Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Hell, I even felt weird when Quin paid for dinner. Even after three months. Even though for as many times as he took me out, I made him homecooked meals.
It just felt weird.
I wasn't sure I would ever get fully comfortable with the idea of being taken care of. Especially seeing as I had quite successfully taken care of myself since the day I turned eighteen.
And here he was, seemingly oblivious - or simply not understanding - my issue with him paying for the little things, and suddenly offering me some fancy ass luxury car.
He was just being himself - generous, being a good guy. Fixing a problem. The problem being that my lemon car had finally, finally kicked the bucket. The final kind. The kind where the mechanic had simply come back out like a doctor after a touchy surgery to tell me that there was nothing he could do, it had given up the fight and gone to the big metallic graveyard in the sky.
"I have the money, Aven. This isn't going to break the bank." He was watching me, even with my head ducked to try to hide the strange mix of gratitude and embarrassment I was feeling right then, I could feel his gaze on me.
"That's not really the point."
"What is the point then?" he asked, coming up behind me to pull the knife out of my hand and turning me. "Not taking any chances," he explained as he put the knife just out of my reach. "You're the one always telling me I need to be upfront with you, babe. You need to take your own advice here. What's the problem? You need a car. I want to get you a car. What is the issue?"
"I don't need to be taken care of," I blurted out, shaking my head.
"Need?" he asked, brows furrowing. "No. Obviously, you don't need me - or anyone - to take care of you. You were doing just fine before I came along, babe. But this isn't about you needing me to take care of you, but about me wanting to. I want to do this. I want you to have a way to get around. And, not for nothing, but a way to get around that I don't have to worry might catch fire while you're driving it. This isn't coming with strings and conditions. I will sign the pink slip over to you. It is yours free and clear no matter what. I'll sleep fucking easier with you in a decent car, Aven. It doesn't mean I am thinking any less of your ability to care for yourself. Accept the gift."
Well, he did have a good point, didn't he?
"I just..."
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Gunner growled as he came into the kitchen. "This is what is holding up my dinner?" he asked, looking positively disgusted by the very idea of his stomach being empty for five extra minutes because of our argument over a car. "Take the fucking car, doll," he said, moving past us to peek into the oven. "Show your gratitude the naked way. And get this goddamn baked ziti in my stomach. I'm withering away over here," he added, taking an olive out of the salad and popping it into his mouth on the way back out of the room.
Gunner crashed meals a lot.
If he heard I was cooking, he was at the door.
Usually with whiskey for Quin, hard cider for me, and a bone for Mackey.
His company was always welcome since we both oddly enjoyed his prickly nature.
"I would not turn down some naked gratitude," Quin said, a wicked glint in his eyes, making my lips curve up.
"I think that can be arranged," I agreed, pressing my lips together. "But after we feed Gunner. He's going to start grumbling out there if we don't," I added.
"So you'll take the car."
I took a deep breath, feeling a swirling sensation in my chest that suggested that maybe, just maybe, being taken care of by Quin could be a good thing. "I'll take the car."
Quin - 1 year
I wasn't sure she knew what day it was.
I had taken the day off from work for the very reason, watching her like a time bomb, sure there was going to be some breakdown about it.
One year to the day, she had been attacked in her room, and killed a man.
She had bounced back as only women ever seemed capable, managing to compartmentalize it, not harp on it.
It wasn't that it didn't affect her; it did.
She was paranoid about locks. Even after she moved into my place, and had watched me set the alarm system, she had to get up before bed and check the locks. As soon as she climbed in the car, I could hear her flicking the locks closed. She jumped at times when a branch brushed a window, or there was a lightning flash outside that made a shadow appear in the glass