Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 135604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“I’m saying I just wanna keep going how we’re going, no matter how crazy it feels or too fast or whatever, I love what we’re doing,” I replied. “I love every part of it, Jamie, and I don’t wanna slow down. I feel like I have months to catch us up on and I’m gonna do that. It’s my fault we aren’t further along. Not yours. I’ll get us there.”
“Babe,” he murmured, sounding ready to argue.
“I’ll get us there. I promise,” I urged, holding firm to my plan, moving closer until our foreheads kissed and whispering, “I’ll give you all of my truths, I will. Just don’t hurt me, okay?”
I felt a rush of air leave Jamie’s body. His fingers on my neck squeezed, and I could read in his eyes what he was wanting to say, that I was crazy for thinking he could hurt me. That he ever would. But he didn’t say those words.
He slanted his head, leaned in, and pressed his lips against mine, murmuring three words inside our kiss.
“Get us there.”
And I knew he was talking about me telling him all of my truths while moving us further along to our catching-up point.
But I also knew that was Jamie’s way of promising me he’d be participating in that. Fully participating.
Dream Jamie was amazing but he had nothing on the real thing. Absolutely nothing.
I slid my hand to his cheek and kissed him back, soft and slow, then I shifted in his lap so I was turned sideways again, both of my legs thrown over his and my head ducking underneath his chin. “Can you sleep?” I asked. “What time is it?”
He inhaled deeply, curling his arms around me tighter. “Late,” he said. “I didn’t get here ’til after eleven.”
“Are you tired?”
I felt the shake of his head against mine. “Gonna stay up awhile. I’m sure your parents are gonna wanna know who the fuck I am. Guy they don’t know holding their daughter …”
“Oh, they know who you are,” I told him. “I had to explain that group text I sent out the other night. Both of them got it.”
Jamie’s chest rumbled with a laugh.
“Probably seemed strange,” he said.
“Nah.” I smiled, hiding my face so he couldn’t see. “I mean, my dad didn’t have much opinion about it, except that he wasn’t too happy getting a text like that. That was understandable, though. He doesn’t think anybody’s good enough for me, but my mom got it. She understood the importance of claiming a man in the name of love. Women just get that stuff.”
Jamie’s arms around me tensed. I smiled bigger, flattening my hand to his chest.
“Night,” I whispered.
His head shook against the top of mine. “Always dropping shit like that and then passing out on me,” he murmured, and I could hear he was smiling, too. “What the fuck, Legs?”
“Shh.” I snuggled closer.
He grunted deep in his throat.
After that, I fell asleep and slept soundly in Jamie’s arms, only waking hours later when my father woke up and made that fact known to the entire room.
“I suggest you take your hands off my daughter before you lose ’em both,” he ordered, voice threatening and louder than I’d ever heard. “I might look bedridden, son, but I assure you, I am not.”
Introductions were a little tense after that, needless to say. But once I informed my father of Jamie’s apparent love for firearms, something I found out when I was snooping around his house after our lovemaking by the fire—he had a gun cabinet in his office among the trophies—it was as if Dad hadn’t caught Jamie passed out with his hand clutching my ass.
They got to talking about hunting and gun ranges and forgot my mother and I even existed, which was fine since we were busy whispering about the McCade family genes and how incredible their bone structure was.
Chapter Twenty
JAMIE
Five days later
“Legs!” I hollered, kicking the front door closed and tossing my keys on the entryway table.
I fished the piece of paper out of my back pocket and was already crossing the living room and searching for Tori when she called out from the kitchen.
“In here! I’m …” She paused, eyes lifting from the bowl she was stirring when I entered the room. “Oh, hey.” She smiled, red lips stretching wide. “I’m just getting these potatoes coated and ready to roast in the oven. Then I’ll cut out the biscuits. Give me fifteen. We’ll be ready to eat.”
She went back to stirring.
Tori was cooking us dinner, something she hadn’t done yet but felt was long overdue, this feeling coming over her last night while we were shacked up on the couch, watching TV and scarfing down the half-everything, half-just-pepperoni pizza I’d brought over.
Nearly finished with her second slice of pepperoni, she set her plate down on the coffee table and turned to look at me, stating, “I’m making you a home-cooked meal tomorrow. So don’t be coming over with food. I got it covered.”