
I shrug. “I was trying to kill an intruder.”
“I live here!”
“As you’ve said. I apologize.”
“You apologize,” he says under his breath, but then he pauses. He makes a face, a confused one, before looking over his shoulder at me. With his brows knitted tightly, he says, “My mom smashed my dad’s Xbox when they were younger. It was on purpose ’cause my dad was a dick, but she did it just like this. With a hockey stick.”
I mirror his face, having no clue what the hell that has to do with me. “That’s unfortunate?”
He drags his gaze from me, and I have to admit, he looks a bit spooked before he sets down his broken game console.
“I’ll replace it.”
“Oh, thanks. How nice of you since you murdered it.”
“Intruder,” I say dryly.
“Roommate, Janie.”
I make a face. “Janie? My name is Austen.”
“Jane Austen, famous female author. I’m sure that’s who you’re named after. You look like the kind of girl who would be named after her.”
“I look like that kind of girl? That’s highly offensive.”
“Oh, I’m sorry—probably as sorry as you are about my Xbox.”