Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78566 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78566 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
“I don’t have a number. More than one, though. I’d have liked siblings growing up. It was lonely.”
“If I didn’t have all my cousins who were as close as siblings, I would have probably been lonely too.”
“So, what are you making here?” Rowe asked, gesturing toward my table.
“A love spell,” I told him, watching the look of horror cross his face. “Oh, my God. Your face,” I said, a laugh bubbling up and bursting out. “It’s going to be bath bombs,” I told him. “With soft, feminine, floral scents and a rose quartz. For self-love,” I explained. “I don’t do spells. I know a lot of Wiccans, but I prefer to just let the Universe do its thing. Can you hand me the bag of rose quartz crystals from my mail table?” I asked.
And once that was done, I had him fetch the coconut oil, the essential oils, the Epsom salt, the baking soda, and the citric acid.
It wasn’t until he was done with all of the fetching that he got suspicious. “Are you trying to make me move around more?” he asked, giving me small eyes.
“It worked, didn’t it?” I asked, shooting him a smirk. “I think we sometimes get hung up in the consistency of our aches and pains and act in anticipation of it rather than react to it when it comes. I mean, I’m not talking about chronic pain. But after a new injury kind of thing. We get used to the limited number of things we could do at the beginning and don’t try to keep testing the limits to see if they’ve moved.”
“I am going to therapy,” he insisted. “Like you demanded.”
“I know. And that’s good. But back injuries are better if you keep as active as possible. Now if you had sat on your ass and watched TV like I’d suggested first, you could have avoided all the activity,” I added, frustrated with myself for not being able to stay cold and distant with him, despite my better angels reminding me how important it was.
Especially if I wanted to avoid having a conversation about what had happen at the tantric sex class.
And I definitely wanted to avoid that.
I mean, what could I say?
Sorry but despite your absolutely devastating rejection of me, and the months and months of insecurity and intrusive thoughts that followed, I still can’t seem to make myself stop thinking about you and wanting you and, apparently, having contactless orgasms with you?
Ugh.
No.
“You should rest for a little while now,” I suggested, waving back toward the couch. “Once I get these made, I will figure out a plan for dinner.”
Either his back was starting to give him an issue, or he picked up on the slight desperation in my voice, because he took himself over to the living room and sat down, leaving me to get lost in my task for a while.
It wasn’t until I had the bombs sitting on a tray to finish drying completely that I realized Rowe was so quiet because he’d manage to nod off, even with that bulky, uncomfortable-looking brace on.
I kicked out of my shoes, walking barefoot across the room to grab one of the blankets off the back of the couch, spreading it carefully up over his legs, stomach, and chest.
It wasn’t until I was about to drop the blanket over his shoulders that I realized his eyes had opened, and he was watching me with a warm, sleepy gaze.
“You looked cold,” I explained, feeling a not unfamiliar tightening sensation across my chest at the softness in those dark eyes.
His hand moved, slipped out from under the blanket, reached for my wrist, his thumb tracing over the pulse point on the underside.
His mouth opened like he was about to say something.
But that was exactly when there was a clatter outside the door.
Rowe’s words—along with my father’s—must have had more impact than I’d realized. Because I didn’t even think about it. I plunged my hand under the blanket and up Rowe’s jeans to grab the small gun out of its holster before Rowe could even sit up.
By the time the door pushed open, I had the gun raised and Rowe had reached for his other one.
“Jesus, what the fuck, Billie?” Vi asked, coming to a startled stop. “Where did all the love and light and ‘guns are evil’ shit go?” she asked, reaching out into the hall to grab the duffle bag she must have dropped while looking for her key. “Oh, Rowe too. Did I miss a call from the parentals? What is going on with the club now?” she asked, kicking the door closed with one of her combat boots, then taking a second to lock it.
“The club? Nothing,” Rowe explained, tucking his gun away, then reaching for the one I was holding in a shaking hand at my side, not liking how frightened I’d been… or how easily I could have shot Violet. “Billie has a stalker,” he explained, giving my wrist a reassuring squeeze before I stepped away, crossing my arms to hide the tremble.