Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 142728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“I like you in purple,” he says, which doesn’t really answer my question.
“I mean, should I wear something nicer? I brought a blouse and skirt.” They’re probably both wrinkled from being stuffed in my backpack, though.
“Em, no one cares. Everyone’s laid-back here.” He blinks as if he’s trying to remember something. “Pretty sure some of the girls get together for yoga before breakfast and show up in whatever they wear to that. Or pajamas.”
“Oh.” I paw through my bag again. Did I bring leggings?
He pulls my backpack away and holds out his hand. “Do you want to hang that up in there?” He nods to his closet, then the skirt and blouse I’m still holding.
He peers into my open bag. “You brought a lot for an overnight. Do you want to leave some of it here?”
My heart flutters but then my stomach churns. “I wasn’t sure what would be appropriate to wear. I didn’t bring all this stuff so I could move in or anything.”
His jaw clenches. “I want you to be comfortable here. Leave whatever you want.”
I hand over the skirt and blouse.
“Thank you,” he says in this sexy-sarcastic way that should be annoying, but it’s too hot.
After placing my outfit in his closet next to a row of neatly hung shirts arranged by sleeve length, he stalks to his dresser, yanks open the two top drawers, scoops everything out of the first one and drops them into the second.
He holds out his hand again. “Give me whatever you want to leave here.”
My gaze shifts from his determined face to the now-empty drawer. “You’re taller. You should keep the top drawer.”
At first he frowns, then he shakes with laughter. “It really doesn’t matter, Emily.”
“Well,” I glance around the room, “I’d say I’d leave the green set here, but the panties need a good trip through the washer and I’m not even sure where they ended up.”
He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “There’s a washer and dryer on this floor.”
“Oh. Convenient.”
He cocks his head, still waiting.
“Okay, okay.” I grab my backpack and tip it upside down, spilling everything onto the bed. My cheeks flame. I really did overpack.
I grab a black cotton bra and panty set, a long-sleeved T-shirt, a tank top, and a pair of black leggings. Hah! I knew I’d packed them.
“Here.” I turn and hand him the items.
He nods his approval.
“Oh, here. These too.” I hand him a pair of thick socks.
“There, was that so hard?”
“I feel bad, I haven’t asked you to leave anything at my place,” I admit.
“The apartment I’m staying at isn’t that far from your house. We’re in the middle of nowhere here,” he explains. “Although, the girls are usually helpful at rounding up stuff if anyone needs it.”
Someone pounds on Dex’s bedroom door. “Downstairs in ten!” they shout.
“The fuck?” Dex growls.
Whoever it is continues pounding on doors and making the same announcement up and down the hallway.
Shouts of “fuck off” and loud groans can be heard outside our room.
Dex grabs his phone and checks his messages. A deep frown creases his brow.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Not sure. We were meeting at eleven anyway. Don’t know why it suddenly got moved up.”
I finish getting dressed, grab my phone, then follow Dex out of his room. We join a few of his rumpled, bed-headed brothers in marching down the stairs.
A bunch of people seem to be clustered near the doors Dex said belonged to their “war room.” Some of the women I met last night are with them.
Shelby’s eyes widen and she runs over to hug me. “Mornin’!”
“What’s going on?” Dex asks Rooster.
Rooster glances at us and shakes his head. “Still waitin’ for Rock, Murphy, and Z to get here.”
Dex blows out an annoyed breath but doesn’t say anything.
Sparky ambles up to us, his long, baggy jeans trailing over the hardwood floor.
“Was that you I saw feeding the birds at the crack of dawn?” I ask.
He lifts his head and stares at me, like I caught him doing something naughty and I’m tattling to his parents.
“Wait a minute?” Wrath gasps and joins our circle. “Sparky was outside in the daylight? Willingly?”
“Sorry,” I mutter to Sparky.
He shrugs it off. “I like the birds. Their music brings harmony to the home.”
“Their shit brings out my need to slap you around when it lands on my bike,” Wrath warns.
“It’s good luck,” Sparky insists.
Shelby steps up and taps a finger against Sparky’s chest. “I’ve got a good one I’ve been saving up for ya, Sparky.”
He waits with a hopeful expression, similar to a basset hound under the dinner table, waiting for you to throw a treat.
“Why can bees handle their liquor?” Shelby grins and rocks back on her heels.
Sparky scratches his head. “Because they only get a little buzzed?”
“Damn.” Shelby actually stomps her foot. “Thought that’d take you more than two seconds.”