Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
She’s uncomfortable in her own skin when she’s not being Officer Do-Good. Without her job and sense of purpose, Sloane grapples with her identity. This, I understand wholeheartedly.
Dad gives Sloane a slight nod but otherwise ignores her altogether. I feel like there’s beef between them, but I’ve yet to find out what. Sloane is always around to help our family because of her loyalty to my mother, but I don’t think she exactly cares for Dad.
Mom loops her arm around Sloane’s and together they walk into our house. It’s decorated with red and black graduation banners, a shit ton of balloons, and red streamers everywhere looking like barfed spaghetti.
The twins only graduate from high school once. May as well go all out.
I follow them inside, suddenly not so eager to escape to my room upstairs. Sloane looks especially good tonight in a form-fitting navy-blue dress that hits just above her knees. She has a couple of wrapped gifts peeking out of the top of her purse—another unusual thing to see on her. I’ve seen her plenty of times not wearing her PMPD uniform, but she’s usually donning jeans and a T-shirt.
Tonight, she’s not plain or wearing a ponytail, trying her best to blend in.
She sparkles and shines and fucking blinds.
My fingers twitch to sketch her form in the dress that should be illegal. Even drawing her feels forbidden. And yet, I ache to know how the curve of her breasts feels simply from running my pencil over the paper, mimicking their shape.
As guests begin to arrive for Mom’s party, I slink away from the people and linger in the corner of the living room, my gaze never leaving Sloane. Watching her whenever she’s around feels like a gift. An indulgence in a treat I’m not supposed to sample.
Sloane is a beacon of strength and resolve, yet shrouded in an air of unapproachable mystique. When it comes to policing the fine folks of Park Mountain, Washington, she’s firm and unyielding. She sticks to her morals like fucking glue.
But the real Sloane beneath her badge and place in this community?
Well, no one knows that version.
Hell, I don’t think she truly does either.
It’s in my nature to poke and prod, testing people’s limits to see if I can get some sort of rise out of them. Though the urge is there with Sloane, I don’t. I can’t. There are too many factors at play.
She’s been my mom’s best friend since high school, so there’s a lot of history involved.
There’s also the fact I respect her. Something about her personality demands it. I can be a shithead to everyone else but not Sloane. She’d put me in my place.
The most important is that I’m stupidly in love with the serious cop who’s old enough to be my mother and who will never ever see anything in a guy like me.
It’s wrong to keep pining after her. Stupid. Reckless. Selfish.
And yet, I can’t turn my feelings off just because it’s the right thing to do.
I’m drawn out of my complicated inner musings when someone sidles up next to me. Spencer lifts a brow, asking a silent question. How are you, cuz?
Of course we’re not actual cousins.
Technically, I’m his uncle, but he’s older than me, so that’s fucking confusing.
Spencer, despite also being a family fuckup like myself, has finally gotten his shit together. Who knew all it’d take was becoming a dad? Rex, his adorable kid, sleeps with his head on his daddy’s shoulder, drooling all over his crisp Polo.
“Everyone’s so happy for Gemma,” I tell him, avoiding the topic of Sloane altogether.
“You graduated too, dumbass. Even if you did have to suck off your English teacher to get a passing grade.”
“Mr. Collins wishes,” I say with a small chuckle. “Although, bald heads and BO really do it for me.”
“Cheer up,” Spencer says, reaching up to poke at my cheek. “You’re depressing as fuck to be around lately. Keep it up and I’m gonna sic Tate on you.”
I grimace at that thought. Not that I don’t like Tate because I really, really do. Nah, it’s because Tate is a therapist—our family therapist, to be exact—and my brother Jude’s boyfriend. Tate has an uncanny ability to get inside your head, pull out all the shit you don’t want to discuss, and force you to inspect it under a microscope with him so he can fix you.
Hard pass.
I don’t need fixing.
I just need a distraction. A new direction in life. Somewhere else to look besides the always magnetic and alluring Sloane Thurman.
Thankfully, before Spencer can pick inside my brain any more, the rest of our family and friends arrive. Mom turns into Party Planning Princess, magically greeting everyone, urging them toward the refreshments, and making sure everyone is having a good time.
They are.
As for me, if I didn’t have Sloane for eye candy, I’d have bailed as soon as no one was looking.