Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 112917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
I’d fantasized about being naked with him innumerable times, and I’d been in a green rage each time another man had the privilege.
Was it truly possible no man had actually had that privilege? And if so, what did that mean for Zane? Was he going to deny himself that kind of sexual pleasure until sometime in the distant future when he retired? Surely he could find someone he trusted enough to sleep with?
Why not Landry? And… if not Landry, what had all those moans coming from Zane’s room been about?
I fell asleep without any answers.
The next morning’s visit into the small town of Barlo took enough arranging to fully distract me. My boss, Violet, had put a logistics coordinator on it, who’d brought in additional help in the form of off-duty Barlo law enforcement officers and other security personnel.
It was a bit of a production, but I appreciated that the people hired to help us seemed professional and were willing to try to keep the situation as low-key as possible.
Our first stop was a place called the Neatnik, a breakfast diner where Zane had worked as a busser in middle school. I’d secretly developed a mini-obsession with their breakfast potatoes, so I didn’t mind this stop one bit.
“Please tell me we’re not going to Bart’s place again,” I muttered before taking a sip of coffee.
We weren’t alone at the large round booth. But Zane’s great-aunt Shell was busy gossiping with every local who entered the place, and her granddaughter was busy taking selfies with Zane in the background while pretending to check her hair.
“No. I was trying to figure out how to tell him we didn’t have time when he told me that he’s being sent on a job up in Cordelle. But I did tell Jordy Crowder we’d stop by his print shop.” Zane flashed me an apologetic wince. “Sorry, but after he didn’t charge me for the printing on all those field day shirts last year, I felt like I owed him a solid.”
He was right. Even though the good old boy was a talker, he was a good guy, and he helped Zane out with plenty of local charity projects. “We already have that one on the schedule. I’m trying to figure out which unexpected ones are going to pop up while we’re out and about. Bart’s is usually the one that pops up.”
Bart was an ass, and he never hesitated to drag Zane to the HVAC service center where he worked to impress his boss and sucker Zane into a photo op.
Zane pressed his lips together in thought before his eyes brightened and his cheeks turned a little pink. “Oh, Carrie-Beth said I might run into Sully Bynam and, if so, to be sure and ask to see his tulip poplars.”
Shell overheard and snapped her head around. “Sully’s tulip poplars are a sight to behold. You’ve never seen golden beauties like those. A whole driveway full of ’em. It’s like… like something on TV.”
I couldn’t remember why that name sounded familiar… until I remembered Pearl talking around the bonfire about the one hot gay guy in Barlo.
“We might not have time for any of that,” I said gruffly.
Zane shrugged. “We probably won’t see him anyway.”
Right. Zane seemed to forget that when he was in Barlo, everyone and their hot gay uncle flocked to the tiny downtown area to catch sight of him.
The rest of the day was a nightmare. Several times, I’d thought someone was trying to get close enough to Zane to sneak a stamp onto his skin, and I’d roughly interjected myself between the stranger and my principal. Each time, it had turned out to simply be a friend or fan with innocent intentions.
Several months ago, Zane had laughingly sent me an Instagram video of Lionel Messi’s bodyguard comically cutting off zealous fans before they could get to the famous soccer star. That was what my day in Barlo ended up looking like.
Thankfully, Zane politely declined the (admittedly gorgeous) Sully Bynam’s offer to see his poplars, and we ended up back at Gran’s before dinner. Zane threw himself down in the corner of the large sectional sofa and pulled out his phone while I went to the kitchen to grab him a fresh water bottle and some carrot sticks out of the fridge.
As I was walking back into the family room, I caught sight of his face as his jaw dropped and his complexion paled. His eyes flicked from his phone screen up to me, and I saw him hesitate for a split second before sighing and handing me the phone. I handed him the water and carrots before sitting on the edge of the coffee table across from him and looking at his screen.
The email on the screen was from a junk Gmail address and had been sent to Zane’s private, personal email account—the one that only the brotherhood, his agent, his manager, and a few other select people had access to.