Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 121764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Grace nodded, and then yawned, the motion stretching her little mouth wide. She covered it with a sleepy smile. “Sorry.”
“For yawning?”
She frowned, then chuckled. “For not being my usual peppy self, I guess.”
“You don’t have to be sorry for being tired.”
That seemed to stun her — which was ludicrous.
“Here, finish that,” I said, nodding to where she had stacked another burnt as shit marshmallow on a graham cracker with chocolate. “And let’s get you to bed.”
My marshmallow was finally perfectly cooked — lightly brown with an ooey-gooey center. I ate it without anything else, licking my fingers clean before I popped up from my seat.
When Grace finished, I walked with her to the bathrooms, brushing my teeth quickly before I stood watch outside the women’s restroom like a fucking security guard. I felt my own eyelids growing heavy the longer I stood there, until Grace swung out of the bathroom in another pair of those damned sleep shorts.
Those things were going to be the absolute death of me — especially since it seemed like she had them in every fucking color.
They were so flimsy and thin, and paired with the little spaghetti strap shirt she wore — braless, of course — I could chart every curve and slope of her body. It was enough to drive me out of my goddamn mind, watching her walk toward me with those tan, lean legs and just a sliver of her midriff peeking out to tease me.
There were three freckles in a zig-zag line on the part of her stomach I could see, like the handle of the Big Dipper constellation.
God, how I wanted to lift that top a bit higher, to connect the dots with my tongue.
She walked up to where I was standing with the corners of her lips lifted.
“Who’s the bulldog now?” she teased.
We were both quiet on the walk back to our site — Grace because she was tired, me because I was hammering my new mantra into my stupid head.
Teammate’s little sister. Teammate’s little sister.
Once we’d locked the car and all our belongings in it, I put out our fire and we climbed into the tent.
Grace acted like it was no big deal. She dove into her sleeping bag, letting out a groan of joy as she settled in and zipped herself up. “I’m going to sleep like a baby after that hike,” she said.
That would make one of us.
I tried to smile, but I was too focused on making sure I didn’t touch her as I laid down on my side of the tent. It was too damn hot to get into the sleeping bag, so I laid on top of it. And once I felt like we both were in place, I clicked off the flashlight on my phone, tossing it beside me. It was a good thing it had been on the charger most of the day in the car.
I stretched one arm up under my head, staring up at the ceiling of the tent. There were two vents letting in what little breeze there was, and I watched the trees playing with the moonlight above us as Grace worked to get comfortable.
I actually was pretty tired, but every noise around us had me on high alert. I didn’t tell Grace, but I had a knife hidden under my sleeping bag.
Now, had I ever used a knife? Hell no. But I was prepared to learn real fast tonight if I had to.
It was a gift from my father, one that had stayed stashed in my bedside table ever since. He’d told me a man always had to protect himself and his family.
I’d snorted when he’d said it, and he’d backhanded me so quick I was tasting blood before I realized I’d been hit.
I hated that most of my memories of him were like that. It didn’t matter how many good days I’d had with him, how many times he’d taught me how to play better and then celebrated my wins. He’d grown so resentful over the years that all that was covered by the rubble of the man he was now, the good buried under years of bad.
Still, there would always be a huge part of me that wanted his approval, that wanted to be like he was when he was my hero. Why, I would never fucking understand, but it was the truth. So, that knife — one of the only gifts I had from him — had been by my bed since the day he gave it to me.
Even when I traveled.
Tonight, it was a few inches under my head, sheathed and ready should I need it.
“What are you thinking about?”
I jolted a bit at the sound of her voice. “I thought you were tired.”
“You aren’t?”
“I’m getting there.”
“So then what are you thinking about?”