Southern Heat (Southern #6) Read Online Natasha Madison

Categories Genre: Angst, Contemporary, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Southern Series by Natasha Madison
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Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 72616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
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"You broke your arm because you were too busy watching where Asher was going to look in front of you.” I pipe in. “Too busy looking at …”

“We get it.” Amelia holds up her hand at me, then turns back to look at Willow, who is rolling her lips, trying not to laugh. “Do you need help?”

“Um, sure,” she says softly, and I look at her.

I look at Chelsea, who motions with her eyes toward Willow. “Go on," she mouths to me.

"Um, Willow," I start to say, and my tongue gets heavy in my mouth when she looks at me. "Do you really want to stay at the motel?"

She looks at me. “Excuse me?"

"Do you want to stay at the motel that you asked about yesterday?" I ask her again, and the whole room is so quiet you can hear the tick of the clock in the room.

"Or," Chelsea says, “you can stay with us."

"You don’t have to decide now,” I say. “You can. Um …" Why am I failing to find the words?

"How about we do your hair while Quinn thinks of ways to say he’s sorry," Amelia tells Willow, who just looks down at the floor. She nods her head, turning to walk into the bathroom.

Once the door clicks behind them, Chelsea lets out a snort. “What the hell is wrong with you?"

I look down at my hands and wipe them on the front of my legs. “Oh my God." She claps her hands and then hits her leg. “You’re nervous."

"I am not." I shake my head, denying it.

"The cool, calm, and collected Quinn Barnes is nervous." She laughs really loud.

"Would you shut up?" I hiss at her, looking at her and then the bathroom door.

"You are nervous and scared."

"Seriously, shut up," I hiss over at her, walk to the door, and then turn around when the door opens.

Amelia comes out, and I see she has tears in her eyes, and I take a step forward. “Don’t you dare."

"What’s wrong?” Chelsea says and gets up, and Amelia shakes her head.

"I need to get her a pair of jeans and a shirt,” she says, going to the bag and grabbing jeans and a shirt. “All her clothes are ripped and …" She puts her hand in front of her mouth to block the sob that is going to come out of her.

Chelsea rushes over to her. “I’ll take it to her." She grabs the things out of Amelia’s hand.

"Bring her two pairs of each,” I say. “Give her choices,” I say, and she walks back over and brings the whole bag with her.

I walk over to Amelia and put my arm around her as she looks at me. “She is not going to some fucking motel."

"I know,” I say, rubbing her arm. I also know that if she thinks I’m going to take her, she will be disappointed once again, and this time, it’s going to be me who hurts her, and the thought alone kills me.

Chapter 18

Willow

The soft knock on the door makes me look up. My hair is in a French braid, thanks to Amelia, who came in, and in a matter of minutes, it was tied up, and it felt great. "Come in,” I say softly, sitting on the toilet seat. Holding my elbow in my hand, I’m waiting to put the sling on.

The door opens, and Chelsea comes in slowly with the black bag in her hands. "Hi." She smiles at me, and I just look at her. She is so beautiful, and her eyes are so kind. She quickly closes the door behind her. "I brought you choices,” she says, and I just look down at the black bag.

My own black bag sits by the door in a low heap since all I had in there were two pairs of jeans that were almost bare from wearing and two semi-clean shirts. There is only so much you can clean while living in a car. "Um," I start, “I have a couple of things in my bag, but with everything that happened …"

She smiles at me. “I know," she says softly. “But the good news is I have some things here." She puts the big bag on the floor in front of me and unzips the bag, squatting down. “Now, what were you thinking?”

My mouth opens as she opens the bag and shows me all the clothes inside it. I’ve never seen so many clothes in my whole life. I also have never owned more than five things at a time. “We didn’t know if you would want to wear jeans or if you wanted to wear shorts.”

I look down at my legs, seeing that the bruising is still there, fading slowly. “Jeans,” I tell her. “Always jeans,” I say, and she takes out a white pair and a blue pair.


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