Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Grabbing his glass of water, he gulped it down.
And proceeded to talk about car stuff—his brother Jake’s passion—until Catie pretended to pass out from boredom. At least it got his mind back on the right track—which was not ogling Catie.
After dinner, Catie decided to call Ani to see if the publicist could hook her up with a local designer. “I know it’s short notice,” he heard her saying as she wandered into her bedroom, “but it’s for an event with Danny. Yes, I know I didn’t warn you about that photo post…”
Grabbing his own phone as her voice faded off, he called Viliame. “Hey man.”
“Yo, Dan. How you doing?” Genuine concern in his friend’s voice.
“Good. Back to normal.” Except for his alien obsession with Catie. “Thanks for having my back.”
“No thanks needed.” Viliame continued on. “Did you see that international between Argentina and South Africa?”
“No, I haven’t had a chance to catch up.”
“Fucking brutal, man. But the South Africans have some interesting new moves. You should watch it.”
When Danny checked the TV after he and Vili hung up, he found that Jacqueline had every channel known to man and then some. Easily locating the subscription service that held streaming rights for the rugby internationals, he settled in to watch the replay.
He was still good at this, at the technical analysis of a game.
Catie emerged from her room ten minutes into the game and came to sit on the other end of the couch. Ten minutes after that, she was yelling at the TV, he was up on his feet in outrage, and it was a good thing that this apartment had thick walls because otherwise they’d have been dealing with noise control.
* * *
Catie woke at six forty-five, the world yet dark outside.
When she lazily picked up her phone to read the morning news, she saw that Ani had sent her a text at eleven the previous night, alerting her that a local designer was coming by at seven this morning to do a fitting.
Jerking into a sitting position, she rubbed her gritty eyes; she and Danny had stayed up late, arguing over the game—agreeing on some points, hotly contesting others.
While he was the rugby player, she’d grown up with the game thanks to his family, so she’d held her ground. And gone to bed so exhilarated and energized that it had taken her another hour to nod off. At which point she’d dreamed of a man with powerful thighs and wide shoulders who looked a little too familiar.
Shoving that glitch in her imagination to the back of beyond, she put on her legs with her eyes still half-closed. She could’ve left them off while she got herself sorted, but it was habit now. A habit she’d purposefully cultivated as an older teen after realizing how easy it would be to skip one day here and one day there until it just got too hard.
That kind of approach wouldn’t work for her and what she wanted from her career. Catie saw every day as a chance to practice, become better—not in the sense of working herself to the bone but of putting herself in the right frame of mind; for her, that meant her prostheses were a seamless part of her life.
Which was why her eyes snapped wide open when she felt a touch of swelling on her left stump. Her heart skipped a beat, her cheeks burning, then going ice-cold. She checked with careful fingers all the way around, exhaled a shuddering breath.
Nothing major. Just a slight touch of irritation.
She had no trouble attaching the prosthesis.
Sitting back up, she took a moment to allow her heart rate to ease before she headed to the en suite shower. She’d just emerged from the steamy enclosure when there was a knock on her bedroom door.
“Catie, some dude just arrived—he insists he’s here to dress you.” Danny’s voice was full-on suspicious.
Cracking the door open with the towel wrapped around her, she saw a seriously grumpy male face, Danny’s hair all rumpled up and dark bristles shadowing his jaw and his chest on full display since he’d only pulled on a pair of black shorts. Shorts that revealed his thigh tattoo.
Her mouth watered.
Tightening her hand on the door handle, she said, “It’s the designer.” A cough to clear the rasp out of her voice. “Give him a cup of that delicious coffee I can smell and tell him I’ll be out in ten.”
“Just wear your underwear!” a stranger’s voice called out. “I need your measurements!”
When Danny, his expression a thundercloud, put his hands on his hips and began to turn toward their guest, she poked him in the shoulder with one finger. “Shoo. And don’t eat him.”
Then she shut the door and pressed her back to it for several long seconds, telling her misbehaving hormones to get with the program. Danny was off-limits. Now and forever.