Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77842 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77842 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
“I like honey,” he simply responds. His promiscuous tone and hooded eyes cause me to hold my breath. An exciting feeling rushes through me and I glance down.. He takes the jar, and I can’t help but look down at his hands, grease staining his skin and nails. His knuckles are swollen and cut, like he’s been in a fight recently.
I clear my throat. “Right…well, I just wanted to come say hi and introduce myself. I’m Rain. Rain Adler.” I slip my hands into my back pockets.
His eyes remain on the jar as he spins it in his large palm. “Rhodes. So, tell me, Rain Adler, where is your husband and daughter?” His tone is rough and scratchy, and his question takes me aback. He’s been watching me close enough to know I’m with someone and have a kid. He’ll fit in well with this block and our tendency to spy on each other.
“What do you mean by that?” I tilt my head to the side.
“Just curious why a man would let a woman like yourself around a man like me alone?” His vainglorious attitude a major turn-on.
“Well, my boyfriend—errr, fiancé, is at work.” He raises his brows, his curiosity piqued at my stammering. Lowering the jar, he crosses his arms, one of his hands rubbing at the dark stubble on his chin.
“It’s complicated.” I look down.
“Doesn’t look complicated to me if you’re here, darlin.”
Wow, talk about arrogant! Who does this guy think he is?
“Excuse me! You’re being rude!”
His eyes light up, soft laughter spilling from his curt mouth.
“I was trying to be nice and welcome you to the neighborhood, but I have enough assholes in my life so…” My brows lift to my hairline, my pulse drumming in my neck out of frustration.
“Now who’s being rude?” He tilts his head to the side.
My head snaps up. He’s mocking me. Turning on my heel, I walk away, a slew of words to spew at him blistering on my tongue. The last thing I need is to deal with another jackass.
He laughs, and my nostrils flare. I should have listened to my head, instead of my heart about coming over here. If I see a dick, I just need to walk away because all I seem to be drawn to is jerks.
Walking away, he says, “Where you goin’?”
I don’t reply.
The rest of the night, I stew on his crassness, and what I should have responded with. The way he looked and talk to me, it pisses me off and makes me want to go see him again all at the same time.
“Time to eat!” Paige announces, and I stand up from the couch, biting my nail. I didn’t even know someone was making dinner. Hell, I wasn’t even watching TV, I was thinking about him, Rhodes. His crassness and beautiful skin. What I should have said to him, what I want to say.
Sitting at the table, my knee bounces with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“Mom?” My mind goes blank and I look up, finding Heston and Paige both looking at me with concern.
“Yes?” I clear my throat and grab my fork, digging into the spaghetti.
“What did you do today?”
I almost laugh at the question. Pushing the food around on my plate, I think about how I should answer. I know I can’t say what I want to, even though talking about it would definitely help. Instead, I lie. “I was in my studio.” They both nod, bored with the same answer I give almost every night. Heston goes on to talk about his day, but I can’t focus on anything he’s saying because my mind keeps going back to Rhodes. The way Heston keeps looking at me, I feel like he knows I went over there, or at the very least, knows I’m hiding something. I can’t help myself; I can’t stop thinking about the neighbor who stands out like a villain in a fairy tale.
“You look good,” Heston says, complimenting my summer dress and flats.
“Thanks. I thought it would be nice for brunch,” I reply, glancing at his polo and khakis. “You look great too.”
He scoffs, grabbing his shoes from under the bed. “I’m sure Owen will tell me how I could have made it better.”
I laugh. He’s probably right. Owen and Flynn invited us over for brunch, and Heston didn’t try and run for the hills. It occurs to me that we’re having casual conversation. It’s crazy how we can slip into something normal when we’re anything but. We’re broken and unrepairable. I see it and feel it. How can he not?
“Hey Heston, after Owen and Flynn’s, I really want to sit down and have a talk,” I tell him, my finger tapping my chin, waiting to see how he’ll respond.
“Yeah sure, I’m home for the day,” he replies on an exhale, his tone not giving away that he’s worried about anything. I don’t understand him. How can he not feel how severed our love is? We’re a butterfly that has a wing clipped, unable to fly and flopping around fighting and hoping we can still keep going.