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)
“You’re smiling,” Janey says, an easy smile on her face too.
“Tsk… I do that all the time,” I quip, trying to play it off. “I’m like Chuckles the Clown over here. All smiles, grins, and good times.”
Kayla points a perfectly manicured nail my way. “Not like that, you don’t. That’s real.”
My smile falls instantly, and I clench my teeth together. I smile around my family all the time. That’s who I am—the surface guy, nothing heavy, nothing serious, everything’s fine. But hearing Kayla say that she can see the difference in my smiles is jarring. I don’t like being seen for real.
I roll myself out of the chair, letting my body thud to the floor before hopping up to my booted feet dramatically, yanking the attention away from my traitorous mouth that apparently shows too much. “On that note, I probably need to get going. Early morning tomorrow. Janey, you sure you want to keep Peanut Butter? He can go home with me.” I whistle and pat my thigh. “Pee-Bee-Jay, come here, big guy.”
A tan, fur-covered head pops out of a doorway at the end of the hall, peering out but not coming. I hold out a Slim Jim to entice him, but he sighs, turns around, and all I see is the wag of his tail before I hear his feet land on the bed again.
“Guess that answers that,” Janey says, laughing.
“He did not just turn down a Slim Jim and lovin’ from me. I think my feelings are hurt.” I stare down the hallway, incredulous. “How much fetch did you play?”
Janey only laughs harder. “He’s fine. I really would prefer to have him here while I try to sleep. If I need to, I’ll drop him off at doggie day care tomorrow.”
I nod, accepting her declaration at face value. “Alright. Thank you, and you should have enough food left in his Tupperware.” She nods, agreeing there’s plenty. “Bye, Asshole,” I call down the hallway to my two-timing dog, who apparently loves Janey as much as he loves me now. “And bye…” Four sets of eyes pin me with warning glares. “To you lovely ladies too,” I finish with a bow of my head, peeking up to see their rolling eyes and tiny smiles.
I close the door behind me, leaving the women to continue their girls’ night in with Janey, but before I can step off the porch, Cole’s disembodied voice asks, “Want me to look into your neighbor situation?”
It’s a generous offer, especially from him. It’s Cole’s way of saying he gives a shit about me. But I want to learn about Dani from her, like how she told me about her family and their restaurant tonight. Information on a page doesn’t show the hitched breaths, pain in her eyes, and fire in her words the way hearing her tell it does, and that’s what I want.
“Thanks, but I’m good for now,” I tell my brother. “I’ll keep an eye on Janey for you,” I vow again. “So will Peanut Butter.”
And then I stride across the yard, hop their fence that’s more for aesthetics than security, but only because Janey wouldn’t let Cole electrify it, and climb back in my truck. I hope Janey gets some sleep because I’m not gonna get a wink, thinking about Dani and everything I learned about the sexy, mouthy, strong-willed woman I can’t wait to see again tomorrow.
CHAPTER 13
DANI
“Come in and sit for a cup,” I tell Nessa as she drops the last bag of my supplies to the floor by the front door.
“Sit? Who are you and what have you done with my friend?” Nessa balks, eyeing me suspiciously.
She’s right, I don’t usually stop working, much less actually sit down. There’s no time in my life for luxuries like that. But…
“I understand, you’re busy and gotta go. Just thought you might want to hear about my evening.”
Nessa’s jaw drops open and her eyes pop wide. “Ohmagawd, did you do it? Did you fuck Sugarbear? Girl, gimme a cup, double sweet, double cream, and spill the beans, pronto.”
I don’t simply pour a cup of generic brew. That’s for desperate times only. For things like this, I know how to make a to-die-for cafecito. I learned from a friend of Papa’s, Mr. Alamar. He was a real Cubano, born in an era before Castro, and taught me so that I could make him one to accompany his daily lunch when he came to the restaurant. He said it was his afternoon jet fuel, and he was right, because I can’t have one after about ten AM or I won’t sleep a bit. As it is, I’ll be flying through today like my feet have wings even though I’m drinking this before eight in the morning.
My stovetop espresso is ready, and I add a small amount of it to a cup with some sugar. Whipping it to a foam, I start to tell Nessa, “I didn’t fuck him, but I’ve been thinking about it.”