Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 39513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 198(@200wpm)___ 158(@250wpm)___ 132(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 198(@200wpm)___ 158(@250wpm)___ 132(@300wpm)
Me: Can you have someone at the fire department call me?
Dillon: … Why?
Instead of trying to explain, I snap a photo of Rivin and send it to him.
Dillon: JFC. Is that Rivin?
Me: Guilty as charged.
Dillon: Do I even want to know why he’s passed out on your couch?
Me: Nope.
Dillon: I’ll have someone call.
Me: Thanks! I owe you.
He doesn’t respond, which I assume means that he’s on the phone with the fire department, so I head back into the kitchen to start cleaning up. With paw prints through the spilled spices and my footprints in flour, it looks like a culinary crime scene.
I grab the broom to start sweeping. Not even two minutes later, my phone rings.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Dillon Armstrong told me to call you about a situation you have there,” a man says in a deep, rumbling voice.
“Hi, yes,” I say, trying to juggle the phone and sweep at the same time. “Um, a big black lab named Rivin just broke into my kitchen. I think he belongs to one of your firefighters?”
“Jesus Christ. He broke into your goddamn kitchen?”
“Yes. And he ate my kolaches.”
“Maybe don’t let him do that?”
“I didn’t!” I cry, scowling into mid-air. “Did you miss the part where I said he broke in?”
“He’s a dog. How the fuck did he break in?”
“I asked him, but he didn’t answer,” I snap, irritated at the question. “Maybe you’d like to try interrogating him. He’s currently passed out on my couch like he owns the place.”
There's a pause, then the man sighs. “Of course he is.”
“So…can someone come and get him?”
“Yep. On it.”
Before I can say anything else, the line goes dead.
I stare at my phone in disbelief.
"Well, that was helpful," I mutter sarcastically. “Cranky jerk.” With a huff, I drop the phone on the counter to finish sweeping, annoyed by the man who called. I hope he’s better at fighting fires than he is at talking on the phone.
I briefly wonder if he’s the neighbor. It makes sense, considering the man was as inconsiderate as the dog.
I manage to get the spices swept up and am in the process of wiping down the counter when a sharp knock sounds at the front door.
"Coming!" I call, tossing the dishrag aside.
Rivin is still passed out on the couch when I hurry by on the way to the front door, only he’s sprawled out on his back, his hind legs in the air. I shake my head at the sight, unable to be annoyed at the adorable, inconsiderate menace. His owner, on the other hand…
The front door rattles with the force of his next knock.
“Hold your freaking horses!” I shout, practically snapping the darn deadbolt as I rip it to the side. Good grief. He’s impatient for a man who didn’t even know his dog was missing!
I swing open the front door, ready to give him a piece of my mind…and nearly swallow my tongue instead. The most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen is standing on my front porch without a shirt, his jeans riding low on his hips. Intricate tattoos cover his chiseled chest and ribcage. They’re sprawled across his muscular arms and down his side. Every single one is breathtaking. So is his body, every inch of him golden brown and carved from muscle.
My eyes slowly travel up, and I fight the urge to whimper. He’s so damn beautiful. Dark, unruly hair sweeps over his forehead, giving way to warm brown eyes and a face that’s all sharp planes and perfect angles.
If this is my new neighbor, Mrs. Abernathy lied. He is not a handsome, sweet boy. He’s a freaking gorgeous giant of a man. One currently making my lady bits tingle.
“Um…” I stutter, staring at him like a crazy person, all thoughts of telling him off long forgotten.
“Goddamn,” he growls, his hot gaze prowling down my body. “No one told me I moved in next to an angel.”
Just like that, the spell is broken.
This is my new neighbor, and he’s the jerk I just spoke to on the phone. Worse, it seems like he’s just like every other firefighter I’ve ever heard about. They flirt with anything that moves and use their hero status like it’s a Get into Bed Free card.
I bet that’s what he was doing while his dog was breaking in over here—sexting some girl.
Why does that thought make me so irrationally jealous? He can sext whoever he wants. Except...the thought makes my stomach hurt.
Ugh.
I quickly cross my arms, hiding my boobs as his gaze lingers on them.
An unapologetic grin slides across his face.
“My eyes are up here,” I snap, immediately irritated that I’m not nearly irritated enough. I like the way he’s looking at me a little too much. I’m a big girl. Not many men look my way with heat in their eyes the way he is right now.