Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“It can be both.”
Our laughs echo loudly around the kitchen prompting me to lean to the side to see if we accidently woke my woman.
Er.
Fake woman.
Fake woman I have very real feelings for.
Fuck. Me. That sounds like shit I need to have my head checked over.
“You hear back from your contact?” I enthusiastically ask, hope overwhelming my tone.
“Not yet…but…” Blu leans forward onto his bent arms, “I heard about this situation that happened within the company a few years back where a guy hired PS to protect his ex-fiancée from a supposed threat except that the threat wasn’t real, it was just a ploy to get her to go back to him because he believed she’d rush into his arms for a ‘safe place’ to stay once her place had been compromised. Problem was…she didn’t. She did run into the arms of an ex, but it wasn’t him. And when it wasn’t him, he became the threat he had hired people to protect her from. It was all very stolen from a Lifetime movie bullshit, but it got me thinking about your competition…”
The glower that he’s delivered is deadly.
“I mean…our boss.” His impish smirk simply deepens the expression. “And I started to wonder if maybe he took a page out of that playbook.”
“Tell me I get to shoot him in the face.”
“Negative.” My best friend folds his fingers together. “At least for now. I’m still looking, combing through his shit, so I’ll keep you posted. Oh! Did you know he has a cabin up in Vermont?”
Our conversation from earlier has me replying through gritted teeth. “It’s come up.”
“Pretty sure he’s got deep ties to the maple syrup mob, but I need to keep digging. My other contact – the one that does tattoos and works at his family’s mechanic shop – just sent me the files this morning.”
“How many computer contacts do you have?”
“Like rubbers, you can never have too many, Wahl.”
Louder laughs leave me as I grab the handle to my case. “I need to lock this up and shower off. Can you wait around until I get out?”
He nods and opens his laptop, which becomes my cue to exit.
Securing my rifle back in the hidden wall safe in my closet alone allows me a much-needed chance to truly breathe. Under regular circumstances, I do that while driving; however, having to ensure that I’m not being tailed or that my newly repaired truck has managed to collect a tracking device on it has been preventing that from happening.
The truth is…I gotta get my shit together.
I gotta get my head back on the mission – and only the mission at hand.
And as much as I want that mission to be making Arley scream until the cows come home, it’s not.
Being “together” isn’t even really a necessity.
It’s just an easy tool to distract those that may be watching.
But fuck…if it isn’t distracting me too.
Not wanting to keep Blu around longer than necessary, I high tail my ass to the glass contraption that was definitely one of the selling points for me.
What can I say?
I like that its big.
I like that it’s wide.
I like the fact I practically see my entire bathroom from my position inside making it a little more defendable than others.
Hot water pours from the showerhead, yet rather than race to rinse and wash and hop out, I wrap my hands around the bar in front of me.
Drop my head forward.
Let the heat cascade off my shoulders and down the tattooed Air Force insignia that’s stationed in the middle of my back.
I just need a minute.
One minute to forget that someone’s trying to kill the person I love most in the world.
One minute to forget that now is not the time to tell her how I really feel.
One…goddamn…minute to forget about the fact that when all this is over, when all is said and done, that how I really feel probably won’t even matter because I’m probably not the man she really wants.
I’ve never rented out a room at a restaurant.
I don’t know any chefs that owe me favors.
I damn sure don’t have a fucking cabin in Vermont.
Although, at this point in my life I guess I could if I wanted.
And I would absolutely take Angel Cake there if she were actually my woman.
And you can bet your ass I’d lay her flat on that table.
Drizzle syrup across her naked body.
Lick away a lot more than just the drops that fell into her belly button.
Images of the thick, sticky condiment creeping past the area toward the sweet spot between her thighs not only summons my cock to full attention but has it swelling so mercilessly I have no choice but to give it a hard squeeze in hopes of relieving a bit of the ache. To no real surprise, one squeeze leads to two and two leads to a stroke.