Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 147540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
“You’re talking sense, but let’s go back to the other thing you said.”
They weren’t going to go back to it, because he should never have said it.
Judge didn’t need to know where Rix had no choice but to be.
He’d be in a chair or on prosthetics his whole life.
Raising kids with no legs.
Hopefully growing old, but with no legs.
His life and his future looked different than other people’s.
And the woman in it would have to get that in a way Rix wasn’t certain that woman existed.
He’d wanted a wife, he’d wanted a family.
But the idea that he could wake up with his house on fire, his family under that roof, and it’d be a struggle to save himself, no way could he look after them, was the kind of snag he had trouble seeing past.
And that was just one example of maybe a thousand of them.
“I gotta go. Get settled,” he changed the subject. “Your dad left us a message that he’s picking up the tab for restaurant and room service, and to make sure we knew he was serious about that and he wanted us to take him up on it, he made a reservation for us tonight.” Rix looked at his watch. “I gotta get cleaned up. Me and Alex are meeting up in ten.”
“Rix…”
When Judge said no more, Rix asked, “What?”
“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”
Here was the shit.
He loved this guy, but it was still shit.
If Judge wanted to know, he needed to ask.
And for the man Judge was in Rix’s life, maybe he even needed to push.
A little.
Sometimes.
When it mattered.
“I just told you I wanted to fuck our Director of Outreach, I think I know that,” he hedged.
Judge laughed and said, “Right.”
“Tell Chloe I said hey.”
“Will do. Keep up the good work.”
Rix shook his head, unzipped his bag, and replied, “Piss off.”
Another laugh and then, “Later, man.”
“Later, bud.”
They disconnected. Rix pulled out a white shirt, a clean pair of jeans and his dop kit. He went to the bathroom, tugged off his tee, washed under his pits, reapplied antiperspirant, examined his stubble, which was getting out of control, but he didn’t have time to do anything about it.
He wet his hands, ran them through his hair, then changed his jeans, shrugged on his shirt, slid a brown belt through the loops of his jeans, and blanked himself through the process of switching the running shoes off his fake feet to a pair of brown leather oxfords.
He then texted Alex to ask if she was ready before he pulled some other shit out of his bag and kit to put it where he’d need it later, primarily the book he was reading, his sleep shorts and his shampoo.
He got Alex’s reply of Coming over about half a second before her knock sounded at the door.
He knew it was her, but looked through the peephole anyway, which turned out to be a good call.
Because she’d pulled the pigtails out, her hair was down, she’d done something to it so it didn’t have braid kinks, but instead was a tumble of curls floating over her shoulders and down her chest.
He had not once in the time he’d known her seen her hair down.
And this was not the time for him to see it.
Because it was fucking amazing.
She’d also changed. She was wearing a cream, ribbed, fitted racer tank that exposed another something new to Rix.
She had amazing shoulders.
A Michelin star also meant she put on makeup. Not much. But he saw liner along her lashes, glimmer on her cheeks, and gloss on her lips.
She didn’t look more fuckable than he was realizing she very much was.
But makeup-less, Kids and Trails tee and army pants Alex was fuck-her-hard-and-fast-in-a-tent-after-a-long-hike-so-they-could-move-on-and-grill-some-hotdogs-and-cuddle-under-the-stars Alex.
This Alex was take-her-to-his-bed-and-make-her-whisper-his-name-in-that-voice-of-hers-over-and-over-until-he-let-her-come Alex.
“Shit, fuck,” he muttered, opened the door to her, and the rest didn’t get better, because it did.
A sage green skirt with a deep waistband that clung to her waist and upper hips. A full skirt was attached to it, wrap-around style, the back hitting her ankles, the front edges gliding up at an angle to expose tan calves and a pair of light brown suede sandals that had a lot of straps, including ones that wound around her ankles, and a heel that wasn’t high, but it wasn’t short either.
She had a couple of gold medallions hanging down her chest, thin gold hoops in her ears and a slim clutch.
So Alexandra Sharp could clean up.
Really fucking well.
And she did it in a way that totally surprised him, but was also completely her.
“We got about forty-five before our booking. You wanna raid the mini-bar in here, or go down and hit the hotel bar?” he asked.
She opened her mouth to answer, but his phone rang.
When her eyes fell to his crotch, because his phone was in his back pocket and that was where the sound was coming from, he didn’t want to dig it out, mostly because the call might be from Peri.