Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
My back hits the display hard, and my tailbone takes the brunt of it, the impact jarring up my spine, bone by bone. I wince and reach back to rub the sore spot. When I let my eyes travel over Lennox, taking in his six-foot-something form, I nearly wince again, but this time it’s from twinges south of the border. Lennox is wearing a staff shirt, a long-sleeved one, but on him, let’s just say his muscles could have their own zip code or star in their own adult…I mean, action film.
He has the whole broad chest, narrow waist, rock-hard abs, and long legs thing down to an art. Or maybe I should say down to a science. He looks more like a super sexy science fiction figure, and that’s mostly compliments of his beard. It’s a sandy red like the very short layer of hair on his head, though that is more sand than rust.
I force my eyes to his face, where they belong because, you know, eye contact and all that, and suck in my breath again. Lennox’s face is pretty. He’s got the most beguiling green eyes, a straight nose, high cheekbones, and lips that are just a tad too rosy a shade for a guy. If he didn’t sport a huge beard—think epic Viking style here—he’d almost be too good-looking for real life. Just so you know, the beard, on a scale of long and magical, fantastical, storybook magician plus mage plus wizard combining together to kick ass, it’s definitely an ass-kicker. Aside from how awesome it is, the beard grounds him and makes him more human. Also, I think I might be the one woman on the planet who doesn’t mind a man with a two-foot beard. Or any beard.
“Granny called me and demanded I have lunch with you,” Lennox deadpans.
I think he’s deadpanning. That might just be straight-up rudeness. He doesn’t look happy about it, but then suddenly, he smiles. A smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. I imagine him calling Ransom a puckered butthole, and it’s not so hard to smile back.
“She said pie and fries.” He gives me a very unimpressed look. “This is the last time, Cass. I’m not your good luck charm. That whole notion is silly.”
“There’s a…a…p—place across the street,” I say, faltering and tripping over the words. Great. Now I talk like I often walk. “It looks like a diner. We could go there. I…I know you’re doing me a favor, and it’s not out of the way. Plus, I’m paying.”
“Sweet. Can I get a few things to go, then? I’m kidding. Of course, you’re not paying. Uh, shall we? I have to be back here in an hour in case anyone brings in more poo in a jar.”
“Hmm, for real? I thought that was a euphemism. I really did.”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“Okay, wow. That’s disgusting.”
“Just the kind of thing we need to talk about before lunch.”
“Delicious.”
Lennox gives me a funny look. He makes one of those hand gestures toward the door that loosely means, after you. His beard is so long that when he motions with his hand, it brushes the beard and makes it look like it’s doing a magical beard thing and floating out to indicate the right path—the path of kickass beard goodness.
Too far. Too far, Cass, seriously.
I want to appear confident, breezy, carefree, and uh…not like this is a good luck lunch. I chose a flowy floral blouse, left my hair down, and picked jeans that are torn up and go down to above my ankles, then paired that with bright yellow flats. I hope my outfit screams more I can be a lot of fun than I’m actually a walking disaster; steer clear or face possible death by piano or some other painful, unfortunate mishap.
The day is bright and sunny. It’s a perfect afternoon for a friendly, get-to-know-each-other lunch. I’m nervous now because I know for sure that Lennox doesn’t want to do this. I guess I had kind of been hoping that maybe he would want to get to know each other, the whole luck thing aside. I feel stupid now. But, right. Why would he want to get to know me? Honestly, I’m the person who is kind of crazy, has only one good friend, and that’s Ayana, and almost got her boyfriend flattened like a pancake because I have a terrible aura that refuses to be excised surrounding me.
Yeah, I probably wouldn’t want to take any chances either if I were him.
I’m way busier thinking and worrying about Lennox, who is behind me by a few paces, than I am paying attention to the street which is in front of me. I step out blindly without actually checking for a walk light, and the sharp blare of a horn just about makes me jump out of my skin. Then, I’m hauled back so roughly that my blouse chokes me at the collar, rips at my armpits, and tears violently somewhere else. I’m not sure where, but I heard the rip.