Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Him… in my bedroom? Yeah, I don’t think that would be smart.
“No, I got it covered, but if you feel up to the task of going with me barstool shopping on my next day off, I won’t turn you down,” I say without thinking.
“I can do that.” He says looking up at me.
His easy answer catches me off guard. All the men I know would rather shoot themselves in the foot than go shopping for anything besides groceries, and even that’s a stretch.
“Cool,” I agree, and then take the wrench from him when he holds it out to me.
“Pliers.” He nods to the toolbox, so I grab the first pair of pliers I see and hand them over, then out of boredom, I move the beer out of the way and start to arrange his tools. “Waste of time, babe. They’ll be fucked up again by tomorrow morning.” He startles me, and I look over at him just as he moves the cloth from the side of the car and slams the hood closed.
“Well then, for about an hour tomorrow, things will be in order,” I retort, and he shakes his head then gets in the car, leaving the door open. He turns over the engine, and it purrs quietly like it’s brand new. After revving the engine a few times, he shuts it down and gets out. “It sounds good.”
“You wouldn’t have thought that a few hours ago,” he says, and I nod, having no doubt it probably sounded just like it looked before he fixed it. “Now that work’s done, it’s time for a beer.” He drops the pliers he’s holding next to another pair then grabs the beer and my hand. With no choice but to go wherever he’s leading me, I follow him toward an open door that looks like an office. “Toyota’s done. Call Mike and let him know,” he says, and I peek around his big frame and see Wes sitting in a rolling chair in front of a metal desk. “Harmony’s here,” he adds.
Wes’s head jerks back then his eyes come to me and drop to Harlen’s hand still wrapped around mine. Letting Harlen go, even though I kinda like… okay, really like holding his hand, I move around him and into the office to give Wes a hug.
“You settling in okay?” Wes asks once he’s released me and I’ve taken a step back.
“Yep.” I smile, and his eyes roam my face before he looks over my shoulder to Harlen. Not really understanding badass guy eye talk, I don’t know what he’s communicating; I just know it’s something.
“I’ll let Mike know he can come by to pick up his ride,” Wes mutters then lifts his chin. “Be smart.”
Without a word to Wes, Harlen grabs my hand once again and leads me away, through another door, this one on the back wall of the shop.
“Be smart about what?” I ask him as we walk side by side down a long hall and out into an open courtyard, where there is a grill covered with a blue tarp, along with some tables and three metal barrels that are black, as if they have had fires in them before.
“Nothing,” he answers as we head up a flight of stairs. Stopping at a metal door on the second floor landing, he lets my wrist go and I watch him pull out a key then put it into the lock. The second he opens the door and I step into the dimly lit room, I look around. There’s a queen size bed with a fitted sheet halfway coming off the mattress. The top sheet is gone to places unknown. A small, crappy dresser with the drawers shoved in, most of them off-kilter, with clothes hanging out of them is against one wall, and there’s a bedside table with a lamp on top with the shade missing.
“Just gonna clean up,” he says, dropping the beer to the top of the dresser that is piled high with dusty receipts, loose change, and other odds and ends. Watching him go into the bathroom and close the door, I look around again, wondering what this place is. The night I took him home from June’s, I took him to an apartment building that was similar to the one I lived in in Nashville. It was nice. This place, not so much. Hearing the toilet flush then water turn on, I turn to face him when he comes out.
“What is this place?” I wave my hand around, and he stops in the open doorway of the bathroom, looking at me then around the room.
“I used to crash here before I got my place,” he says, moving to the dresser. Opening one of the drawers, he then does something I don’t expect him to do. His hands go behind his head and he pulls off his shirt. His chest is covered in dark hair that thins out over his cut abs then turns into a narrow line that disappears into his jeans. Seeing all of that and imagining feeling that hair against my bare skin and breasts, my core tightens and my cheeks heat.