Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77106 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77106 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Below us, Carter’s hand rose, gently snagging Tasha’s chin and angling it up.
“Oooh, be still my heart,” Brooke said, patting her chest.
“Ooh ooh,” Lainey hooted.
I was going to go ahead and pretend that the way my stomach twisted was happiness for Tasha and not jealousy that it wasn’t me and Coast down there.
“Right?” Brooke asked, reaching to give Lainey’s arm a little shake. “Oh, this is it!”
Tasha’s head lifted.
Their gazes locked.
Carter started to lean down.
“Mom?”
“Damnit!” Brooke said. “Go back to bed, Benji!” she whisper-yelled to the kid a floor below who had no idea she was there.
At the sound of her son’s voice, Tasha yanked almost violently away from Carter.
Carter’s hand fell, curling into a fist. His whole posture then was one of defeat as Tasha rushed past him and back to her room.
Alone, Carter turned his head up to the sky, sucking in a deep breath, then exhaling it hard.
Then he turned and walked away.
“Dang it. That was getting good. I’m all a-flutter,” she said, sighing dreamily.
“You know what I think?” I asked, looking at Brooke.
“That the two of them need to get a babysitter and tour the Egyptian cotton sheets at his mansion? Me too.”
A little laugh escaped me at that.
“That you should write.”
“Honey, I do write,” she said, brows pinching.
“Yeah, ad copy. I mean you should write stories. That was such a vivid description of events. I could picture it all. Write some page-burning spicy romances. I’d buy them.”
“Girl, you know, I gobble those things right up. The library hates to see me coming.”
“I’m serious. You should try. Who knows, maybe that will be the thing that gets you out of here. You could write about a single mom whose ex’s best friend wants to swoop in and sweep her off her feet.”
“You know, I just might do that,” Brooke agreed. “Since we’re giving advice tonight. I got some for you.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t believe whatever he told you.”
“What? Who?”
“That delicious biker who was living with you for a few days. I don’t know what he told you before I caught him out here, moping, but don’t believe it. He didn’t mean it. He’s just being an idiot,” she told me.
There was a scream of outrage from Brooke’s room, making her sigh before rushing in there.
I stepped closer, making sure nothing was wrong, before making my way back down the steps.
Carter was still in the parking lot, parked just three spots from mine with a car that likely cost fifty of mine. He was leaned back against it, head tipped up to the sky.
“For what it’s worth, I think you should try again,” I told him.
Because as much as my own heart was hurting at the idea of having a good man slip through my fingers, I still rooted for love.
“With Tasha,” I said as I slipped Lainey into her seat. “She deserves better than this,” I said, waving toward the motel.
“All of you do,” Carter said. I couldn’t wait to tell Brooke that he absolutely did have that cool drink of water on a hot day voice.
His gaze flicked past me toward the end of the lot, brows narrowing.
“What?” I asked.
“Probably nothing,” he said, shaking his head.
“She swims like that every night. And, usually, Benji is sleeping.”
To that, he nodded.
“I’m not giving up.”
“Good,” I said, giving him a smile before climbing into my car and driving off.
I drove Lainey around, listening to her hoot at the lights out the window, kick her feet, do anything but actually sleep.
But hey, at least she wasn’t grumbling or crying, so I figured that was a win.
I was having a hard time holding onto my patience with the fussing when my own emotions felt all over the place. The drive at least gave me the peace to try to work through my own complicated feelings.
And they were conflicted for sure.
Because on the one hand, Coast’s actions had proven him to be kind, generous, patient, and intuitive.
On the other, the man claimed he’d killed thirteen people. Thirteen. That was more bodies than most serial killers could lay claim to.
Some part of me wanted to say he was lying, that he was just making up a crazy story to push me away because things had gone too far, too fast for his comfort.
But everything about how he said it screamed authenticity.
And each time I flashed back to how calm and capable he’d been in that alley that first night, I knew for sure he was capable of killing.
I wanted to believe that he would only ever do it for a good reason.
I also believed in my heart that we were all capable of murder given the right incentive. For example, I would claw someone’s eyes out of their skull, would break their hands, would bash their heads in with a rock if someone dared to try to hurt my baby.