Total pages in book: 12
Estimated words: 11865 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 59(@200wpm)___ 47(@250wpm)___ 40(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 11865 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 59(@200wpm)___ 47(@250wpm)___ 40(@300wpm)
“Sammy? Where are you?” a man asks.
“Hello. He’s not here right now. Can I help you?”
“Whoa. Yes, you can, sugar,” he says, causing me to scrunch my face at him. I don’t like him at all.
“Who are you?”
“Caleb, Sammy’s younger brother,” he replies, moving closer to me. Eww, Sammy. I would bet my life that Samson hates that nickname.
“Ah, well, as I said, he’s not here.”
“But you are?”
“Obviously,” I deadpan. “You should go; I’ll tell him you stopped by.”
“Nah, I think I’ll wait,” he says, sitting down on the couch. I jump up before he can touch me, even accidentally.
“Suit yourself,” I say, grabbing my things off the couch and hightailing it to my room, shutting and locking the door behind me. I breathe a sigh of relief once I am inside.
I realize that the note I was going to leave on the counter for him is in my hand. Shit, I don’t want him to think that I forgot, but I don’t want his brother to see it. I open my door a little and hear the tv. It’s loud sex noises. Ugh, is he watching porn at his brother’s house? I shake my head and sneak down the hallway to Samson’s room. I open the door and look around. It’s the first time I’ve been in this room. It smells like his cologne. I don’t want to do anything crazy like snoop through his drawers, so I drop his note on the center of his bed and get back in my room, with the door shut and locked. After I get ready for bed, I hear the knob on my door rattle, like someone is trying to open it. Is it Samson?
“Fucking little bitch,” Caleb says just loud enough to be heard through the door. I dive under my covers and huddle there, not sleeping until I hear shouting. I get up and crack my door, so I can hear what’s going on.
“Where is she?” Samson yells.
“How the fuck should I know? She was a cold bitch,” Caleb says. Samson growls.
“Don’t fucking talk about her like that.”
“Ah, I see how it is. We’ll see if it lasts.”
“Go home, Caleb. You’re drunk. Wait for your rideshare in the lobby.”
“Whatever, bro. Dad says we got a meeting tomorrow at Mulligan’s.”
“I know. I’ll be there.”
As soon as I hear the elevator door close, I run out of my room and into the living room.
“Samson?” I say. As soon as he turns to look at me, I run and jump into his arms. He lifts me up. This is the first time we’ve touched since I lost my shit that first night.
“Are you alright, Riley? I should have warned you about him.”
“I’m fine. I’ve known guys like that my whole life. I locked myself in my bedroom.”
“I’m going to fucking kill him,” he says.
“No fratricide, please,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.
“You did good, peaches,” he says, making me smile. He sets me down and that’s when I see it. He’s covered in blood.
“Oh my God, you’re hurt!” I exclaim.
“It’s no big deal. The guy fought back. I guess he didn’t want to die today.”
“Did he?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“Yes.”
“Let me help you with those cuts. I think your nose is broken.”
“I’ll take care of my nose. The first aid kit is in the cabinet by the sink,” he says, grabbing his nose and twisting like it’s nothing. I hear it pop, and then he sniffs. I guess this isn’t his first broken nose. When they set mine, I thought I’d die for a second, but thankfully the pain didn’t last.
“Sit down at the table,” I tell him. I hear the chair scrape on the hardwood floor as he pulls it out. I grab the first aid kit and go to him. I like that he needs me, but not that he’s hurt.
“Did he see you in that?” he asks. I look down at the tiny t-shirt and cheerleading shorts I have on.
“No. Of course not. This is what I sleep in.”
“You look like a little fantasy,” he murmurs so softly I almost don’t hear it.
“Why do you call me peaches?” I ask mainly because I don’t know what to say to that.
“Because you’re fresh-faced like a ripe Georgia peach,” he says, making me laugh.
“You’re crazy.”
“Maybe so,” he says, wincing as I dab some alcohol on the cuts on his forehead and under his eye. I blow on it to ease the sting. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
“Sorry if I’m hurting you.”
“I’ll live,” he says, chuckling.
“You better,” I reply. I already know I’m falling in love with this man, and I know I’ll be left heartbroken when he doesn’t reciprocate, but I’ll survive like I’ve survived everything else thrown at me. He puts his hands on my hips, and our eyes meet.