Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 117915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 590(@200wpm)___ 472(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 590(@200wpm)___ 472(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
After sending Marissa off, I walked Herc to Ava’s house and entered her happy chaos. I’d been to her place a couple of times in the past two weeks to talk to her—or, rather, get her polite commands—about the SnoBall. It seemed poor Mrs. Peevey, despite her dubious dating choices, had organized everything well. I truly would only need to worry about dealing with any little fires that popped up during the night itself.
“Flippin’ biscuits, if my babysitter doesn’t show up soon, I’m going to lose my ever-loving…” She glanced at little Beau, who clung to her leg, while balancing a baby on each hip. “Patience.”
I bit my lip against a smile while I thanked my stars that I had not been born with a uterus. “I’ll be out of your hair in a hot minute. I just needed to pick up the gratuity envelopes you wanted me to manage for the band and catering staff.”
She lifted her chin in the direction of a leather day planner on the counter. “They’re in my planner. Are you all set with a date for the dance? Because if not, Cindy Ann and I can get—”
“No!” I barked, recognizing the fake-casual voice of a Southern matchmaker. I cleared my throat. “No, thank you. I’m all set.”
Her eyes danced. “So you found yourself a date, then?”
Little Beau transferred his sticky hands onto my own designer jeans. I glanced down at him, wondering if a good feral hiss would do the trick to avoid a trip to the dry cleaners. “Champ is taking me.” The words were out before I realized the toddler had most likely been in on a deliberate distraction operation. I bit back a curse. “Just as friends,” I added quickly. “We’re, ah, just… you know.”
“Friends?” she teased. “The sleepover kind? Or the sleepover kind?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” I said primly.
“So you’re not…” She glanced down at the sticky-handed menace before looking back at me with a raised eyebrow. “Plowing his fields?”
It took me a minute to figure out what the hell she was trying to ask, and then I deliberately misunderstood her. “He doesn’t have any fields. He lives in town.”
I quickly grabbed the envelopes from the planner and moved toward the door. She stalked after me.
“You two aren’t participating in… amorous congress?”
I winced. “I don’t know much about politics.”
Her jaw tightened. I could see the hungry small-town gossipmonger in her eyes. “Quinn Taffet. You know what I’m asking.”
I blinked at her. “No, ma’am. But I need to run and get ready for the dance.” I slithered out of the door and bolted toward the car.
“Are either of you bringing an al dente noodle to the spaghetti house?” she called after me with clear laughter in her voice.
My face heated, and I refused to look back. “No. But we are sucking and fucking!” I called over my shoulder.
As I backed out of the driveway, I saw her close her eyes in frustration as her little boy started asking questions.
Served her right.
The next few hours flew by as I showered and dressed, helped calm Marissa down after she learned Trey would be late arriving from Nashville, and finally made my way downstairs, where Champ was waiting for me in the front hall of the farmhouse.
The man wore a tux like it had been invented solely for him to do it justice.
“Dear God,” I breathed.
His eyes darkened, and he pulled a hand out from behind him to reveal a small plastic box. “For you.”
I stepped closer. The familiar scent of his woodsy cologne was endearing. It reminded me he wasn’t the kind of person to suddenly use a fancier scent for a formal night out. Champ was Champ regardless of where he came from or how he dressed.
When I realized what was in the box, my heart betrayed me with a little Victorian-era swoon. “You got me a boutonniere?”
He opened the box and removed the small cluster of flowers. When he stepped forward to put it on my lapel, his lips eased into a grin. “I’m Bunny Champion’s son. Emily Post was practically my nanny.”
I snorted. The faint scent of pine wafted up from the fresh sprig of it mixed with the baby’s breath in the flower cluster, but it didn’t hold a candle to the scent of Champ himself standing so close to me.
“I want to lick your face,” I admitted under my breath.
His grin grew even wider. “Maybe later. And I’m only saying that because Herc got there first, and I know how you feel about sharing me with others.”
I elbowed him and stepped away, trying my hardest to remove myself from the dizzying effect his nearness seemed to have on me. “Let’s go. I need to get there early.”
“The truck’s already been warming up for ten minutes,” Champ said, holding out his arm to escort me through the front door. Formal dance Champ was a dangerous Champ.