Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 104869 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104869 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
And he couldn’t fault Kenna this time. This was entirely on him.
He was still kicking himself when he dropped Spencer’s vehicle off at the man’s massive sporting goods store.
“Thanks, man. The kids can clean this up,” the big man said about the sofa. “Be a good project for them. Keep them busy for a while.”
“Yeah, no worries,” Smith muttered absently as he dug the Land Rover’s keys out of his front pocket. He’d left it parked outside the store.
“See you at the game tomorrow?” the other man asked. He seemed distracted by something across the road, and Smith glanced over his shoulder to see what had caught Spencer’s attention.
Just a couple of kids.
“Yes, but I’m not playing,” Smith said.
Spencer and Sam Brand had been trying to get Smith on their football team for weeks now. The teens from the youth center played against the adults every second week. And from what Smith gathered, the adults got their arses handed to them at every game.
He kept telling them he was a shit football player, but for some reason they persisted. Well, if they kept trying to load their team with shit players, they were never going to win.
“Hmm,” Spencer rumbled in response. Smith wasn’t sure if it was in agreement or disapproval. The other man’s eyes were still on the kids on the other side of the street and his eyes narrowed.
“Royston!” he suddenly hollered. “Are you hiding spray paint under your shirt?”
Smith jumped at the loud bark and looked around to see the two boys who couldn’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen staring back at Spencer with wide eyes.
“No Mr. C…” the boy yelled back, his voice imploring. “I’m not. I promise.”
Spencer glanced over at Smith as if suddenly remembering he was still there.
“Got to sort this out before they get themselves arrested. See you tomorrow then.”
He jogged across the street, and Smith watched as he talked to the boys. His body language was relaxed, nonthreatening, and for such a hulking guy, he didn’t even appear to be looming above the much smaller boys.
The boys hung their heads, occasionally replying and finally, after a few more words from Spencer, they both handed over the spray paint cans that they’d been inexpertly hiding under their T-shirts.
The guy had a great way with kids. Smith could see why his youth center was so successful.
Smith climbed into his Land Rover and just sat there for a moment, staring blindly into space, remembering the quiet hope and expectation in Kenna’s expression just before he’d careened out of the house like a bat out of hell.
He screwed his eyes shut. Not his finest moment.
He should go back. He knew that. If not for her, then himself. Today…last night had confused things. Muddied the waters.
He just needed some time to think and clear his own head before returning to speak with her.
Smith
Are you having breakfast at MJ’s this morning?
Kenny reread the message for the fifth time.
She’d stopped and started her reply several times already, but had no real idea how to respond to the perfectly innocuous question.
She finally tapped out a succinct answer.
No.
Smith
Have you eaten already?
No.
Smith
You should eat. I’ll pick you up.
No.
Her phone rang. It was Smith. She stared at the screen for a moment before shaking her head and declining the call.
It rang again.
She declined it again.
Smith
You’re being childish. Pick up the damned phone.
No.
Smith
Fuck it, Kenna! I’ll be there in ten minutes.
No.
She felt a surge of petty satisfaction at that last message, but she knew it wasn’t enough and sighed again before elaborating in her next message.
Don’t bother. I won’t be here.
Smith
Where are you going?
None of your business.
Smith
We agreed to communicate our schedules, remember?
Don’t worry, you won’t run into me today. I won’t be in town.
Smith
You don’t know the area, you should tell someone where you’re going.
True. And I have.
Smith
Who?
That doesn’t concern you.
Smith
How will you get there?
Also doesn’t concern you.
Smith
I can give you a ride.
No.
Smith
Why are you being like this?
Gotta go.
Her phone pinged a few more times. But she ignored it. Then it rang. And rang again.
An altogether too-soothing chime, which made her frown. That wouldn’t do at all. She swiped through the App Store and very quickly found a much more appropriate ringtone for Smith.
He messaged almost immediately after she’d changed to the new tone and her driver’s eyes flew to the rearview mirror at the strident sound of the new alert.
Happy with the man’s startled reaction, Kenny smirked at the sight of his raised eyebrows.
So much better.
She donned her sunglasses and tucked her phone into her bag, enjoying the feel of the wind streaming through her loose hair.
She’d rented a cherry-red 1966 Mustang convertible for the day and Lia’s husband, Sam Brand—who owned a global personal security company—had quickly and efficiently secured a driver for her. The guy, Caleb, would be her driver for the duration of her stay.