Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
“Sounds gross,” I mutter to myself, grimacing. Then it dawns on me. Who else would be texting me about weird coffee concoctions except a certain bubbly woman who’s buried herself in my brain?
Me: Where did you get my number, petal?
I curse myself for typing out her nickname, but it’s too late. The text is sent. I’m doing a really shit job of convincing myself—and her—that I don’t feel this insane, magnetic pull between us.
She replies instantaneously.
Unknown: Harry, obviously. Hurry up, grizzly bear. Clock’s ticking.
A photo comes through of the menu at a coffee shop in town, zoomed in on the monstrosity of a drink she threatened to buy earlier. It can’t even be called a coffee. It looks like a damn milkshake. Jesus. I groan out loud, even though my lips are tugging up at the sides in a smirk at her teasing, knowing Dahlia isn’t going to drop this.
When I left that first day, I’d agreed to come back on Monday to scope out the first steps with her. Clearly, she’s far more eager than I am to get a start on it.
Liar, my mind whispers again. You didn’t even want to leave in the first place. I’m not dreading seeing her again. Unfortunately, I’m far too fucking eager. And that’s even worse.
Unknown: Can’t play the silent game with me, tough guy. I’m not bluffing.
Another photo, this time showing that she’s next in line. Fucking hell. She’s not even in the same room as me, and she’s making my body react to her. I can block even the most annoying people out, ignore them so effectively they eventually just give up, but Dahlia…there’s something about her that I know I’ll never be able to ignore. She’s not annoying. She’s infectious.
Me: Long black. One sugar. No milk.
Then, because I’m unwilling to be a total dick to this woman even though I’m perfectly happy for everyone else to dislike me, I add, Please.
Unknown: Predictable, much?
I can practically hear her say those words aloud in her light, teasing tone. Much like I can hear the names she’s called me. Grizzly bear. I snort, saving her contact in my phone before shoving my phone in my pocket as I grab my jacket and put my boots on. Despite my wariness, I head out early to meet her at the coffee shop and walk back to the cottage with her.
I’m not even halfway through my coffee by the time she’s off on a spiel about what she’s envisioning for the house. As expected, her drink is the same insane iced concoction she threatened to buy me. But the way she scoops up the cream with her straw and licks it off makes the drink far more appealing than it was before.
Stop fucking looking! I chastise myself, but fuck I can’t look anywhere else. Dahlia captures my attention like nothing else can. It’s confusing as hell, and no matter how much I try, I can’t fight it.
She’s cleaned up the place as much as possible, the dust and mildew smell gone and replaced by a fake floral scent of air freshener. I try to focus on the way that scent invades my nose as I talk her through ordering the parts she needs for the kitchen.
Dahlia shocks me by being utterly organized, knowing what tile and countertop she wants, even having picked out the cupboards and sink. Not that I’m willing to admit it, trying desperately to keep my face impassive and my answers short as she places the order.
“I’ll start on gutting the place,” I grunt as I stand, discarding my coffee cup into the black bag we’re using as a bin.
“Okay,” she chirps, humming along to a pop song under her breath.
I think she says something else, but I’m already moving to grab my tools and put space between us. Much needed space. Sitting that close to her to look at the laptop screen together was torturous. It took all my willpower not to grab her and haul her onto my lap.
She’s twenty-one. Harry’s fucking sister. Far too sweet for someone like you. I list all the reasons that she’s out of bounds in my head over and over, but my body isn’t paying a lick of attention.
Curves, sass, and all that sweetness to make your mouth water, I argue with myself, grateful I can take my frustration out on the ruined kitchen. I rip the remaining cupboards out, the wood falling away under my hands easily, hoping to clear my mind as I clear her house.
Just as it starts to work a little, my fucking phone rings.
I answer it with a rough, “What?” and the man on the other side of the line splutters for a second before explaining that he works for the building supply store and needs to ask questions about our order.