Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“Are you gonna still love me if I’m not a criminal? I know a bad boy does it for you.”
He did it for me. “Babe,” I crawled into his lap and kissed his jaw, “I don’t think you have to worry about getting a halo just yet.”
“I’ll put a fucking halo in you.” He bit my lip before shoving me back onto the couch.
I laughed. That didn’t even make sense, but it didn’t have to. It was Hendrix. He went for the waist of my pajama bottoms, and I stopped him.
“Zepp’s going to come back in any second,” I said.
He reached behind him and grabbed a ratty blanket from the couch, covering us both. “And he’ll go right back out.”
***
Chad’s headlights cut over the old porch as he backed out of Hendrix’s drive. Gracie shot around Hendrix toward the front door, high on peppermint cotton candy and Christmas joy.
“A hundred bucks. Just to take her to see Santa?” Hendrix stared at me, white puffs of air passing his lips.
“Mr. Lancaster clearly doesn’t know how much cotton candy costs. Although, thirty bucks for a picture with Santa…maybe you should dress up next year.” I laughed at the thought of him in stripey elf tights.
Hendrix unlocked the door, and Gracie ran inside the second it swung open. This was the first time the Lancasters had allowed Gracie to come over. Having her here was nostalgic, and it felt right. Complete.
“You heard Beaverlichetenstein say where he was going, right?”
“Kyle’s?”
He lifted a brow on his way through the door. “I bet you ten bucks and a blowjob that they’re banging.”
“Chad and Kyle? I’m pretty sure Kyle is asexual.” I’d never seen him look at anyone, although he did blush and get even more awkward around Chad. Maybe…
Giggles came from the living room as I wrestled out of my ratty coat, followed by the sound of Zepp groaning. If I had to guess, Gracie was climbing all over him.
Hendrix latched the deadbolt. “When he picks up Gracie, I’m asking him if Kyle purrs like Chewbacca when he gets off.”
“Oh my God. I do not want to think about how Kyle sounds.” I tossed the coat on the banister. “That’s like you thinking about Zepp. Gross.”
“I can’t believe I thought you were banging that sack of—” His eye twitched as he fought the need to finish that sentence. I would punch him. “Friend…ly…ness.”
“Good job, babe.” I pressed a kiss to his chilled lips and left him in the foyer, stripping out of his layers.
As suspected, I found Gracie climbing on Zepp’s back on the couch and shoving a glittery-pink, zebra-striped Santa hat over his dark hair.
I grinned at Zepp. “Having fun, Grumpy?”
“I’m tolerating the hat because it’s her.” His attention drifted to the doorway. One of his dark brows shot up when Hendrix strutted past the Christmas tree with the sleek, black Coach bag slung over his shoulder like he was about to walk the runway.
“Why are you wearing a purse?” He glanced at me, then pointed at Hendrix. “Why is he wearing a purse?”
“He bought it.” I emphasized the word bought because, well, he bought something over the value of five bucks.
A look of pure confusion washed over Zepp’s face while Gracie fluffed the cotton ball tail of the hat. “What?”
“Look.” The handbag landed on the coffee table. “Don’t question my genius, jailbait.” Hendrix crossed the room and grabbed Gracie from Zepp’s back. “He’s been in prison, Gracie. Don’t touch him.”
“But everyone’s been in prison.” God, Barrington hadn’t stripped her of that little tidbit.
I went into the kitchen and made hot chocolate while the guys occupied my princess-crazy, sugar-high sister. I was putting milk in the drinks when Hendrix came in and snatched one—without milk. He took a massive gulp, immediately spitting it back into the mug and fanning his mouth.
I shook my head. “How many times do I have to tell you to blow on your food before you just shove it into your mouth?” At least twice a week.
“First of all. It’s not food; it’s a drink.” He grabbed a paper towel, wet it, then raked it over his tongue like that would do something. “And blowing on it does not cool it down.”
“And paper toweling your nuked mouth does…”
I gathered the other three mugs and took them to the living room. Hendrix followed me—with his nuclear-hot drink.
“How long would I have to blow on it to cool it down enough not to burn my tongue?” he said. “Three minutes? I’m thirsty.” He took another sip, swallowed it, then sucked in air. “I don’t have three minutes.”
“Did you really burn your mouth again just to prove a point?”
He jutted out his chin and pounded a fist over his chest. “The pain makes me feel like a man.”
Gracie grabbed her mug and looked up at him. “You don’t always feel like a man?”