Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 90682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“There’s no need to make fun of me, Mr. Colter. I’m just trying to make our lives easier for the next two weeks. My last roommate was Molly, and she was a saint, so I just want it to go well for both of us.”
“Molly Summervale is no saint.” He snorts again. “She’s got a tongue sharper than a two-edged sword.”
Yeah. ’Cause she’s a badass who doesn’t put up with men’s shit, that’s why.
I raise my chin a notch. “If you don’t want rules, that’s fine. We can wing it.”
“How about this: I won’t be getting into your way if you won’t be getting into mine, and we’ll get along just fine.”
Except for the part where he has no boundaries, gives zero fucks, climbs in through windows, and bursts into my office unannounced and uninvited. Who knows what else I’m in store for over the next few weeks.
“’Cause I bet the next words outta your pretty little mouth is we’re not allowed to have houseguests of the opposite sex without discussing it first.”
Er. That may or may not be on the list I’d just handed him, on page two.
Wait. Did he call me pretty?
I blush again, dipping my head before pulling out my chair and standing. “I should probably show you to your room.”
He stands too but shakes his head. “Found it already.”
“Found it? How did you find it? You have no idea which room is yours.”
“Next to the bathroom. Already settled in.”
Of course he did because he has brass balls!
Honestly, the NERVE!
Seething, I can’t wait to text Molly and tell her about this. She’s going to be outraged on my behalf, although she did warn me he was an asshole…
I try to lead him out of the room, but he decides he’s going to plow through first. Both of us get stuck in the doorway because we’re there at the same time. The man doesn’t have enough etiquette to allow me to go first, the brute forging ahead toward the stairs, lumbering down to the first floor before I’ve even made it to the top step.
Jesus, was he raised in a barn?
As I make my way into the kitchen, he’s already outside, popping the screen back into place and testing it to make sure it’s secure. I watch his large hands push the frame, then come back inside and secure the little knobs.
“There. Done.”
I roll my eyes, moving aside when he goes to the sink and begins opening cabinets, hunting for a glass.
He fills it with water from the tap and chugs.
Spine stiff, I try not to feel as if my space has been invaded, reminding myself that he’s paying to be here—several thousand dollars to be here, in fact.
It’s only two weeks, it’s only two weeks, it’s only—
“What’s all that for?”
Duke is pointing at the cake ingredients on the stove: mixing bowl, flour, measuring cups.
“I was going to bake a batch of cookies—but I thought I’d have more time before you got here.”
“You should have done it last night,” he tells me, snatching up the container of chocolate chips and popping it open. Taking a handful, he shoves them in his giant mouth.
I swear I’m not a prude, but I have five- and six-year-old children with better behaviors than this boorish brute!
Duke chews.
Then he pops more chocolate chips in his mouth before licking his lips. “These would be better if they were in cookies.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” I mutter, turning my back on him so I’m not tempted to tear them out of his hands.
“What’d you just say?”
“Nothing,” I lie.
Duke laughs. “Liar. I can see from here your panties are all bundled into a twist.”
“They most certainly are not.”
He laughs again, setting down my precious container of chocolate chips. “You’re such a kindergarten teacher.”
What the heck is that supposed to mean?!
Duke disappears out the back door. I have no idea where he’s going, nor do I follow him—but I watch as he wanders around the perimeter before he walks out of view.
Hmph.
I take myself back upstairs. I’d planned a nice meal for Duke and me tonight—homemade pizza with homemade sauce, pepperoni, sausage, black olives, and extra cheese—but that was before he waltzed into my home acting like a fool.
He can forage for his own food.
In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if Grizzly Adams came back inside with a raccoon or a skunk for dinner, one he’d wrestled to the ground himself.
I’m a nice person.
My friends have literally described me as sweet, kind, and one of the most compassionate people they know. So why is it that I want to choke that man to death, who has only been in my house for less than a half hour?
And how am I going to tolerate his bad behavior for two weeks?
“It’s a good thing you’ll be at work during the day,” I remind myself, heading back upstairs to my office and shutting the door behind me, not that it’s going to keep Duke out if he wants back inside.