Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92062 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92062 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
When I turn off the light and open the bathroom door, I hear noises coming from downstairs. I awkwardly make my way down to the kitchen. I walk down the steps and down the long hallway, noticing there is not one picture hanging on the walls. I wonder why that is, then I remind myself I shouldn’t care about anything involving Nate. The hallway opens to the kitchen and dining room area on one side and the family room on the other.
Two big floor-to-ceiling windows are on either side of the fireplace that has a television mounted above it, facing the light gray couch with a circle ottoman in the middle on a light gray plush rug. “Good morning,” I mumble when I turn and see Nate behind the island starting the coffee. He is wearing shorts and a T-shirt. His hair sticking up from sleep. “Did I wake you?” I ask him and then the sound of scratching makes me look past the dining room table that is right in front of the kitchen, toward the back door where Whiskey is waiting to come in.
I walk to the door and open, the cold air sweeping in as soon as I open it and he comes in. “It’s freaking cold out there.” I shiver, as Whiskey steps inside. He excitedly goes around my legs in a circle and then between them, his tail slapping me at the same time. “Good morning,” I greet him, leaning down and rubbing his soft neck. “I guess it isn’t too cold for you out there,” I mention when I touch the cool air clinging to his fur. “What time is it?” I look up to see Nate leaning against the back counter, one hand outstretched beside him while the other hand holds a cup of coffee in his hand.
“Almost nine.”
“Shit.” I get up. “I slept for twelve hours.”
“Just about,” he says as I walk toward the dark-gray, almost black, island with the double sinks in the middle of it. “I take it the bed was comfortable.”
I nod at him. “I woke up with Baby Cat on my head,” I tell him and he smirks.
“He feels comfortable with you,” he replies to me. “He has never gone in that room before.”
“Good to know,” I mumble. “I thought I was sleeping on his bed at one point.”
“Would you like coffee?” he asks me.
I pull out one of the light-gray fabric stools and slide on it. “I would love coffee,” I answer him as he walks over to the side counter right next to the fridge, where the coffee machine is. Opening the cabinet right on top, he grabs a mug before filling it. “Milk?” he asks me, and I nod my head as he walks to his white fridge with brass handles, pulling it open. The fridge and stove are the same color, matching the top cabinets, but the bottom cabinets are a soft walnut color. The black counters and the backsplash make the colors brighter. Whiskey walks into the kitchen, following Nate around before lying at his feet.
He hands me the coffee and I reach out for it. “Do you want a robe?” he asks me, and my eyebrows pinch together.
“A robe?” I ask him confused as he looks around me but not at me.
“You’re naked,” he explains and I snort.
“I don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve seen a naked woman”—I take a sip of the hot coffee and sigh—“but this is actually not naked.”
“I can see right through your tank top.” He looks to the side.
“Oh please.” I look down and see that maybe you can see through it. “They are just nipples.” He looks up at the ceiling. “Everyone has them. If you don’t like them, don’t look at them.”
“It’s kind of hard when they are right in my face.”
“They aren’t in your face,” I refute and his eyes bore into mine. “If you don’t like them, close your eyes.” I poke him even more. “Every single person has nipples, including you.”
“Yes, but I’m not flaunting my nipples.”
“If it makes you feel better.” I put the cup down on the counter. “I’d be okay if you came down with your nipples completely out.” His eyes come to mine and I can’t help but smirk at him. “You can take off you shirt now if it would make you feel more comfortable.”
“I’m good,” he grits between clenched teeth.
“Suit yourself.” I pick up the cup and take another sip. “But if you like, you are more than welcome to whip them out any time you feel the need to.” I try not to laugh at his scowl.
“What time do you start work?” I ask him.
“I took the next two weeks off,” he tells me. “The pros of owning your own vet clinic.” I nod. “Are you hungry?”