Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 39475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 197(@200wpm)___ 158(@250wpm)___ 132(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 197(@200wpm)___ 158(@250wpm)___ 132(@300wpm)
“Why?” He crosses his arms over his chest.
Gah, he’s relentless. “Because I’ve always had other people taking care of me, and I need to take care of myself for once.” And that’s the truth. Growing up, it was my parents paying my way. Then, when I should have been stepping out on my own, I got married to a guy who could take care of me too. I’ve never had to just find my way. And, honestly, it feels really fricking good when I do something I didn’t think I was capable of doing.
“I’m not paying for your car, and you having someone at your back, making sure you don’t get fucked over, doesn’t make you weak.” I blink at him because that’s true, I guess. “Now, show me where the shower is.”
Recognizing he won’t be deterred, I sigh. “Fine.” I turn for the master bedroom that hasn’t changed much since my brother started letting me stay here. Really, the entire place is the same as when I moved in. The only furniture in the entire two-bedroom townhouse is the sofa, a coffee table, the TV in the living room, and the king-sized bed in the master.
As I grab a couple of towels out of the linen closet, I hear a thud. When I walk into the room, I find he’s dropped his bag on the floor at the foot of the bed.
“I just need to grab my blow-drier and stuff.” I hand him the towels, then scoot around him into the bathroom to get the things I’ll need to finish getting ready. Once I have everything in hand, I leave him to figure out the shower on his own.
Chapter 3
Bridgett
Fancy Gadgets and Shiny Objects
With my belly full of butterflies that refuse to settle, I open the door to the hall bathroom. I heard Noah walk past the door about five minutes ago while I was doing my makeup, so I know the coast is clear.
I scoot down to my room, close the door, and then head for the closet to find something to wear. I settle on a pair of jeans and a cream sweater with ankle boots that match, then tie a scarf around my neck and grab my jacket before leaving the room. When I reach the end of the hall, I find Noah sitting on the couch, dressed casually in a pair of jeans, a hooded sweatshirt, and sneakers, with a baseball cap on his head. Where he even buys clothes to fit his large frame is a mystery to me.
“Ready?” he asks, and I realize I’m staring at him like some kind of idiot.
“Yeah, sorry. I just need to grab my phone.” I quickly go to the kitchen to unplug it and turn it on. As soon as the cell comes to life, a message from my ex appears on the screen, probably from last night.
Conner: The car belongs to me. It’s in my name. I don’t give a fuck what your lawyer has to say about it.
I grit my teeth and open our chat to write him back.
Me: YOUR car was totaled last night after I was carjacked. You can call the police station and figure out where to pick it up.
“Everything okay?” I jump at the question and turn to face Noah, realizing that in my frustration, I forgot he was here.
“Yep, just texting Conner about the car situation since I didn’t get a chance to do it last night.” I tuck my phone into my bag and look up, finding Noah studying me closely. Really, the guy must be the best interrogator among the people he works with because just one look from him would have me spilling my whole life story in seconds. Like that kid in The Goonies who told the puking story when he was picked up by the bad guys after his friends. “I’m ready if you are.”
He steps to the side, and I walk to the door as he grabs his bag from the floor next to the couch. When we get outside, I lock up. But instead of heading for the parking lot, he stands behind me like some kind of oversized sentinel, making me feel awkward. When I’m done, we walk down the sidewalk. Having seen his truck before I’m not surprised by its size. If he were a different man, I would assume he was attempting to make up for some physical attributes he lacks, but the lifted black-on-black 4x4 fits him perfectly. And, really, he would look odd getting into a smaller vehicle.
Instead of going right to the driver’s side, he walks me to the passenger door and opens it for me to get in. It takes a couple of tries to get my ass up into the seat, but when I finally do, he closes the door before heading around the truck bed. As I put on my seat belt, I look around the interior. There’s not an upgrade in sight, and something about that causes me to relax. He’s a normal guy—just a nice, normal guy—not one impressed by fancy gadgets and shiny objects.