Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
It takes me a few seconds to acclimate myself, and I lie there on top of this new source of warmth. My head goes down, and with the wind still knocked out of me, I rest my cheek on the stranger’s comfy sweatshirt, nuzzling the padded torso without thinking twice.
So, so comfy.
Like a big, comfy bear. Like the big, comfy teddy bears at Costco. Mmmm. Aren’t they only fifty dollars? I want one of those.
I hear a heart beating erratically, likely from the traumatic force of being knocked on one’s ass, and exhale the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
A low, displeased rumble emits from deep within the stranger’s chest.
It’s enough to rouse me from my shell-shocked stupor. Lifting my drooping head from the broad, muscular body I’m lying limply on top of, my out-of-focus gaze searches out the face of the guy who could very well have just saved my life.
We lock eyes and I manage to blink.
Sweet Jesus is he scary.
And he’s glaring up at me.
Caleb
The girl and I lock eyes, but I finally manage to blink.
“Can you get off me?” I mutter, trying to pull myself up on my elbows—no easy task with this chick bedding down on top of me. She’s clearly delirious.
“Can you please get off me,” I repeat, giving her a nudge. “No offense, but you’re no lightweight.”
It’s a lie, but I want her off me, like, yesterday. She’s getting way too comfortable, feels way too soft and warm and pliant, and I’m beginning not to mind.
“I… excuse me. Oh my god.” The brunette stumbles over her words, a furious blush reddening her face. I suppress a laugh at how hastily she goes from snuggling on top of me in what’s obviously a confused, concussed haze, to pushing back on my chest—briefly cutting off my air supply, I might add—and rising to her feet, all within seconds.
She stumbles a bit then rights herself.
“Aren’t you going to help me up?” I challenge her with an arched brow, glaring up from under the brim of my hat, a whole catalog of first impressions imprinting themselves on my brain now that I’m getting a look at her.
First of all, she is adorable. Flushed. Embarrassed.
Pretty.
Her thick, dark coffee-colored hair, which had obviously been piled haphazardly on the top of her head at one point, is now in a messy rat’s nest. Huge chunks of soft waves have escaped the knot to rest lightly upon her slight shoulders and cascade loosely down her back.
Straight nose. Full mouth with a slightly pouty bottom lip.
Her complexion is clear, and radiates a blush—either from her recent fall off the second story, or from being ashamed. Probably a bit of both.
Large, expressive blue eyes stare down at me from under perfectly arched eyebrows, and I quickly avoid her scrutiny by glancing up to the window from whence she emerged. For a moment, I’m envious of the Kappa Omega Chi fucktard who just spent the night with her, although quite frankly, she looks far too wholesome to be a quick lay.
Naïve. Innocent. No freaking way could she have been in that house having her brains screwed out all night.
I squash the thought back because facts are facts, and the indisputable proof stares down at me as I continue my appraisal.
Second, she’s not short.
Even from down on the ground, I can tell that when I stand, I might tower over her with my six foot three frame, but it won’t be by much. Her short-sleeved, fitted black tee shirt is tucked into belted skinny jeans, elongating a pair of long, athletic legs. Her tight, dark jeans are neatly tucked into a pair of tall, shiny equestrian boots all the girls are wearing these days.
She begins tapping the toe of those black boots nervously on the paved driveway, regarding me warily, an internal debate making her mouth turn down in a frown and her perfect eyebrows crease. It’s obvious she wants to bolt and leave me lying here in a heap but is too polite to actually do it.
I mean, I probably just saved her careless neck, and she damn well knows it.
Takin a deep breath of courage before exhaling, her full pink lips emit a long pppuh of air before she cautiously bends toward me with her palm extended.
She’s shaking.
I stare blankly at that unsteady hand a few seconds before grasping it, wrapping my large fingers around her slender ones, and resisting the urge to squeeze. Or pull her back down on top of me.
Her bones are delicate, petite, and feel fragile compared to my rough mammoth palms. I’m overly conscientious of the scraps and callouses marring my battered skin.
The unnamed brunette tugs on my arm, heavy and lifeless, unable to budge me. Biting her quivering lower lip, she yanks at me again before extending a leg and planting her booted heel in the ground to gain better leverage.