Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 38007 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 190(@200wpm)___ 152(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38007 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 190(@200wpm)___ 152(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
Tasha: Come over
I glance at my front door and I want to dash downstairs to her apartment, but I’m worried I’ll get busted in the hallway by the giant bear who lives next door. My gaze falls on my laptop and I’m reminded I need to get back to work.
Tasha: Never mind. I’m coming to your place. I want to bump into that hot man meat you got up there.
A flash of hot anger hits me, taking me by surprise. I sit up in shock, then dismiss the emotion as a crazy one-time thing.
I start tidying my living room as a way of distracting myself. I can be a little bit of a mess. When I first moved in I kept the place really clean, but as time has gone on I’ve gotten comfortable. I love decorating, and it’s something I’m still doing. I painted all the walls and have been working on a few pieces of furniture. I like to find old stuff that looks like it needs to be thrown out and then bring it back to life. I’m a Pinterest and Etsy junkie with my projects, but it’s fun. Maybe projects is putting it lightly. It’s my life, the reason I moved from a small town to a big city. It might be a pipe dream, but I’m giving it a go. I have all these ideas for things I want to make, and I blog about it as I work. I video my progress while creating some of these things, even selling some stuff occasionally. The problem is I have one too many ideas and not enough time to do them all. I can be all over the place at times, but when I’m working on something I love I can be super focused.
A knock sounds at the door and I toss the throw pillows I made last night onto the sofa. I glance around and shrug, thinking this will have to do. I walk over to the door and pull it open, but it’s not Tasha as expected. Instead, every cell in my body goes into overdrive when I see him standing there in front of me.
“Fuck,” the beast from across the hall rumbles. He runs a hand down his face as if he’s worked up about something. It must be the move; it can be so stressful. “Are your parents home?”
His eyes roam over my body until he pierces me with a hard stare. I shake my head, unable to find my voice. I reach up and grab the end of my long braid that’s hanging over my shoulder. I nervously play with it, wondering what he could possibly want from me. I watch as his powerful jaw clenches, and I note the dark hair shadowing it. He’s pissed, and I wonder if I did something wrong.
“When will they be home?”
“They won’t,” I say, looking at him and then at the ground. “They died a long time ago.”
I look away not because it’s difficult to talk about, but because he’s so big and intense. It’s been so long since they passed, I can’t remember them at all. When I fix my attention back on him, he’s not clenching his teeth anymore, and his eyes appear softer.
“Who takes care of you?” His voice is deep like he doesn’t use it much.
“Um, I take care of myself?” I don’t know why it comes out like a question. I’m an adult, but suddenly I feel really vulnerable and young.
I drop my braid and stand up a little bit taller, trying to look older. I know I look young. Heck, I am pretty young. The only reason I can even afford to live on my own is because when I was eighteen I inherited the money my parents left me. It wasn't a ton, but it was enough for me to try and start a life in the city like I’d always dreamed of.
“You sure about that?” He raises his eyebrows and it's then I notice a small scar on his forehead.
“Who takes care of you?” I ask.
I glance down and see a few cuts and scrapes on his hands. He lets out a deep chuckle, laughing at the idea that he gets takes care of. For some reason I don’t believe it; everyone needs someone.
“I’m Theodore, but my friends call me Teddy.” He reaches out his hand, and he’s still got a smile on his face.
“Like a teddy bear?” I tease as I take his hand, smiling up at him.
He holds me gently like I’m delicate, still grinning at me. He shakes his head and mumbles another curse.
“Sure. Like a teddy bear.”
“Well, Bear, I’m Pepper.” I try to pull my hand from his, but his grip tightens. It’s not too tight, but it lets me know he’s not ready to let go. His hand is so rough and it makes me realize how soft my own are. “My friends call me Pep.”