Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 139088 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139088 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
He didn’t drop a thumbs up on the text. He sent the emoji.
After that, I got back to work.
After work, we went home, took Jacques out for a good walk then were back at my place, and Knox was putting the leash on the hook, muttering, “I hope I’m cleared to drive tomorrow because this ride thing is sucking huge.”
“My poor baby,” I cooed as I hit the fridge to get a drink. “Want a beer?”
“Yeah.”
I got his beer. Then, since the bottle of red was opened, I went for that.
He was on the couch with the TV on.
I looked at the TV, then to him, scrunched my lips to the side, all of this before I walked his beer to him.
“Thanks, baby,” he muttered to the TV as he took the beer.
I sat cross-legged beside him.
“Uh, Knox?”
“Yeah?” he said to the TV.
“Can we have a short but important convo?”
He turned his head to me. “What’s up?”
“Well—”
His eyes narrowed on me. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“So, what’s up?”
Before I could answer, a knock came at the door.
“I’ll get it,” Knox said, angling out of the couch, putting his beer on the coffee table, and Jacques kept him company as he went to the door.
He looked through the peephole, smiled, opened the door and stepped aside.
Shirleen strode in, and Jacques barked his greeting to her.
She sent kissy noises to him while I greeted, “Hey, Shirleen.”
She dumped two bags on my armchair. One was a Nordstrom bag. The other was just a brown paper bag, but it was sizeable.
“Hello, child, all good?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I answered, eyeing the bags.
“I can’t stay,” she said. “I want to be nowhere near Tod when this wedding meeting is happening. I don’t have an assignment, and I don’t want one. I want to dress up, show up, watch people get married, then eat cake and dance my ass off. So…bye.”
With that, she swept out.
Jacques barked at the door, miffed at being dissed even for a head scratch.
Important note: Jacques liked kissy noises. But he preferred scratches.
“What was that?” I asked as Knox went to the bags.
He started with the Nordstrom one.
He pulled out a shoebox.
A Tom Ford shoebox.
He tipped open the lid, shoved aside some tissue, smiled at what he saw inside, then handed the box to me.
I set down my wine, completely opened the lid, folded back the tissue and had a shoe orgasm.
In it was a pair of emerald-green patent leather strappy sandals with a gold heel that were so much nicer than the ones that were in the trash, it wasn’t funny.
Was I actually feeling happy I got in a catfight in a nice restaurant owned by a mob boss so I could eventually end up with this pair of shoes?
Yes.
Yes, staring into that shoebox, I was feeling that whole debacle was sooooo worth it.
I was still shoe orgasming when something landed on my head and Knox landed on his ass beside me.
Before I even knew what it was (though, I figured I knew what it was), Jacques barked twice, indicating his approval.
I pulled it off my head and saw it was an acorn-colored Stetson with a braided band.
It was shit hot.
Not as shit hot as the shoes but still shit hot.
I looked to Knox. “You asked Shirleen to shop for me?”
“Woulda done it myself, but I can’t drive,” he replied.
No.
He would have Lyfted to the mall, or whatever.
But that would have meant he couldn’t come to SC to make sure I walked to my car without one of his family or ex-girlfriends pouncing on me.
“You know, I can take care of myself, most of the time,” I said softly.
His brows drew together. “Why did you say that?”
“Because you went out of your way to escort me to my car today.”
His lips thinned.
Oh yeah.
I’d called it.
I leaned to him, touched mine to his, they unthinned, and I sat back.
“You do what you gotta do. Just sayin’.” I lifted hat and shoebox. “And thank you for these, honey. I love them. They’re perfect.”
“Another reason to send Shirleen. She’s good at that shit.”
She sure was.
“You wanna try the shoes on?” he asked.
I sure did.
I put the hat on my head and the shoes on my feet.
I then got up and modeled both.
They didn’t go together.
But I rocked them.
“Fuck, I’m getting hard,” Knox said, watching me sashay around my living room with Jacques following me.
I stopped and noted, “We have time for a quickie.”
“C’mere,” he murmured.
I went there.
Jacques went there.
I climbed astride my man.
Jacques pushed in between us.
Knox put his hands to my ass.
I petted my dog.
“Before we do this,” he began, “was that ‘I can take care of myself’ thing what you wanted to talk about?”
“Sorry?”
“The short but important convo.”
Oh.
Damn.
He gave my ass a squeeze. “Luna.”
Honesty. Putting it out there.
Ugh.
“Okay, so, I was thinking, before we descend into small shit we don’t deal with that becomes bigger shit because we didn’t deal with it and it becomes a problem, I thought maybe we could make a pact to be sure we address that small shit that might become bigger shit.”