Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“You could take me home. I wouldn’t tell anyone. We could cuddle. I bet you’d be a good cuddler.”
“A friend, maybe?” I prompted, shocked at the fact that I was actually tempted. He looked as if he needed a good cuddle.
“Oh, okay. Brett,” he said, sounding disappointed.
Once his friends came to get him, I felt sad he was gone, which was ridiculous. He probably wouldn’t even recall meeting me.
The next time I saw him was at the garage where he worked. Something had sparked between us, and I had hoped he would ask me out, drop by the station, or even call me, but aside from his changing my oil and being extremely sweet, I had heard nothing.
I had hesitated, then untacked the ad from the board. Mr. Conner had chuckled.
“My boy’s old place. Chase is looking for a new roommate. You need a place? He’s a good kid.”
“Yes.”
“You’d be safe there.”
His words struck something in me, and I smiled. “Thanks. I’ll just, ah, take this.”
He had laughed again. “You do that. Once he gets an eyeful of you, he won’t want another applicant.”
I had hoped he was right.
Seeing Chase again had made my heart beat faster. He was still sweet and sort of shy, yet at times, he became funny and sexy. He looked at me in a way that made my stomach jump and my chest warm. But he was polite and courteous and wasn’t upset when I told him I took down his sign. He seemed shocked at my desire to live there, then immediately agreed to it. Showed me the place. Told me I could paint.
When I saw him on Monday and he told me he had bought the house, I assumed it was a coincidence that it happened when I wanted to move in. Yet the way his friends had teased him, I wondered.
But that was ridiculous. There was no way he would have bought the place on a whim because I was going to move in.
Right?
I shook my head to clear it and went back to my room. The walls were done, and I had most of the tape off the trim. I was going to prime the bathroom and paint it next. Each bedroom had its own en suite, and there was a small guest bathroom in the hall with a sink and a toilet. It needed painting too, but I would concentrate on my room and the living room first. Chase mentioned his room, and I had picked up the paint for it as a surprise. I was excited to live here.
I had tried to tell myself it was because I was going to be away from my nightmare of a roommate and off the sofa at Sara’s, but the truth was far more complex than that, and it all involved the sad-eyed man I was going to be living with.
Thoughtfully, I recalled more from the first time I saw him, drunk and trying to put his house keys into a lock that didn’t exist. He had looked up at me, his light-blue eyes widening.
“Whoa,” he mumbled. “You are sooo pretty.”
I tried to keep a straight face.
“Sir, have you been drinking?”
“Yes. I am so wasted,” he admitted honestly. “I need a nap. I sleep in the back seat a lot when I’m tired.” He sighed. “I’m tired now, Occifer Cinnamon. But I can’t get in my truck.”
His nickname made me smile, even though I tried to fight it.
“Why have you been drinking so much?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Bad stuff. I have no one to talk to.”
“I can’t let you drive.”
He stared at me, aghast. “I can’t drive, Occifer. I am drunk!”
“Right. Maybe I could call someone?”
“Brett,” he slurred. “He’d come get me. He’s my friend.”
“Can you tell me his number?”
I had called Brett, who showed up with Kelly. He was upset that Chase was so drunk and assured me it wasn’t usual for him.
“From what I gathered from his mumblings, your friend is upset about a fight with his brother,” I said.
He sighed. “A bit more complex than that, I’m afraid.”
Chase had been so funny, adorable, and sad. He said I was like an angel. He kept calling me Occifer Cinnamon and telling me how much he liked my freckles. My nose. My hair. Then he’d look upset and say he wished he’d done things differently. He wished his family still loved him. When I would try to comfort him, he’d ask if he could sing me a song about how beautiful I was.
I found it impossible to forget him, and days later, I saw him at the garage.
He was in a tight T-shirt that showed off the ink on his arms. His shoulders were broad and his waist narrow. He was tall, and his light-brown hair was tucked up under a beanie. His eyes were as beautiful as I remembered. And just as sad. His light-blue irises reminded me of a summer’s day early in the morning just as the sky was getting brighter. I wanted to make them shine in happiness. He’d taken my hand, allegedly to help me over some uneven ground, but I felt the tremor in his arm and saw the way he looked at me. I had hoped for more, but it hadn’t happened.