Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
I offer a genuine smile as he opens the door.
“You have the best smile, Watts. You really should show it off more often.”
I slip off my shoes. “I smile a lot … in the right company.”
“I used to be the right company.” He slides off his suit jacket and heads toward the stairs.
“You used to be a lot of things,” I say, feeling a million more emotions than I did the night I shot a man in the leg because my friend had a knife held to her throat.
Colten pauses, but he doesn’t look back at me. “Have I mentioned how proud I am of your accomplishments?”
It rubs me wrong … in the worst way. He keeps parroting that sentiment. “Have I mentioned that you had nothing to do with my accomplishments?” I head toward the kitchen and the sound of a five-year-old giggling.
“Josie!” Becca smiles, setting a steaming casserole dish onto the stove. “I’m so glad you could join us.” She takes off her oven mitts.
“I feel like I’m intruding, but I wanted to get a chance to say goodbye before you left. Hey, Reagan. I heard you’re going home with your mom tomorrow.”
She glances up from her coloring book and nods. “Uh-huh.”
“Well, it’s been fun getting to know you. I hope we get to see each other again.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Reagan, go see if your dad wants a salad with his dinner,” Becca says.
“I’m coloring.”
Becca shakes her head. “You’re killing my knees with these stairs.”
“I’ll go.” I wink at Becca.
“Thanks, dear.”
When I reach the top of the stairs, I glance in each bedroom. The primary bedroom is the last on the right. And the second I realize that, I’m staring at a half-dressed man. Jeans on but unbuttoned with the zipper down. A gray tee with his arms through it but not pulled over his head yet.
Damn …
Everything about Colten Mosley is all grown up. I much prefer a living, breathing, perfect human specimen.
After my gaze goes right to his unbuttoned jeans, it slides up a few inches to the long scar on his abdomen.
“Watts?”
My gaze snaps up to his, and I swallow before clearing my throat. “Do you want a salad? Your uh … mom wants to know.”
“A salad sounds good.” He threads the shirt over his head and pulls it down his torso before buttoning his jeans. He wasn’t this muscular the last time I saw so much of his body. I’ve seen a lot of bodies, so it’s strange that I’m visually enamored with his, but … I am.
Since my brain has decided to completely go off the rails, I go ahead and take a quick scan of his bedroom.
King bed.
Striped bedding.
Tall dresser.
Nothing special.
No photos on the wall, just a coat of gray paint.
How many women has he had in his bed? More than the number of men who have been in mine? Am I really thinking it’s a competition?
“I’ll tell her I want a salad if you need a few more minutes to check out my bedroom.”
“No.” I refocus on him and shake my head. “I’m going. Take your time.”
“Did I ever tell you what I saw the day you fell out of the tree and broke your arm?”
I turn back toward him. He rubs his fingers over his lips like he’s trying to hide his grin.
“What you saw?”
He nods, taking a seat on the end of his bed. “I ran into the house, but nobody was downstairs. So I ran upstairs. Benji was in his bed, and I was panicked over you, so I opened the door to your parents’ bedroom. I didn’t knock because it was an emergency, and really … what would they be doing anyway?”
My nose wrinkles. I’m afraid of where this is going.
On a nervous laugh, he runs a hand through his dark hair. “I witnessed your mom giving your dad head.”
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
I didn’t hear him correctly. I was crying in the woods with a broken arm, and my mom was giving my dad a quick blow job before my curfew ended? I have seen and smelled the most grotesque and vile things, but this image that’s now in my head is far worse.
“It was kinda crazy,” Colten continues.
I don’t know if I want him to continue. I think I want him to stop. Better yet, I would have preferred he never ever tell me this. He hates me. This proves it.
“You were injured, waiting for help, and I was supposed to be the one getting help, but then I walked in on them, and your mom ran into their bathroom, while I just … stared at your dad’s cock. I had never seen one so damn big.”
A little bile works its way up my throat as I shake my head repeatedly, silently pleading for him to stop. My dad peed a lot on our hunting and fishing trips, but his back was always to me. I never saw his penis, until now.