Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
“Don’t read too much into it. It’s not like we’re having dinner together.”
Is he softening on me? Which is something a man would never want to hear. His words don’t seem to match his actions. “No, that would be awful.” It would . . . for sure . . . be just terrible to spend time with him . . . most likely.
I’m shot a look not meant to make me smile, but it does. I should take the short-term rental offer, but for some reason, I like the challenge he presents. I might even get him to eat my chicken pesto one day. It’s life-changing, and if I’ve ever met a man who needs their life changed, it’s him.
I think he gets a kick out of a challenge as well, and I have no intention of letting off the gas with him. “Option two.”
“Good choice.” He gets into the truck and flips on the headlights. Since I’m caught in the spotlights, I might as well make the most of it since I know his eyes are glued to me. I wriggle my shoulders and return to the cab. Marina’s not the only one who can put on a show. I taught her everything she knows. Not her acting skills but how to not take jack crap from anyone, especially not a guy.
I might be hearing things, but the faintest of growls has me checking over my shoulder for wild animals. I scurry up into the truck and hear it again when I’m buckling up. He’s shifting beside me, a pinched expression noting his irritation.
Tension lingers in the small space I’m sharing with him. I’m glad the battle has ended tonight, but I wonder if the war will continue in the morning.
He’s going for unapproachable, but I’m determined to figure a few things out.
One. His name. That’s not going to be fun.
Two. How does he have the same tattoo as me? Of all the people in the world, I just so happened to meet the one person who chose a star and rose design like mine?
Impossible and utterly intriguing.
No time like the present, I glance over once more. I’m unsure how to broach either topic, but I decide to rip off the proverbial bandage. “What is your name?”
8
Laird
A million thoughts usually tick through my brain when it comes to Poppy. She has managed to leave me speechless regularly. She did before back in Austin, but it’s different now. She’s different. Her words continue to rattle through my brain. I swear to God, I must have heard her wrong. The reality of what that might mean hits deep, and I can’t will myself to ask her to repeat it.
If she doesn’t know my name, what does that mean for all the time I’ve spent thinking about her, wondering if she ever cared or even if she was alive or dead? Did Austin really mean nothing to her? Did I mean nothing?
My gut tells me lies, reassuring me that I did. Not showing up that day still feels out of character for her. Or at least that was how I’d tried to justify it.
I guess it shouldn’t since she’s happily living, breathing, and sitting next to me in the cab of my truck. While driving back to the cabin, I keep my eyes forward. There’s still too much to process for me to respond to her.
If she knows my name, why is she messing with my head?
Coming up here is the worst idea I’ve ever had. Oh wait, it’s my sister’s fault, who conveniently hasn’t called me back. Was this a setup all along? Some fucked-up scheme she and Shane thought was a good idea?
Nikki’s usually not devious. Tulsa brought out a wilder side in her when they were dating, but that was years ago. She seems pretty settled into the band’s upward momentum and her family life. When would she have time to plot?
“Did I cross a line with you?” Poppy’s voice is as steady as her eyes are on me. My chest gets twisted just looking at her, so I don’t, trying to save myself from feeling anything for her. It’s been difficult, so I’m not sure if I’m up for the task.
Though I’m already learning she doesn’t let stuff go, I play her little game. “About ten lines, but who’s counting?”
“You are, apparently,” she says, laughing to herself, “but that’s okay. I can count too. I have you down for four.”
I tweak my neck, turning to face her so fast. “Four?” I shake my head, refusing that shit. “No fucking way.”
“Way. You’ve crossed a line with me four times.” She glances at the road and then back at me, grinning. “That I’ve counted.”
She’s so sure of herself that I need to hear this bullshit. “Name ’em.”
“You scared the crap out of me and made me fall in the kitchen.” Whipping a finger into the air between us, which just happens to be her middle, she says, “That’s one. When you told me to get out of the cabin. That’s two.” Another finger added. “You spied on me when I was leaving, knowing I was upset and still made me go. That’s three.” When her bare ring finger pops up, breathing comes easier, that pressure I had in my chest releasing like a leaky balloon—slowly.