Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
His tone was relaxed, which meant he was good and pissed and wished he could beat my ass the same way he had when I was twelve and he caught me throwing all of Devyn’s underwear in the pool because she wouldn’t let me play with her brand-new Macintosh Color Classic.
It was the first time I’d smiled all day. “I’ve apologized so you can stop sharpening the knives.”
He grunted in approval. “I’m asking you one last time before I make the announcement––are you sure you don’t want to come home and work for the company I built for you.”
My smile sank. Frank Blackstone was a hall-of-famer when it came to dishing–out guilt, and I can’t say it didn’t strike a chord. Of course it did, but that did not mean I was going to swap a life I loved for one I didn’t out of some sense of duty.
“You built that company for you. Don’t kid yourself.”
When he didn’t argue, the worry kicked up again. “Dad, I’m worried about you.”
“Yeah…okay,” he said, “Sydney it is then.”
He sounded so damn disappointed I found myself wanting to give him some hope even though I knew I had no intention of ever going back. I never got the chance. A beat later the call dropped.
Sydney
One day bled into the next. Mornings faded into magic hour which turned into brilliant sunsets. It was like Fourth of July fireworks every night outside the enormous cathedral-style windows of Scott’s house.
My body healed faster than even I had anticipated. Four days after my showdown with the bull, my shoulder was only sore when I used it too much and my knee was almost a hundred percent. The scab on my forehead would take a little longer.
In the meantime, we fell into a routine of sorts. Scott worked. I worked. We ate dinner. We spent nights on the couch. He watched basketball while I worked on the laptop. Each night, alone in bed, I’d inevitably end up staring up at the ceiling wanting him.
We’d reached a stalemate on that front. I wasn’t going to make the first move and he hadn’t tried again. It had all the earmarks of a real marriage. Without one perk, of course. Which fed the tension. It grew into a big lumbering creature, the third roommate in the house who we both pretended didn’t take up too much room, and didn’t make a racket and knock stuff over, and didn’t insist on making it awkward.
The dynamics between us had shifted drastically since our heart-to-heart in the bathroom. He was literally tripping over his own feet to help me any way he could. It felt unnatural and awkward at first––to let someone do for me––but once I started to lean into it, I never wanted it to end.
The night before I was set to leave again, I couldn’t sleep. I also didn’t want to leave. Which was the first time that sentiment reared its head. Around one, I gave up trying and decided maybe a little warm milk spiked with brandy was in order. As I shuffled through the dark house, on my way to the kitchen, the enormous windows revealed heavy snowfall with flakes the size of quarters, painting an absolutely magical picture.
Hearing me mucking about in the kitchen, the dogs appeared. I didn’t mind having them sleep with me––I kind of missed their warm bodies, to be honest––but Scott had forbidden it while I was still injured, and my shoulder had agreed. One false move and I would’ve been back to square one.
“Hey, guys.” They danced around me, tails wagging. “Wanna keep me company while I try to get my drunk–on? Yes? Okay, good.” They looked at me like I needed to get my head checked.
I poured a second shot of brandy into the milk, grabbed the mug, and walked into the den, my attention consumed by the snowfall. The security floods had been turned on, backlighting the show Mother Nature was putting on. I turned a little, ready to plop down in one of the massive down-filled chairs in the living room, when I realized there was a body on the couch.
“Jesus!” My hand went over my heart and he smirked. “What are you doing up?” I barked, sounding affronted to find him lounging in his own house. It’s safe to say the sexual tension was making me as edgy as a cat on a hot tin roof. It was either that, or the straight-up lack of sex.
“Couldn’t sleep…you?” He rolled off his back and went up on an elbow, head in hand, chest bare and his jeans unbuttoned. I’d never seen a sexier sight, so handsome my eyeballs got wet. Among other things.
Trusty mug in hand, I settled in the chair across from him. “Me neither.”
We sat in silence for a while, and Tension, our third roommate, decided to join us. I could feel his eyes on me while I kept my attention on the snow. “It’s so pretty.”