Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 97994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
I flip the page of the book and keep reading about Cricket Newton and her misadventures, all of which these children continue giving zero fucks about.
A small voice cuts in again. “How old are you?”
“Older than you.”
“Are you thirty?” One of them gasps like thirty is ancient.
“Maybe.”
“Do you live with your mom?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” I say patiently. “I’m a grown man.”
“Do you snore?” a boy asks.
My gaze rises, and I meet Juliette’s eyes when I say, “I don’t know.”
Another hand goes up. “Are you rich?”
I almost choke. “Define rich.”
“Like… can you buy a dinosaur?”
“No.”
“Then you’re not rich.”
Fair enough.
“Are you nice?” someone else asks.
“Yes, he’s nice.” Juliette finally interrupts, walking to the small chair I’m struggling to stay perched on, resting her hands on my shoulders before remembering she probably shouldn’t be touching me. “Young ladies and tiny gentlemen, let’s let Mr. Bishop finish his story, shall we? He drove all this way to spend time with you.”
She steps back, smoothing the front of her sweatshirt, but this over-eager crowd is still not convinced they’d rather hear the story than pester me.
“He looks grumpy.”
“I am not grumpy.”
From across the room, Storm lets out a bellowing cackle. “You are a little grumpy.”
The kid ignores him.
I shut the book with more force than necessary. “Alright. Story time is over before this turns into a therapy session.”
They groan.
A tiny set of arms wraps around my waist from the side without warning. I freeze, then awkwardly pat the kid’s back.
“Thank you for reading,” she says.
“Yeah,” I reply, even though I only got through five pages. “You’re welcome.”
Juliette clears her throat and claps as if she’s done this a million times. “Alright, kids. Let’s thank Mr. Bishop one more time.”
They clap again, chaotic and enthusiastic.
As they’re herded toward the craft tables, Storm wanders over to my tiny chair, sticking his hand out in an attempt to help me out of it.
I take it begrudgingly, coming to my feet. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugs. “Came to see two of my favorite people.”
That has Juliette bursting into laughter. “Stop flirting, for the love of God. We are at a work function.”
He stabs me in the chest with his meaty finger. “No, he’s at a work function. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d pop in.”
He grins and I want to smack it off his face.
“In the neighborhood,” I repeat flatly. “You live twenty minutes in the opposite direction.”
He spreads his hands. “I take the scenic route.”
Juliette rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “Do you always show up uninvited?”
“Only when I hear there’s a six-foot-four enforcer reading to preschoolers,” Storm says. “Didn’t want to miss that.” He glances down at the chair that’s now toppled over on the ground. “You seriously fit on that?”
“No, I didn’t fit on that.”
Juliette smiles at us both, her gaze lingering on me. Sparkling. Happy. Probably still basking from being fucked three times the other night; in fact, I’m surprised she’s able to walk straight.
Storm clocks her expression—of course he fucking does.
He watches the way her smile shifts when she looks at him—polite, controlled—and then the way it softens when her eyes slide back to me. The difference is slight, but it’s there. Storm’s grin doesn’t falter, yet something looks more calculating.
His beady eyes miss nothing.
Shit.
“So,” he says a bit too casually, rocking back on his heels. “You two carpool here?”
Juliette’s posture stiffens. “It’s a team outreach event.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“Well, that was her answer,” I cut in, putting myself squarely between him and whatever he thinks he’s sniffing out.
Fucker, chill.
“Right.” He studies me like I’ve confirmed something for him. “I’m just making conversation. Relaxi taxi.”
“I am relaxed.”
Juliette clears her throat and shifts the paperback she’s holding against her chest. “We coordinate these things through the department calendar I was telling you about when we were looking at the gala event space.” Her tone is bright. “When you’re ready to schedule community events, let me know!”
His lips curve smugly. “Do you go everywhere with everyone on the team, or only with Bishop here?”
And there it is…
She hesitates. He’s boxed her into a corner and we all know it. She doesn’t trail every guy on the roster to every appearance. Nobody does. It would be impossible. Logistically, realistically.
She knows it.
I know it.
Storm knows it.
“I go where I’m assigned, if I’m assigned,” she says smoothly. “Today, it was Aaron.”
“Like a chaperone.”
She smiles patiently. “Yes, I am technically a chaperone.”
Storm tilts his head, eyeballing us suspiciously. “Lucky guy.”
I might agree that we’re lucky to have a work sanctioned moment together, but Juliette and I have barely had three seconds to ourselves since walking through the library doors—which is a damn shame since I haven’t seen her since she left my place.
I clear my throat. “If you’re volunteering for the next interrogation by preschool-aged children, Storm, I’ll happily put your name down.”