Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 74324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
His brows rose.
“You really want to play this game?” He asked. “I lift, and I run five miles a day. The only time I’ve ever seen you run was to Chipotle, and the only lifting you do is bringing a burrito to your mouth.”
My mouth dropped open in affront.
“You…you… horrid man! How dare you!” I yelled, wagging my finger at him.
He grinned, and for the first time, I really saw how happy he was.
But his happiness came from basically calling me fat, and well, there was just no way any woman would ever let that comment go without some sort of reply.
So I did what I had to do—I played dirty.
I turned, then rubbed my eyes so I could get some good tears flowing.
I had been blessed with the ability to cry at will.
It’s a good thing, too, because I’d needed that particular skill when it came to dealing with my treacherous sister.
She was the baby in our family, and she got away with almost everything, well, until I started the crying bit.
And my daddy always fell for it—hook, line and sinker.
Mig’s arms went around me from behind, and I gave a good fake sob, causing him to freeze.
Then he turned me around so he could see the tears streaming down my face.
“I…I…why are you crying? I didn’t mean it, honey,” Mig said quickly.
I looked up at him, smiling weakly while I simultaneously reared back to deliver a quick jab to his abs.
He grunted at the hit as he looked down at me in shock.
“What was that for?” He asked, rubbing his belly.
I narrowed my eyes.
“I’ll have you know that I have weights in my office that I lift, buddy! And I do yoga. So a Chipotle Burrito isn’t the only thing I lift!” I countered smartly.
His lips twitched, and I started shaking my finger at him.
“Don’t you dare laugh!” I snapped.
Before I could back up any further, Mig grabbed me just as a truck passed right beside us, making me jump.
I’d been so lost in Mig that I hadn’t realized we’d moved closer to the highway.
Jesus.
Mig never missed anything, though, and he saw the truck and got pissed, raising his hand and flipping off the driver who laid on his horn as he passed us.
I wanted to laugh, but I managed not to, instead holding Mig’s glare.
Or at least what I assumed was his glare, as he was wearing sunglasses that made it impossible for me to see his eyes.
“So, what happens if I laugh?” He rumbled, dropping his mouth down to nibble on my neck.
I bit my lip as I imagined what I would like to happen.
This little fantasy had him doing all the work.
‘I’d make you lick me until your tongue cramps,’ was what I wanted to reply. What I said, though, wasn’t even remotely similar to what I was thinking.
“You’d be making me breakfast in bed for the next week,” I said.
He snorted. “And how would you get me to do that?”
I thought about it and couldn’t come up with a logical answer.
Everything that came to mind would have totally defeated the purpose if I had to force him to do it.
His hands started to slide up the back of my shirt, and another horn honked, this one from a big truck.
I jumped, slamming my head into Mig’s chin.
Mig growled, then let his hands slip free.
“Alright, it’s time to go,” he said, taking my hand.
I followed behind him, my hand in his.
He remounted first, grabbing both helmets and waiting for me to take my seat before he handed mine back to me.
“We have another hour or so, then we’ll be there,” he said.
I secretly thought that was good, because I already had to pee.
Not that I would be telling him that, though.
He’d told me not to drink so much Dr. Pepper, and I really didn’t want to hear him say ‘I told you so’ again.
We exited the highway about ten minutes after we’d gotten back on it, taking a lot of winding roads that felt like they were leading us in circles.
Something I realized later on was the point.
We pulled up to a very formidable looking gate, and Mig punched in some numbers before waiting for it to open.
Once there was enough room, he passed through and started to race up the longest driveway I’d ever seen.
It had to be at least as long as a football field, if not longer.
“This driveway had to have cost a fortune to put in,” I said.
Mig nodded his head.
“It did. About fifty grand, if I remember right,” he confirmed.
Then we pulled up to an enormous house overlooking the ocean that was probably the same size as my old high school.
It was incredible.
And I was way under-dressed to meet the woman standing on the front porch.
The man was wearing jeans, but they were neatly pressed with a crisp crease down the front of them.