Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 61867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
He wraps his shirt around his hand and uses it to brush off his seat, then spreads it on the leather as a covering for him to sit on.
“As long as I don’t get any huge shards in my ass, I should be fine.” He grins.
“Shards in your ass?” I reply, giving him the are-you-serious face.
But Jameson just chuckles as we both climb in the Porsche and pull out of Becky’s parking lot, leaving Chad and his asshole friends writhing in pain on the pavement.
Just what you deserve, you creeps.
In fact, Chad deserves a whole lot more, but for now, that’s good enough.
That’s the second time he’s saved you, Iris. Twice in two days. Do you even deserve this man?
Chapter 10
Jameson
My adrenaline is just starting to come down as we get back to the house. I’ve been taking deep breaths to get my anger back under control, and Iris has been telling me the story of how she met her friend Eliza so I can keep my mind off of what just happened and not feel like I want to turn the car around and go back there and beat those guys to a pulp.
Normally I’m not a violent guy, but when it comes to protecting the people I love—well, then I’ll do whatever it takes.
As it turns out, Eliza hooked Iris up with her first job at the supermarket when Iris came in looking for work. The two hit it off quickly and became friends. The way she explained it to me is that Eliza is quite motherly and became somewhat of a big-sister to her, which is exactly what she needed at the time.
Part of me wonders if I was ever brought up in those discussions and the way I disappeared on Iris…
As I pull up to the house, a flash of guilt hits me as I think about just how awful these last three years must have been for her. First, she loses her dad, and then I’m gone without even so much as a goodbye. I’ve told myself time and time again that there was nothing I could have done about it. I’ve told myself that so many times, but I’ve never been able to heal the guilt I still feel to this day.
But at least I’m back now.
And I will do everything I can for Iris. Everything I can to protect her. To make her mine, to provide for her, to make sure she never suffers or struggles or is abandoned again. And I’ll spend the rest of my life doing just that.
“Jameson, come on.” I look up and realize that while I’ve been sitting here, taking deep breaths and thinking, Iris has gotten out her side of the car and come around to mine. She opens the door and takes my hand in hers. So soft. So small. “Let’s get you inside before you bleed to death, you big tough man.”
I snicker as I get to my feet and pretend to stagger toward the door, really hamming it up like I’ve had the shit kicked out of me and I’m on my last legs.
“Wow, when did you become such a great actor?” she asks.
“Oh, you didn’t see? Last year I won Best Male Actor at the Golden Globes.”
“Is that right?” She laughs, as I pull the door open for her. “They have the Golden Globes in Albania?”
“Um, uh…” I stammer, acting like a crook who’s just been caught red-handed. I jog up into the house as Iris chases after me.
“Wait, stop! Your back is bleeding, Jameson!”
Laughing, I take the stairs up to the second floor. I glance over my shoulder and see her racing after me, a mixture of concern and amusement on her face, her hair bouncing like an angel as she takes each step.
God, she’s so adorable.
I’m instantly taken back to the time when I was in the back yard changing the tube on Iris’s bicycle tire and she was sitting on a stump watching me. I was using a screwdriver that I’d caught on a grinder somehow once, and it had a pretty sharp corner on it. I somehow managed to lever it into the palm of my hand just hard enough to draw blood, and when Iris heard me say ouch and pull my hand back, she got really concerned, so I decided to mess with her a bit.
I told her I’d nicked an artery and started to run inside because I was bleeding like crazy. She leapt to her feet and was right behind me the whole way into the bathroom, ready to do whatever she could do to help. When she saw that I’d just barely nicked myself and all I needed was a Band-Aid, she swatted me on the shoulder and cursed me out for getting her all worried. Ten-seconds later, we were both laughing about it, and she was making sure I cleaned out “the wound” with alcohol to make sure it didn’t get infected—caring for me like my own private nurse.