Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
I didn’t notice before, but she has a light scattering of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, and a tiny mole next to her right eye. She isn’t perfect, but when everything is added together, she’s damn close. Right down to the soft, thick hair that now drapes over my leg and begs to be touched.
Do I dare? She’s out cold. She won’t know.
I take a strand between my fingers and let it slide through, enjoying how silky it feels against my rough skin. My attention drifts back to the movie, but I twirl her hair around my fingers as I watch. There’s something nice about this. Almost natural, though it should be anything but.
Teagan doesn’t belong here, and I have to figure out what to do with her. She can’t stay, for one. I can’t leave her alone for very long, and I have too much to do. I can’t spend every day like this.
Hell, I can’t trust her enough to leave her out here once the movie is over. I stifle a yawn so as not to wake her. What do I do now? Wake her up and risk more of her probing questions? I don’t know how much more I can take before making her wish in no uncertain terms that she’d kept her mouth shut. It’s safer to let her sleep.
Slowly, carefully, I work my way out from under her head, cradling it in my hand before lowering it to the cushion once I’ve escaped. She doesn’t notice, only sighing softly and curling into a tighter ball once I drape a blanket over her.
No, this isn’t going to work. What happens if I go to bed and leave her out here alone? I shudder to think. Would I be able to get any sleep, always wondering what she’s doing? Fuck. I scrub my hands over my face and groan softly when the only obvious answer reveals itself.
She better hope she doesn’t get any big ideas over this.
Her snoring doesn’t skip a beat when I gather her in my arms and lift her gently from the couch. She’s out cold, thank God. I don’t need her waking up halfway through me carrying her to bed and getting the wrong idea. I can imagine her clawing my face in a panic, forcing me to come up with excuses for the scratches in the morning.
Instead, she rests in my arms without stirring until I lower her to the bed. She rolls onto her side and whimpers in her sleep. Is she having a nightmare? If she did, who could blame her? The girl has faced some bleak shit in her time.
The oddest impulse sweeps over me. I want to reach out and stroke her hair and tell her everything will be all right. It’s a good thing my phone vibrates when it does, or else I might do something stupid. Instead, I fish the cell from my pocket to find a message from my sister.
Natalie: Status check.
Working with her has its ups and downs. I appreciate her being on top of things—I need people I can trust, and she’s one of the few who fit the bill. Then there are moments like this when her persistent check-ins make me grind my molars. I can’t shake the feeling she’s checking on me rather than the situation.
Me: Everything’s under control. Not to worry.
Natalie: And where is she? Her door hasn’t been opened.
My dentist must love the money she inadvertently puts in his pockets. If I don’t stop clenching my jaw so hard, I won’t have teeth left to grind. They’ll simply shatter.
Me: She’s with me. Asleep. I’ll keep an eye on her tonight.
There is a long pause between the time the “seen” check comes on and her typing the next message. I can only imagine what’s going through her head right now.
Natalie: Are you sure? I could take her off your hands.
Me: No need. See you in the morning.
And that’s the end of the conversation. I’m not in the mood for more questions—and while I know she’s trying to be helpful, I don’t appreciate having to explain my decisions. I can barely explain them to myself as it is. The girl has no business here. We can all agree on that. The alternative, though, is difficult to swallow. She doesn’t stand a chance on her own.
I can’t blame Nat for her concern—and confusion. I don’t make a habit of this sort of thing. I can’t remember the last time I had an overnight guest, much less one with a complicated backstory. I still haven’t decided what to do with her—and considering the sight of her sleeping peacefully in my bed does things it shouldn’t, it doesn’t look like I’m any closer to reaching that decision. Rather than going to the side of the bed Teagan is closest to, I head for the bathroom, locking the door as if I have anything to worry about. If anything, it’s for her sake that I’m placing a barrier between us.