Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 53212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 266(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 266(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
Cal’s garage is only a mile or two up the road, and I’m still surprised at how efficient they are as they get my car off the tow.
When I was sixteen and a brand-new driver, Gammy’s car broke down on the highway, and I had to use AAA. It took the man hours to get there and hook it up, much less drive me to her house so her neighbor could fix it for her. Maybe he was obnoxiously slow, but the Slater brothers are exceptionally fast.
It’s truly impressive watching them, and watching Rook, especially, is something else.
I observe from the cab through the rearview mirror as he unhooks my car and pushes it back into the bay, studying the parts of his body his grumpy face usually precludes me from. His hands are big and strong but finessed, and the muscles in his forearms are chiseled like tan stone. His white shirt is stained with use, and his hair drifts effortlessly onto the skin above his eyes.
He’s not sweating, but even without a sheen, he emanates a surprising glow.
Cal smiles and waves a hello from the bay door before setting to work getting my car on the lift, and Rook returns to the door to take his spot as the hood disappears.
His posture is casual and his eyes averted to the inside of the garage, but I get the most unshakable feeling that he’s taken up this position with the intention of keeping watch over me.
Barely five minutes have passed before my Civic is on its way back out the door while Cal wipes his hands on a red rag. Kane is first to climb back into the tow truck and graciously hands over a fresh coffee in a to-go mug.
“Figured you might need this.”
“Thanks.”
My body melts at the smell alone. I can’t even imagine how good it’s going to be when it hits my lips.
Rook’s body startles mid-climb into the truck, his wide eyes jumping to my face and freezing. I blush under the scrutiny, all the while trying to maintain some sense of reality.
“What? What’s wrong?”
He shakes his head to clear it but only after his jaw has tightened noticeably. When I turn back to Kane to thank him again, his eyebrows are raised dramatically.
“What?” I ask, repeating my question to him.
He shakes his head, firing up the engine. “Nothing, babe. And you’re welcome for the coffee. Happy to help a woman in need at any time.”
I laugh. “Do I look that tired?”
Kane winks. “A minute or two from collapse.”
I sigh. “It’s been a long week already, and it’s barely even started.”
Rook’s throat-clearing is hard to miss. “Let’s get you back to Murray’s, then, so you can get home.” I would take offense, but I’m too busy noticing the way his jean-clad muscular thigh brushes mine.
Seriously, Ky. Stop it. The man is actively trying to get rid of you as we speak.
“What do I owe you?” I ask as Kane pulls out of the parking lot and accelerates toward the pub. “For the new tire,” I add. “I know new tires aren’t cheap.”
“Nothing.” Rook’s voice brooks no argument, but the idea of letting them eat the cost of a whole freaking tire is absurd. They’re blue-collar guys—just regular people like me. I cannot stand the thought of being the reason they’re short on money this month.
“But I—”
“Don’t even try,” Kane cuts in with a laugh. “He won’t change his mind. Rook’s allergic to letting women pay for things.”
I hate the intent focus my mind finds on the plural form of the word. Women, not woman. And certainly not Kylie Moon, specifically.
“Well, thanks,” I say, forcing myself back onto safer ground. “Both of you.”
When Kane pulls into Murray’s Pub, he jerks a thumb toward his brother and digs me even further into the hole of gratitude. “Rook’s paying for your order. Don’t argue. It’ll just make him grumpier.”
I turn to Rook, my expression full of both question and thanks, and he rubs a hand through his hair, struggling to make eye contact as he agrees. “I’ll come inside with you.”
Kane claps, startling our attention off each other. “Great. I’ll get your car off the truck while you guys get your food.”
“I didn’t—” I start, but Rook is already hopping out of the cab and heading toward the pub.
I follow him out of the truck, trying and failing to make him focus on me as he holds the door to Murray’s, pays for my order, and hands me my bag of food.
He’s so freaking hot and cold, he might as well be a menthol back patch.
What is with this guy?
Acknowledgment or not, though, I can still feel the heat of his fingers where they touched mine in the bag exchange ten minutes later. He’s long gone, the bag of food he paid for in the passenger seat my only company, and yet, I feel as though he’s still right freaking here all night long.