Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
“I was jogging. My legs kept running when I told them to stop. And then I kind of lost my vision for a moment and my breathing got all weird. I think maybe I’m broken.” My voice cracked a little, and I felt like the tiniest, stupidest creature on planet Earth. “Best if you leave me to die here.”
“Your broken is still the most whole thing I’ve seen.”
Maybe I was hallucinating, but I could swear I heard McMonster. But of course I hadn’t. McMonster was down in New York, and I’d never even heard his voice. Known his name. This was Row. Infuriating, sexy, my best friend’s brother, Row.
“What?” I raised my face from the dirt, peeking at him.
“Didn’t say anything.” Row clasped my shoulders very gently, lifting me up to collapse over his broad chest. He was on his knees in the dirt, right there with me. And I wanted to throw a tantrum like a toddler because now I couldn’t even hate him all the way. Underneath his relentlessly cold exterior was a compassionate creature who built the women in his life their dream house and literally pulled people from the mud.
God, please don’t let me crush on him again. My heart couldn’t survive season six of This Is Us, what makes you think I can withstand him?
I wanted love. I wanted sex. I wanted all the things other people had and I didn’t. But I wanted them with someone I could trust. And that someone was McMonster. Not Row.
“Just leave,” I moaned into his neck. He smelled like himself again, not the cologne I’d smelled yesterday when he’d come to pick me up. Of winter and leather, warm spices and Ambrose Casablancas. My skin hummed with pleasure.
“Dot, I’d never leave you like this.” There was a two-second pause. “You’re a construction hazard. Someone could trip all over you.”
That made me snort out a laugh, which resulted in snot shooting out of my nostrils. In the absence of a tissue, I balled my shirt over my fist and quickly wiped my nose with my sleeve. “You didn’t see that,” I mumbled.
“See what?” He tugged me up to my feet, tucked me under his arm, then ushered me in the direction of the construction site I’d decided to fall in. I guessed it was Dylan’s gift house. The place looked almost ready to move into.
“My wiping my nos—ohhh, I see what you did there.” I sniffled, burying my face into his pecs to avoid eye contact. “Sorry about the, erm, nervous breakdown.”
“That’s all right. No one wears nervous breakdowns better than you.” He gave my shoulder a squeeze.
Being in his arms felt good. No, not just good, divine. I could see myself getting addicted after that first hit. I felt like nothing could hurt me as long as he had his arm wrapped around me. Which was dumb because Row was the very thing that could rip me into shreds.
He shoved one fist into his front pocket. “So what do you think?” He jerked his chin to the property in front of us. “Tell me while I take you inside and break in that first aid kit.”
I blinked the dirt out of my eyes. “Oh. Wow.”
This pretty much summed up my feelings toward the mansion. It was huge. One of those modern, avant-garde architecture thingies that looked like an origami piece. A low, wide, white block of concrete. A wraparound pool engulfed the property, and bare cement steps led to the heavy front doors, which we ascended together. It looked futuristic and clinical. One of those homes you saw in reality TV shows and wondered how people actually lived in them.
“C’mon, Dot. You used more words than that to describe a tissue yesterday.” He pushed the doors open.
“Hey, that was a supersoft tissue. My nose was very grateful. Was it the Costco brand?”
“Answer the question,” he chided softly, and I knew what he was doing—taking my mind off my obvious panic attack. Keeping me engaged.
“Am I interrupting anything?” I looked around. My echo bounced across the walls and ceiling.
“No, I made a pit stop here before heading to the restaurant for an inventory count.”
“You visit the restaurant before you pick me up?”
“Yeah. I get there at around ten, help with prep and inventory, staff meeting, marketing, then go back home for a quick shower before picking you up.” Then he stayed until we closed shop, at around midnight.
“Do you have a life?” I blurted out.
“A what?” He feigned confusion, walking over to a beige luxury kitchen and popping open an exotic quartzite drawer. He produced a first aid kit. “You hate the house, don’t you?”
“Hate is such a strong word. I only hate political grifters and frosted tips as a hair trend. Even David Beckham couldn’t pull it off.”
“Are you going to tell me what you think about this house anytime in the next century?” He grabbed me by the waist and hoisted me over one of the two kitchen islands facing each other. Like a lightning strike, every hair on my body stood on end. To make matters worse, he didn’t let go of my waist while he pulled a wad of antiseptic wipes from a container. I wondered if he felt it too. Like he was brought to life by a simple touch.