Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 42306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 212(@200wpm)___ 169(@250wpm)___ 141(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 212(@200wpm)___ 169(@250wpm)___ 141(@300wpm)
If I were smart, I’d do just as Mason instructed and stay far away.
But that’s the problem.
I’m not smart.
Because all I can think about is the next time I’ll be able to feel his lips on mine.
Mason
What the hell had I been thinking when I decided to tow her car to my place?
Oh, that’s right.
I hadn’t been.
It’s not even noon and already I can tell the day will be a scorcher. I drag my forearm across my brow to wipe away the sweat that’s sprung up before grabbing a socket wrench and loosening the spark plugs on the Ford Escape I’m working on.
I should have towed her car to Leon’s, the garage I used to work at before I branched off on my own. Now that I’m coaching and going to school, I don’t have as much time to get my hands dirty. If I take on more than I can chew, I send the overflow to him. We parted on good terms, and he appreciates the extra business.
When more sweat beads my brow, I grab the hem of the T-shirt and pull it over my head before wiping my face with it and then shoving part of the fabric into my back pocket. Even with three fans oscillating in the pole barn, I’m sweating my ass off. Thank fuck I rolled out of bed early this morning and came out here to work. In an hour or so, the sweltering temperature will be unbearable.
Once the spark plugs are changed, I tighten them and slam the hood shut. I need to get started on a Chevy Trailblazer and then hit the books. I’m still trying to find my groove with homework and studying. Once you’ve been out of school for a while, it’s not easy to get back into that mindset again.
I wipe my palms against my jeans and beeline for the fridge to grab a beer. It might be a little early, but I don’t give a shit. I need some liquid refreshment to take the edge off. Popping the top, I take a long swig.
There’s nothing better than a cold brew on a hot day.
Well…maybe that’s not altogether true.
I can think of something else that would be better. Maybe if I’d stuck to the plan the other night when I’d decided to hit the bar, I wouldn’t feel so tightly strung today. There’d been a few women who’d strayed from their pack and attempted to strike up a conversation. One in particular had ticked all my boxes—pretty, curvy, and interested. It shouldn’t have taken more than a drink or two before suggesting we head back to her place.
Instead, I’d dragged my heels before telling her I was tired and needed to take off. By her confused expression, she’d been just as surprised by my blurted-out comment as I was. I’d stalked out of the bar, aggravated with myself before sliding behind the wheel of the truck and gunning it out of the gravel parking lot. Not even ten minutes later, I’d found the very girl who had turned my night to shit stranded along the side of the road.
With a dead cell phone.
Wearing a little sundress that hugged her body.
And flimsy sandals.
Prepared to walk three miles back to her parents’ place in the dark.
Can you even fucking imagine?
What the hell would have happened if I hadn’t come along?
It had taken every ounce of self-control not to turn her over my knee before blistering her ass for being unprepared. Where was her phone charger, flares, or extra clothing?
How about a fucking flashlight?
Or even some kind of weapon or can of pepper spray?
The thought of something happening to her makes me gut sick. Had I left with that woman from the bar, I wouldn’t have stumbled across her or been able to make sure she arrived home safe and sound.
What I shouldn’t have done is kiss her.
Twice.
That had been a mistake.
Pressing myself against her body had been an even bigger one. And running my hand over her curves before wrapping it lightly around her throat and jaw had been the biggest one of all.
I tighten the same hand into a fist, still able to feel the flutter of her pulse beneath my fingertips. It had turned my dick to stone. Thank fuck Jonny arrived when he did, or who knows how far the situation would have spun out of control.
I’m knocked from those thoughts when a car rolls up the gravel drive. It must be Coach. I mentioned what happened at practice yesterday morning. He’d clapped me on the shoulder and thanked me profusely.
Honestly, after everything the man has done—not only for me but Hunter as well—it’s the least I could do. I texted him about an hour ago to let him know that her Beetle was all set. Just like I’d suspected, a faulty alternator had been the culprit. It was a quick repair and there shouldn’t be any more problems.