Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 142833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
"Hey, I didn't think you'd be up this early."
"The smell of the coffee woke me up." If coffee was a person, it would be my best friend. I'm definitely addicted in a bad way.
"You want some? You look pretty tired." He steps over to the counter and grabs the coffee pot, pouring some into a mug before I have a chance to answer. "I don't have any of that caramel milk stuff you like, though."
"That's okay; I'll drink it with regular milk."
"And about twenty sugars?" He flashes me a teasing grin as he adds milk and sugar just the way I like it and then hands it to me.
"Thanks. Are you working today?"
He steps closer to me and grabs my hand, his eyes twinkling with that sparkling diamond glint he sometimes gets, and pulls his hair tie off my wrist.
My heart does an odd clench. "You're taking it back?" I ask.
"I'm borrowing it."
"Oh. Okay..." He's never taken back anything I've lifted off him before. Maybe he's finally fed up with my silly little game. I remind myself that I'm not five anymore, and collecting items from him is probably immensely annoying and possibly perceived as stealing and not cute.
"Hey don't look all wounded, Kenz. It's the last one I have. I'll pick some up today and you can have this one back. I promise."
I sip my coffee, feeling idiotic for letting myself get upset over something so ridiculous as a rubber band. But it's his. It's special.
Shaking my head, I pretend to be nonchalant. "You don't have to do that. It's just a stupid little game."
"I know I don't have to. I want to. And it's not stupid, it's our game, and I'd miss it if you stopped," he leans back against the kitchen counter, crosses his arms, and studies my face for a moment with a faint smirk. "I was thinking, though, maybe I should take something of yours for once. Kind of like a trade."
Warmth floods through my body in a swift wave. It starts in my chest and scatters down between my thighs, intensifying with every passing second. I grip my coffee cup and hope I don't fall over into the wall.
"Oh," I reply, surprised. "I guess that's fair, huh?"
He nods slowly, his eyes dark and intent. Mesmerizing. "I want that black beanie you wear all the time," he says without any hesitation, and I wonder when he decided that's the thing he wants.
"It has a little purple heart on it," I protest. And it's my favorite, but I don't care anymore. I'll love it even more once it's on his head.
"So? I can rock a purple heart, Angel."
No doubt he can rock anything. But him rocking my favorite beanie is something I can't wait to see.
I smile at him. "Consider it yours then. Next time you see me, you can have it."
"Don't forget or next time you try to take something of mine, I'm not gonna let ya."
He wants something of mine. I'm pretty sure I've got a fever. Maybe even the flu. My body is on fire, and my insides are shaking again. My head feels buzzy and floaty. My lips feel stuck in a demented smile. I wish I had pants on.
"Deal." I manage to say.
He pushes himself off the counter. "I gotta get going. I have to go to work and pick up Tanner then we're busting some douchebags with fighting dogs."
The excited nervousness I felt a second ago quickly turns into worry. The whole dog fighting thing scares the hell out of me. Usually, the guys that run them are drug dealers or worse, and most of the dogs are dangerous. I've seen the dogs they rescue and bring to Tor's mother's shelter to evaluate for training and veterinary care. They're either all torn up and bloody or totally aggressive from fear and starvation. Or both.
"Be careful, Tor. Those guys are crazy." It’s hard to believe that people who run dog fighting rings exist right here in our cozy little New England towns, but they do.
"I'm always careful." He goes to the laundry room down the hall and comes back pulling a heather gray t-shirt on. "Do you need a ride home? Or you can stay here for the day, do the stuff you do, and I'll take you home later?"
"Can I stay here? I'll clean up for you. I could make dinner if you have food."
"Yeah, I got some stuff in the 'fridge. I'll be home around five. Make anything you find, I'm easy," he grabs his keys off the table. "Get in touch with your dad and let him know you're okay. I'm sure he's wondering how your night went."
"I will. I'm not going to tell him what happened with Jason. If he knows I had a sucky time he'll get upset and he doesn't need that now."