Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 48808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 163(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 163(@300wpm)
Yeah, I do know how she is. And I know she wouldn't just quit her job and disappear. She's loud, opinionated, and independent as hell. She never knows when to quit or ask for help, but she loves her family more than anything. She wouldn't worry them for no reason.
What the fuck is going on with her? It pisses me off that I don't know. And it pisses me off even more that I'm not allowed to call her up to ask. Once upon a time, I could have done that. But she was twelve then. Now, she's as likely to tell me to go fuck myself with a rusty pole as she is to tell me what's going on with her.
"If I see her, I'll make her call her parents," I sigh, knowing there's not a chance in hell I'll be able to make her do anything. Chloe does what Chloe wants. She always has.
An hour later, Thanos is stretched across the sofa, snoring, when he startles awake, rolling onto his stomach. I've still got my phone in my hands. I've typed out a text to Chloe, deleted it, and retyped it five different times. I still haven't sent it, though.
The one thing she hates more than being told what to do is me in her business. If she had her way, I don't think she'd ever see me again. Which is precisely why I make a point of showing up as often as I can. She doesn't get to forget I exist when she's always occupied so much of my mind. Fuck that.
"What is it, buddy?" I glance over at Thanos to find him staring at the front door. "You need to go out?"
When he huffs and then hops down, I toss the phone aside, climbing to my feet to let him out into the yard.
"You're pissing in Wyatt's grass this time," I mutter, pulling the door open for him. "I'm not ready for another round with the terrorist next door. Or that goddamn…"
The words die on my tongue.
My heart stops for a second.
For a minute, I just stare, my mouth hanging open.
Chloe is standing on the front porch, her keys in hand, as if she were preparing to unlock the door, a shocked look on her round face.
She stands upright, hauling her oversized t-shirt up her shoulder. It immediately slides back down, exposing the soft skin beneath. My gaze drifts down to the exposed lace of her bra. And then lower, over her round belly, down the pink leggings hugging her thick thighs…all the way to the glittery polish topping toes shoved into flip-flops.
Jesus Christ.
I grip the doorknob tight, fighting the urge to reach out and haul her into my arms, just to feel her ample curves pressed against me. Just to see if she's still as soft as she was the last time I was lucky enough to touch her.
I already know she will be, though. So fucking soft.
My dick twitches at the thought, stiffening in my pants.
Thanos pushes his way outside, loping toward her to butt his head against her thigh. I've never been jealous of a dog before, but when she sinks her hand into his thick coat, I want to be him. I want her stroking and cooing at me.
I just want her, goddammit.
"What are you doing here?" The question comes out a lot sharper than intended. It sounds like an accusation, frankly.
She immediately tenses, bristling in response. Her mossy green eyes narrow on my face, her pouty lips pursing like she tasted something sour. Even pissed, she's stunning, all golden skin, fire, and beautiful venom.
"Wyatt is my brother," she says in that lilting voice I hear in my dreams. "I should be asking you why you're here, Trystan."
The way she says my name makes my heart clench.
"I'm watching Thanos this week."
"Oh," she says, her gaze softening as she glances down at the dog. She may hate me, but she's a pushover for animals. When their family dog died when we were kids, she was a wreck for weeks. I had my dad help me send her flowers and a stuffed replica to cheer her up. "Well, you can go back to Santa Maria. I'll stay with him until Wyatt gets home."
"Uh, fuck no." I lean against the doorframe, scowling at her. "You're supposed to be in San Francisco. You go home. I'll stay."
She stares at me levelly. "I see you haven't changed."
"What does that mean?"
"It means you still think you can tell me what to do." She rolls her eyes. "You've always been an overgrown bully. But you aren't the boss of me, Trystan. You don't get to tell me what to do."
"I've never tried to tell you what to do."
"You've been trying to tell me what to do my entire life! Don't wear makeup. Don't go to prom. Don't go to UPenn. Don't do this. Don't do that. You're a broken record of commands and demands."