Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 107710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
One did not miss a being so enormous.
In fact, a lot of women in Jed’s were having the same problem.
Some women really went for the whole muscle-bound hero thing, apparently.
Natalie tried not to care. She really did. But when a young woman fanned herself in Natalie’s periphery, she found herself pushing up out of her chair and planting one on August’s surprised mouth. “Hi,” she said brightly, brushing back her hair. “You’re here.”
“Yeah.” His gaze ping-ponged between her mouth and eyes. “Can we try that again? I wasn’t expecting it. My tongue is ready now.”
“I don’t think this is an appropriate time for tongue.”
“When will it be?”
Natalie dropped her head back so she could groan at the ceiling. “Literally thirty seconds into this conversation and I’m exhausted.”
“You think you’re tired now?” He winked. “Wait until after tongue time.”
“Don’t ever say ‘tongue time’ again. Or I swear to God.”
August chuckled, his hand settling into the curve of her waist naturally, brushing his thumb up and down her rib cage, as if he did it all the time. She wanted to push his hand away, because that light touch was stiffening her nipples. Ironically, that was the same reason she wanted his hand to remain exactly where it was. “Should I be worried that we’re in a bar where weaponry is readily available?”
“Yup.” She chopped the air with her hand. “Watch your wang, Cates.”
He shuddered, glancing over his shoulder long enough to watch someone throw an axe—badly—missing the bull’s-eye by a good two feet. “You’re not the only one I have to worry about, princess. Pretty sure Julian would bury one of those in my back at any sign of premarital discord. Be nice to me for once, huh? I’m too young to die.”
“Say ‘tongue time’ again and we’ll test that theory.” A waitress stopped in front of them and held up her notepad with a smile, prompting August to order a pint of Blue Moon. “What did my brother say to you?”
Natalie tried to be casual about posing the question. She must not have pulled it off entirely, though, because August seemed to look deeper. “Usual brother stuff.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Why not?”
She shrugged a shoulder. “We haven’t been close. I mean, he didn’t even meet Morrison, let alone threaten him with axe violence.”
“Guess I’m special like that.” August blew out an extra-long breath. “I’m not going to ask about the ex-fiancé. I’m not going to ask about the ex-fiancé.”
“That’s probably for the best. It’s not a pretty story.”
A low rumble reached her ears.
Was he . . . growling? Why?
Natalie had no idea. But a subject change probably wasn’t the worst idea. The last person she wanted to talk about was her ex-fiancé. “So about the wedding—”
“You know, tonight isn’t the only time Julian has threatened to kick my ass. The first night you threw a drink in my face? He told me if I ever spoke to you like that again, he’d break my nose. It’s kind of the reason I like the dude.”
“Really?” She laughed. But her throat was suddenly so tight, the word emerged a little choked. “I didn’t . . . I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah.” Her future husband watched her closely. Like he could see everything going on in her head and it fascinated him. Probably squirreling information away for later so he could pull it out and use it during their next argument, which, at best, would likely take place in the next five minutes. “He cares about you, Natalie. Your mom cares about you, too. But it’s like you’re all trying to keep your love a secret. Why is that?”
“I don’t know,” she said, half defensive, half . . . honest. She didn’t know. “Did your family go around making big professions of love all the time?”
“Not exactly. Not all the time. But it was said. In birthday cards. Or when my mother had too much to drink on New Year’s and got sappy and started sharing memories.” He accepted his beer from the waitress and took a long gulp, staring at an invisible spot over her shoulder. “But I think my parents put more importance on telling me they were proud of me. I worked a summer job so I could afford a beat-up Honda Accord. When I signed the paperwork, my parents said they were proud of me. When I joined the navy, they were proud. Looking back, I think maybe that was more their way of saying ‘I love you’ than the actual words.”
It unnerved Natalie how much she wanted him to continue talking about his family. But wanting to know the background of the person she was fake marrying was healthy and normal, right? “Which is more important to you? Love or pride?”
He studied her face. “You answer first.”
Was it crazy to be having this deep conversation in the middle of a loud bar? Probably. For some reason it didn’t feel strange, though. There were no formalities with this man. Just jumping in with both feet and being pulled along in the current. “I guess . . . pride is more important to me. Pride is something that can be kept. Love is too often squandered when you give it away. People might be careless with your love, but they can’t touch your pride. Or put it on their shelf like a trophy. It’s yours.”