Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 31942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 160(@200wpm)___ 128(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 160(@200wpm)___ 128(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
He stops walking too. He swallows and I watch the way his throat works. I pressed kisses along the column of his neck in that elevator. Kisses that made him groan and whisper things under his breath. Why can’t he acknowledge how good we would be together?
“I’m not doing this with you, Charlie. We’re not a couple, and we never will be.”
“Because I’m not good enough,” I repeat the words as I brush past him. He’s such an asshole. There are a million things he could have said in that moment back then. He didn’t have to act like I wasn’t enough. I duck my head and try to sniff quietly. I’m not sure which of us I’m talking to when I say, “Another guy would be lucky to have me. He’d worship the ground I walk on.”
He growls and the next thing I know, my back is pressed against the scratchy bark of a towering tree. “Who the fuck told you you’re not good enough? Give me a name.”
“You did,” I swallow hard against the lump in my throat. “That day in the elevator. After the kiss.”
I’ve never seen Brody look shocked. Not much gets past his tough guy exterior. But for once, he’s surprised. “I told myself that. It was me I was talking about back then. Sure as hell not you, lamb. You’re everything good and pure in this world.”
He’s pressing himself up against me, caging me in and I can feel every point of contact from our chests down to our hips and thighs. If he weren’t pinning me with his strength, I’d be tempted to rub against him like a cat in heat. Instead, I focus on his words. “You think you’re the one that’s not good enough?”
A mixture of sadness and longing cross his face before he steps back from me. “Yeah, lamb. I’m not good enough for you.”
For a moment, I’m staring at a battered teenage boy all over again. I wish I could go back in time and give him a hug. I wish he could understand how none of what happened to him was his fault. “I think you’re perfect.”
He snorts. “That’s because you don’t know the real me.”
“I know that you’re the guy that likes to act tough but you stop your car to let the ducks cross the road safely.”
He starts walking but I don’t stop talking. I just raise my voice. “I know that you’re the one who used to secretly mow Mrs. Johnson’s yard after her husband got cancer. I know every year at Christmastime, you pick a down-on-their-luck family and anonymously leave gifts and cash on their doorstep because you know what it’s like to get nothing on Christmas morning.”
He continues to ignore me, and I huff. This man is amazing, and he can’t even see it. “Slow down there.” His legs are so long. It takes me about three strides to make up for just one of his.
Because I’m hurrying to match his stride, I don’t see the rock until too late. The hiking boots I borrowed from Sierra catch on it and before I can stop myself, I’m tumbling down the creek embankment and landing with a splash in the cold water.
6
CHARLIE
I’m on my feet and sputtering out water before I even know what’s happened.
Brody is thumping me on the back and scowling down at me. He’s soaked too and that’s when I realize he must have plucked me out of the water. Damn, he was fast. I barely had a second to even register I was in the creek before he was lifting me up.
“I’m OK. I’m OK,” I repeat as my nose runs and my throat burns. I bend over with my hands on my knees and let out a series of coughs. When I can finally breathe again normally, I let out a relieved sigh. “See? I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. You’re bleeding.” I didn’t think it was possible, but his scowl deepens as he nudges me toward a big flat boulder in the edge of the creek. I wonder how far we are from the waterfall.
I settle in the spot he indicates, and he drops to his knees in front of me. He ignores the water swirling around him and reaches for my arm. “You must have gotten sliced up on some of these rocks as you came down the embankment.”
“I don’t know that it’s a big de—” Before I can finish my statement, he reaches for the sleeve of Sierra’s t-shirt and rips it apart. Holy hell, this man is strong. He didn’t even have to do the grunting face that I have to do when I’m trying to fit into my jeans the day after a Chinese food binge.
“It’s deep. You have quite the gash.” He’s already fishing through his backpack for supplies. I bet he brought enough stuff with us that he could surgically reattach my leg if the moment called for it.