Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 134830 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134830 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
I exit my camera app and start looking through the shots to see what I should pick when another text from Nessa pops up at the top of the screen and I click over to find that she’s sent me a GIF of Bugs Bunny drumming his fingers on a table. She’s waiting, still wanting a pic. I shouldn’t, but I send her one of the ones of Kyle almost posing. Nearly instantly, she replies with OMG! Girl, get you three scoops of that banana split.
Not happening. He’s an asshole. A pretty one, but an asshole, nonetheless. I’m sure of it.
Nessa laughs. Hate sex can be good sex. Tear the headboard off the wall, smack each other’s asses, say filthy things. That’s all I’m saying.
I send back an eye roll emoji and set my phone on the counter, choosing the live action out the window as I wash the day’s dishes. Usually, I use the view to curse my neighbor. Today? I’ve never been so thankful for the window over my sink.
There’s always a lot of dishes, and a lot of scrubbing to do, so I’m busy for hours. My steel wool budget is considerable, and if I had my wish, I’d get one of those pressure washers that can strip the chrome off a bumper. Something like that would be just enough to get through caramelized onion crust on stainless steel.
It’s after five when there’s a knock on my door. I look up to see Mr. Asshole himself standing on my front step, looking like a sex dream, if I’m being honest.
How’d I miss him getting all the way to my door from Kathy’s yard? Guess I was a bit too focused on scrubbing this pot, I think with a glare of ‘I’ll be back’ at the offending dish.
Drying my hands on a towel, I walk to the door, not opening it for him. Through the screen, I ask, “What?”
He holds up a fifty-dollar bill. “I told you I’d pay for Joshua. I meant it.”
My pride basically demands that I tell him to take that money and shove it up his ass. I don’t need his pity, his charity, or his interference in my business in the first place. But pride doesn’t pay the bills. Logic does, and losing a regular customer hurt, even if Joshua overstepped so many boundaries he might as well have been jumping hurdles.
It pains me, literally makes my stomach clench, but I open the door a crack and snake my hand out to take the money. “Joshua only missed two meals this week, so I’ll count the other thirty toward next week.”
Kyle dips his chin as he scrapes his hand over his scruffy jawline like he’s thinking. He smiles at me, and once again, I’m sure that look has made many a pair of panties fall. “Naw, the fifty is for today, for Joshua and his crew. You didn’t only lose out on his payment, but the whole truckload of guys, right?”
Dammit, how could he even guess that? Was he watching them? With a start, I realize he wasn’t watching them. He was watching me. But he’s right. Blackballing Joshua meant I lost the whole crew.
At least temporarily. I’m sure they’ll be back. Eventually, Joshua’s boss will swing by one afternoon after the lunch rush, beg forgiveness, and send Joshua to apologize profusely so they can get back on my good side. Or just leave his immature ass at the job site to feast on the cold leftovers. But it wasn’t today, that’s for sure.
Still, it’s too much. “You don’t have to do that,” I argue, my pride rearing up. “Seriously.”
He shrugs, looking both sexy and bashful at the same time, which makes him even sexier, dammit. “I know, but I want to. Think of it as good will.”
“The only good will I need is for you to move your truck.”
That’s it, Dani, stay mad at him. Find reasons to stay mad and not think about his chest with its dinner plate pecs and oh, so sexy… nope, not thinking about those silver bars, woman! Stay mad!
Why the hell can’t I just say thank you? I don’t know, but those two little words are nowhere to be found on my tongue. I want to curse at Kyle and yell that I don’t need or want his pity. I work hard, and all I need is for him to stay outta my way.
And again, he just rolls with it. The man’s a fucking emotional jiu-jitsu master or something. “Working on that too. Kathy’s a piece of work, though I suspect you know that better than I do.”
Well, at least that’s something we agree on. “She’s a stuck-up bitch who thinks she’s better than everyone else,” I reply honestly. “Especially me.”
His smile vanishes, and I swear there’s a tick in his jaw like he’s gritting his teeth. But there’s no need for him to get all riled up. Not again. I’ve been dealing with Kathy for over a year at this point, ever since she moved in and decided that my cute but old, and okay, a little rundown, house didn’t deserve to be beside her bigger, ready to be gutted and renovated home improvement project.