Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 38786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
“That’s strike number three. There’s no hope for you now.”
I realize her soul is still a little fragile when she whines about my reply instead of taking it as I had intended—playfully.
A reason for the darkness of her apartment comes to light when Kelsey slips the key into the lock and pushes open the door. The power has been disconnected.
“You rodent!”
Despite how stumbling her steps were only minutes ago, Kelsey races through the room without a single fault in her stride. I don’t know what she’s seeking, but it must be more important than the rest of her stuff that was stolen. Her apartment is almost empty.
“Oh, thank god.” She hugs something close to her chest as if it is valuable before tossing it back into a drawer near the kitchen and slamming the drawer shut. My jaw spasms when she reveals how badly her ex is working her over. “Peter must have disconnected the power from Oregon when he organized my eviction notice. I’ll get candles.”
“There’s no need,” I reply while pulling my phone out of my pocket. “After several homeless people died in a winter blast in 2010, laws were introduced that stopped electricity providers from disconnecting service to a habitual premises.” I scroll to the Safari app and then ask Kelsey who her provider is.
“Energ—“
She’s interrupted by the hum of the refrigerator kicking back on.
Her eyes are back on me. They’re still glossy but now more in awe than sheened with the effects of alcohol. “After your stamina Friday night, I never thought I’d be commending you on the speed of your performance.”
Her reply strokes my ego, but I play it cool. “As much as I want to take credit, that wasn’t me.” I spin my phone screen to show I hadn’t gotten further than opening the Safari app. “They must have realized…”
My words trail off when a familiar jingle rattles through Kelsey’s apartment. “Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas.”
Kelsey’s eyes bulge before she races for the far wall of the apartment. She leans out the window facing the street just in time for Santa to hit her with a frisky wink before he disappears around the corner.
When she cranks her neck back to me, her expression shocked, I say, “Maybe you’re not on his naughty list after all.”
CHAPTER 7
Kelsey
With my bladder on the verge of busting, I toss off the bedding wrapped around me like a cocoon and slowly shuffle to the bathroom. I should feel like shit. I’m not a cocktail drinker in general, let alone a daytime drunk, but I feel decent.
My teeth need a scrub, and my underarms need to be groomed with more than a razor, but I’m presentable, nonetheless.
The positive outcome after a night of drinking is more thanks to Zane than me. He forced me to drink a gallon of water before tucking me in like I wasn’t throwing out a million sexual insinuations.
My ego should be as beaten as my temples, but his promise to be less ignorant once I’m not drunk saved it from being pulverized.
He was a total gentleman, and the remembrance has me doubling the length of my strides when I recall him telling me he’ll sleep on the couch to make sure I didn’t try to get back on Santa’s naughty list without him.
My shower routine is quick, but like my hangover, decent. Since I am unemployed, I leave my hair out to dry after washing off the smoky plume of the bar we spent a fortune in last night and keep my makeup palette neutral.
I said I’m feeling decent, not spectacular.
However, the odds of wonderful drastically improve when I exit my bedroom. Zane is awake—with how bright the sun is, I understand. He’s in the kitchen, making breakfast.
“Morning.”
He grins at the croakiness of my greeting before setting down a mug of coffee on the island separating us. “How do you like your eggs?”
“Umm…” It isn’t too early to have this conversation. I’m simply struggling to think straight since he’s wearing nothing but the jeans he wore last night.
He’s barefooted, and the top button of his jeans is undone. I don’t know about you, but that is as much a turn-on for me as a man rolling up the sleeves of his pricy dress shirt, so I won’t mention his six pack abs and mouth watering V-muscle. I don’t want you to get jealous.
Zane places two sunny-side-up eggs onto buttered toast before locking his eyes with mine. “Any preferences?”
One serving of you, please! “Ah… over easy will be great. Thanks.”
Did I wake up in an alternative universe? This can’t be reality. Peter never once made me breakfast. He wasn’t even considerate enough to make sure he left enough coffee in the pot for me if his shift started earlier than mine.
“Why are you doing this, Zane?” Don’t misconstrue my question. I love that he’s here, but we only met days ago, so it isn’t his responsibility to clean up the mess I made before we met. Also, no one wants to be the rebound guy. Unless you’re my father, the odds rarely swing in their favor.