Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 253(@200wpm)___ 202(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 253(@200wpm)___ 202(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Chapter Fourteen
WILL
Clarke was not warming up to the idea of spending the next three months with me. She was even colder now that I was living under the same roof. I unpacked my bags as she hid in her office to work on her story. And she wondered why I called her Elsa. It would have taken a thousand summers to thaw the ice around her heart.
I shoved the last of my clothes into the bottom drawer of the chest. Clarke allowed me three drawers in her bedroom and barely enough space in her closet to hang the suits I wore before hockey games.
Unsure where to go, I sat on the edge of the bed, wondering how the fuck I ended up here. Why did I get drunk and propose marriage to Clarke? And why the hell did she accept? Neither of us could recall exactly how we ended up at the chapel. It was probably my idea, a joke we took too far. I was a glutton for punishment, and this disaster was living proof.
I went from living alone in a luxury apartment in Philly that overlooked the Camden Waterfront to sharing a bed with a woman who made a bet just so she wouldn’t have sex with me. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t break down her carefully constructed walls.
A door opened and closed in the hallway, and a few seconds later, Clarke stumbled into the bedroom with a surprised look on her face.
“Oh,” she muttered. “I didn’t realize you were in here.” She inched backward. “I can come back.”
I shot up from the bed. “No, stay. This is your bedroom. I’ll leave.”
Her chest rose and fell as she looked at me. “We can figure out a schedule, so we don’t crowd each other.”
“Is that what you did with your ex-husband?”
She looked away, blowing out a deep breath. “He was very private… and I…”
“I have nothing to hide,” I said as I approached her. “We don’t have to tiptoe around each other. I mean, unless you have something to hide.”
Clarke shook her head and strands of dark hair fell in front of her eyes. “No, I’m good. Just don’t come into my office, and we’ll be okay.”
“You hiding bodies in there or something?”
She smiled. “Or something.”
I leaned against the wall by the door, staring at her beautiful face as she brushed her hair behind her ears. “I’ll stay out of your office. But I have to admit now I’m curious what you’re keeping in there.”
“My office is my sanctuary,” she confessed.
“Can I see it?”
She laughed. “What are you five years old?”
I smirked. “Let me in, Clarke. It won’t kill you to lower you guard a little.”
Her body stiffened from my words. “It might.”
It was obvious she had never gotten over the divorce. Not that she was still in love with her ex, but because of her past, she refused to let another man into her life. Three years ago, I was the exception. The rebound fling. I never should have led her on, made her think we could ever be more than causal sex.
“Fine,” she groaned. “You can see my office. It’s nothing special.”
I closed the distance between us, and Clarke sucked in a deep breath. She felt the connection between us, the same palpable energy that clung to the air whenever we were close.
“C’mon,” she said as she spun on her heels and exited the bedroom.
I followed her down the long hallway and into the middle bedroom on the right. She had more than enough rooms for one person. This place wasn’t the size of an average condo. There were six bedrooms and four bathrooms, with a jacuzzi tub in the master suite and views of the city that put my condo to shame.
I stepped into her office, which reminded me of an eccentric version of Crate & Barrel. A long, oak desk sat at the center of the large, open space. Tall, white bookshelves lined the walls on both sides of the room and reached the ceiling. Clarke owned at least a thousand books, not including those piled on the floor around the couch and plush cranberry colored chair by the windows.
Like my sister, she had Harry Potter art on her walls, quotes from the books and even pictures of the characters from the movies. She had hundreds of these little doll things that looked like characters from some of my favorite fandoms.
“What’s with all the dolls?” I asked with my finger pointed at the characters from Game of Thrones. “You some kind of collector?”
She swept the plastic version of Daenerys Targaryen off the shelf and held her out for me to see. “This is a Funko Pop. Haven’t you seen these before?”
“We have NHL Funkos.” I took the toy from her hand and inspected it. “They made one of me. But I didn’t realize they made them for TV shows.”