Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Thankfully, he wore clothes—jeans that showed off his round, muscular ass and a fitted hunter green Henley that hugged his chest and arms. I tried not to stare as Xander showed him around the place. When the tour ended by the bar, I busied myself slicing a few more limes.
“Have a seat,” Xander said, gesturing toward an empty bar stool. “Ari will take care of you. I’ll be back in a few.”
Steadying myself with a breath, I placed the napkin down in front of Dash and forced myself to look him in the eye. My heart rattled worse than my car engine. “Hey, Dash.”
“Good to see you, Sugar.” The corners of his mouth twitched as he called me by my childhood nickname in the Buckley family—bestowed when I was eight years old, and Mabel and I had attempted chocolate chip cookies from scratch in their kitchen. Despite all the boasting I’d done about my baking skills, I accidentally mistook salt for sugar and never lived it down.
“You too.”
“Of course, I’m not seeing as much of you as you saw of me earlier today.”
I would be calm. I would be cool. I would ignore what his eyes were doing to me. “What can I get for you?”
“Do you always enter a house without knocking?”
“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know anyone was home, and your dad asked me to look after Fritz for the weekend. He gave me a key.”
“I didn’t realize he’d be gone. I wanted to surprise him.” He gave me an easy grin and lifted one shoulder. “Sorry if I offended you.”
“I wasn’t offended,” I said, wiping an invisible spill from the bar.
“No? I couldn’t tell, the way you ran off.”
“Well, you were naked!” I looked around to make sure no one could hear me. “Why were you naked in the kitchen?”
“I was doing an acting exercise.”
“An acting exercise?” I repeated dubiously.
“Yes. Where I strip down to my purest self. It helps you to shed the layers of emotional protection.” His eyes twinkled. “Sometimes our clothing is just a metaphor, Ari.”
I refused to be flirty with him. “So can I get you a drink or not?”
“Sure. Xander says there’s a local whiskey he likes. Brown-Eyed Girl?”
I nodded. “Rocks?”
“Please.”
Turning my back on him, I tried to ignore the way my heart was merrily skipping over beats like a carefree child through a field of wildflowers. Did it not recall the way Dash had stomped on it? I wondered what he was thinking as he watched me pour his whiskey over ice. Was he remembering that night in his bedroom? Maybe he never gave it a second thought. Probably tons of girls had thrown themselves at him like that.
Maybe I needed to get over myself.
I brought him his drink, trying not to stare at his mouth on the rim of the glass as he took a sip.
“So, how are you?” he asked. “It’s been a while.”
“Busy.” I started slicing limes again, but my hands felt jittery.
“I didn’t know you were working here.”
“Just Fridays and Saturdays.”
“And you’re still at the diner too?”
I nodded, working my knife faster, gripping it harder. “Yep.”
“Living with your parents?”
“No,” I said. “I bought a house.”
“Oh yeah? Where is it?”
“On the—ouch!” I’d sliced my left index finger, and blood spilled from the gash. I grabbed it with my other hand, but I must have had lime juice on my fingers, because it stung like a motherfucker. “Dammit!”
Dash was off his stool and racing around the bar in a heartbeat. He ran the water in the sink, grabbed my wrist and held my hand beneath the cold flow. “Can someone get me a clean towel?”
A barback handed him one, and I stood there in a daze as Dash rinsed the cut, examined it, then pressed against it with the clean towel. I could feel my pulse in my finger.
“Ari?” Dash looked me in the eye. “Are you okay?”
I nodded, although I felt woozy.
“I think you need stitches.” He turned to the barback. “Can you grab Xander for me?”
“On it.”
“Ari, come here and sit down.” With one of his hands still holding the towel around my injured finger, Dash put the other on my lower back and led me around the bar, where someone vacated a stool for me.
I perched on it and looked down at the blood seeping through the towel. “Oh, shit.”
Xander appeared at my side, his expression concerned. He took one look at the bloodstained towel and said, “You need to go to the E.R.”
“That’s not necessary,” I said. I hated needles—the thought of stitches was worse than the pain of the cut.
“Yeah. It is.” Xander’s tone told me not to argue. He put a hand on my shoulder. “Do you have insurance?”
I nodded. “Through the diner.”
“Okay. I’ll cover any costs that insurance doesn’t.” He looked at his brother. “Dash, do you have a car?”