Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 49239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 246(@200wpm)___ 197(@250wpm)___ 164(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 246(@200wpm)___ 197(@250wpm)___ 164(@300wpm)
The thought of Tess paying me back with tip money while trying to juggle her tight budget kills me. I won’t let her do it. Those fifties were just pocket money to me, but paying them back would be a burden for her.
I’m about to press my argument when a light bulb goes off. “He can work it off with me.”
She pinches her brows together. “What?”
I nod, knowing this is the answer. I can take it easy on the kid and Tess won’t have to bust her ass to repay me. It’s the perfect solution.
“I don’t even know you. I’m not letting you take my kid somewhere and make him do God only knows what.”
I bristle at her accusing tone. “Hey, I’m not the bad guy here. I said you didn’t even have to pay me back, but you’re the one insisting. Come with him if you want, I don’t care.”
Zane pushes the screen door open and steps back outside. I frown when I see that the rusty door doesn’t have a window or a screen—it’s just open, offering no protection from potential home intruders even if it’s locked.
As Zane passes me my wallet, Tess says, “Zee, you’ll be working off your debt to Dom.”
“Dom?” He sneers. “A thousand bucks says that’s not his real name.”
I scoff at his smart-ass remark. “I’m pretty sure you don’t have a grand to wager, kid, and my legal name is Dominic Locke.”
“You stole the wallet of a professional hockey player,” Tess tells her son. “Not that it matters because we’re not fucking criminals. You’ll be doing whatever chores he gives you for ten bucks an hour until you’re square with him.”
“Ten bucks an hour?” Zane gapes. “That’s bullshit.”
“Don’t talk to her that way.” I give him a menacing glare.
“Who the hell are you?” he fires back. “Besides the asshole who can’t take care of his own car?”
“Stop talking, Zane.” Tess’s level tone is even more ominous than her threatening one. “One more word out of you and you won’t be getting your driver’s license until you’re seventeen.”
He presses his lips closed. Tess meets my gaze.
“He can start tomorrow.”
“I’m going on a road trip tomorrow. How about Thursday?”
She nods. “He can clean your house, wash your car, walk your dog—whatever you need.”
Zane’s nostrils flare. He reminds me of me when I was his age. I had an attitude problem, but my coaches worked it out of me. Maybe that’s what he needs, too.
“Can I get your number?” I ask Tess.
Zane narrows his eyes at me. That kid hates my guts, and I didn’t even do anything to him.
“So I can text you about when and where on Thursday,” I clarify, since Zane seems to think I’m hitting on his mom.
Not that I wouldn’t. She’s beautiful, and under different circumstances, I’d take a shot. It looks like she’s a single mom, though, and now that I’ve seen her kid, it feels different than meeting a stranger at a bar. It seems wrong somehow.
Fuck. Who am I? I’ve slept with moms, soon-to-be-divorced women, twins and even a few smoking-hot fortysomething grandmas. I don’t discriminate—I’ll slip the old Pringles can into just about any hot woman who wants me.
Tess definitely does not want me, though, so it doesn’t even matter. We exchange numbers and I call for an Uber, walking out to the curb to wait.
Even from that distance, I can hear her yelling at her kid once they’re back inside. I fight a smile, remembering getting lit up that way by my dad a time or twelve as a teenager.
Not only is Tess gorgeous, she’s a good mom. It’s a damn shame she hates my guts, because I’d like nothing more than to give her a night she’d never forget.
Chapter Four
Tess
* * *
“Those are real muscles, not the airbrushed ones. I wonder if he can make his...what’s the boob area called on men? Do you think he can make those move up and down?”
I glare at my sister from the kitchen sink. “Is that the benchmark now? You want a guy who can jiggle his pecs?”
She considers as she stirs the pot of pasta in boiling water on the stove. “I don’t know if jiggle is the right word, but yeah, I like a man who’s stronger than me.”
Cam won’t stop talking about Dom—or looking up photos of him online. One would think being abandoned by the father of her twins seven years ago and having three failed relationships since would have soured my younger sister on love, but one would be wrong.
“Mom, what’s another word for scary?” my eight-year-old nephew Sam asks from the kitchen table.
“Spooky?” Cam suggests. “Terrifying?”
“Do we have hamburger buns?” I ask absently.
Cam leans back to check the spot where we keep bread on the counter. “We have two.”
“Should we let the kids have a cage match for them? Losers use bread?”