The Wrong Number (Bad For Me #4) Read Online Lindsey Hart

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Bad Boy Tags Authors: Series: Bad For Me Series by Lindsey Hart
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Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
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All those looks that I thought might have been his interest in me? I guess he was interested in more than just the house, antique furniture, talking about books, and growing his business. I can’t keep passing that off and doubting. It was easy to remain in the shadows instead of stepping into his golden aura before, but now? Now I’d have to be purposely obtuse to think he isn’t into me. I don’t think people eat other people’s boxes out unless they’re interested.

Correction. I know for a fact that wasn’t a true statement, which makes me terribly sad and confused when I think about it, but I don’t believe Atlas would do those things to me unless he were interested. One, he could literally date models or freaking actresses or just about anyone, but for some reason, he chose me. Two, he fixed my house. And three, he’s currently still chasing an errant raccoon around my living room.

Right. The raccoon. I think my brain is still in a sexed-up fog of mythical proportions, and my disbelief is making my reaction time slow. Raccoon, yes. Living room. Currently. Now.

Atlas is running after the bundle of fur, dipping and dodging, trying to outthink and outmaneuver it. Gah. That’s almost sexier than all the dirty talk in the kitchen earlier.

“He’s under there!” Atlas points frantically at the couch. My new couch.

“He’s scared. Maybe I can get a cloth laundry bag or a basket or something to try and trap him in if we can corner him just right.”

“I can’t believe he came through the ceiling. We just had that fixed.”

“Uh, I can. Did you see the size of him? He’s at least three times as huge as the last one who accomplished the same fate.” I got rid of that one last time by opening my bedroom window. The creature was so frantic to escape and probably so scared of me that it dove right out. “Last time I cranked the window open, it got out on its own. I should do that again. Except…”

“Except none of the windows in here open?”

“Right,” I groan. “They don’t.” I search the room frantically while Atlas gets on his hands and knees and approaches the couch cautiously. “I could open the door, though!”

“That’s a good idea. Open it, and we’ll wait. If he doesn’t come out, maybe we could set a food trail outside or something.”

“Cheese! I have cheese in the fridge. That’s smelly, isn’t it? Do raccoons like cheese?”

“I don’t know. I think they eat berries and trash, so probably.”

“Trash.” I snort.

Atlas turns and shoots me a look that is half exasperated, half humorous. “That wasn’t supposed to be funny. They literally do eat trash.”

“If we can’t get him out, should I call an exterminator? That sounds so mean. Exterminate. How do they exterminate, exactly?”

“I think they just catch them and relocate them back to nature.”

“Oh, okay. Then, in that case, I should call.” I swallow hard, hoping it doesn’t come to that. It still sounds so traumatic for the poor animal, even if it did just traumatize me by crashing through the ceiling. That raccoon is certainly a cock blocker. Of all the times it could have happened…

I rush off to get the cheese.

I feel ridiculous breaking pieces off the block and making the trail. I honestly just hope it works. If it doesn’t, I’m going to have a lot of cheese to pick up, and it’s kind of hot in here, so by then, it will probably be greasy and melted all over my freshly sanded and polished floors.

Atlas looks back at me, and yipes, his expression isn’t serious at all. He’s literally so handsome, his eyes freaking twinkling like this is all very amusing to him, and there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than fishing a wild animal out from under my couch with me after it just divebombed through the ceiling when we were about to get freaky. He looks like a thrilled little boy, and it’s so adorable that my heart starts up with palpitations all over again, and it’s not just because I’m scared of the raccoon.

Atlas turns his attention back to the couch, and I stand off to the side of the open door, waiting. “Can you see him?” I whisper after a few minutes of silence.

“I can see his beady eyes. They’re kind of glowing.”

“Ahhh! Glowing?” I hiss. “Like an alien?”

“Just glowing. I think they do that when it’s kind of dark, which it is under here.”

“Do you think you should be looking at it so closely? What if it charges at you?”

“It’s not going to—”

It’s official. I’m going to go down in history as the world’s worst jinx. There’s a hiss and a scuffle, then Atlas screams and launches himself back from the couch so hard that his back winds up slamming against the coffee table, and as his bones connect with a nasty-sounding crunch that makes my stomach slosh, he lets out a grunt. I turn so fast that I nearly give myself whiplash. I’m ready to race over to him and see if he broke anything, but that’s when it happens.


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