Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 20660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 83(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 83(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
I step in closer, backing her up until her hips hit the edge of the bench. My hands go to the surface on either side of her, caging her in. Her chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths.
“You really wanna test that theory?”
Her eyes flash. “Maybe.”
My gaze drops to her mouth. Full. Pink. Smart. Dangerous.
I should walk away. But something about her keeps digging under my skin, like a thorn I can’t pull out. Familiar. Warm. Wild. And so goddamn tempting.
Instead of kissing her—which is what I want—I back off with a slow smirk. “Good to know.”
She lets out a breath, annoyed. Flustered. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet, you’re still here.”
She shakes her head, that smile curling her lips again. “Because I’m not a quitter. And because your coffee machine is better than mine.”
“Damn right it is.”
We work in silence for a while—me planing a slab of walnut for a new commission, her sanding down one of the reclaimed beams I pulled out of a burned barn last spring. She’s good with her hands. Focused. Knows when to shut up and when to sass. Which, annoyingly, is almost never.
But she’s efficient. Competent. Too competent.
And every time she looks at me with those knowing eyes, I get this tight, twisting feeling in my chest like I’m supposed to know her. Like she’s not a stranger. Like this has happened before.
But I’d remember a woman like her.
Wouldn’t I?
She breaks the silence first. “So, there’s a wedding next weekend.”
I grunt. “I know. My buddy Slate’s finally roped Emma into making it official.”
“I met Winter at the park yesterday. She says it’s a big deal. Half the town’ll be there.”
I nod, not looking up. “They expect me to show up with a date. Told them not happening.”
She hums. “Well, lucky for you, I’m available.”
I glance up sharply. She’s leaning against the sawhorse now, arms crossed, smirking. “You offering?”
“You need a buffer, don’t you? Someone to keep them from cornering you about your nonexistent love life.”
I snort. “To say the least.”
“So, I’ll be your fake date.” Her tone is playful, but there’s something else beneath it. Testing the water.
“Why?”
She lifts a shoulder. “It’s festive. It’ll be fun. And it buys me more time.”
My jaw tightens. “Time for what?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Just bites her bottom lip and looks at me like she’s carrying a secret too big for her pocket.
“For you to prove if you’re worth trusting,” she says finally, quiet but direct.
The air thickens. “You think I’m not?”
“I think you’re gruff. Closed off. Suspicious of everything that breathes.”
I cross my arms. “And you’re not?”
She tips her head. “Touché.”
I step closer again, slow. Deliberate. Watching her squirm just a little.
“So if we’re fake dating,” I say, “we’ll have to be convincing.”
Her eyes narrow. “You suggesting we practice?”
“Only if you’re brave enough.”
She laughs, breathless. “You’re impossible.”
“You haven’t seen me try.”
She spins on her heel before I can respond, walking toward the front door with a sway in her hips that’s 100% intentional.
“You’re not ready for me, Jack Rivers,” she throws over her shoulder.
Maybe not.
But damn if I don’t want the chance to prove her wrong.
Chapter Five
Holly
The first thing I notice when we walk into The Devil’s Brew is that every single man at the table looks like they bench press logs for fun.
The second thing I notice? Jack’s already scowling.
“Relax,” I murmur under my breath, brushing my shoulder against his. “I thought you said your friends were cool.”
“They were. Before they got wind of you.”
Oh, this is going to be fun.
The booth is crowded, loud, and smells like beer and fried onions. A flannel-clad testosterone bomb. Jack's crew turns as we approach, and instantly six pairs of eyes land on me. And then—on Josie. I instinctively tighten my grip on the toddler’s hand.
“Gentlemen,” Jack grunts like it’s physically painful.
The guy at the end with messy surfer hair and a wicked grin is the first to speak. “This her?”
Jack doesn’t answer. Just slides into the booth next to a guy I now know is Finn. I slide in across from him, Josie beside me like my little bodyguard. Or maybe I’m hers.
“Don’t make it weird,” Jack mutters.
Too late.
“This is her,” the flirty one—Zane—announces. “He’s never brought a woman to meet us. Ever.”
Grady leans across the table, smirking like a fox. “So. When you get tired of Jack’s brooding, call me. I’ve got all my teeth and I make a mean Sunday pancake.”
Jack doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t growl. He just takes a drink of his beer and stares straight ahead like he didn’t just hear a man hit on me in front of him.
Which, for some reason, makes heat curl low in my belly.
I tilt my head and smirk back. “You got whipped cream for those pancakes, Grady?”
He opens his mouth but Finn barks a laugh. “She’s the one. Jack, if you mess this up, we’re adopting her.”