Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 20118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 101(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 101(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
I saw his notebook in his back pocket once, filled with all kinds of numbers, plans, and calculations. A pad full of dreams, drawn by an ambitious man.
“Help yourself to coffee,” he says, turning away from me.
I don’t even like coffee, but I pour myself some, just to be close to him. I add a ton of sugar, causing him to shake his head.
“How long until you can open the garage?” I ask. He flinches.
“You and your mom been talking?”
“My mom doesn’t know anything about you,” I snap. “She thinks you’re just another loser. Don’t you see that?”
A hint of a smirk comes over his lips, causing me to warm inside. He turns slowly, and the full weight of his attention hits me like a hammer to the chest. In the dim, morning light slanting through the kitchen window, his eyes are dark and unreadable. But I can see something there, something animalistic, something focused.
“Maybe she’s right.”
“She’s not.” I shake my head, instantly embarrassed. I’m too emotional. Revealing too much. “You have plans. Good plans. You’re not just a lazy mooch.”
“Lazy mooch?” He almost chuckles, taking a sip of his coffee. “Good plans don’t make a good man, Katie.”
The way he says my name makes my pulse pump hard. His throat flexes as he swallows like it was tough for him to say. Like he just gave confession. I take a step closer, expecting him to move back, but this time he doesn’t.
“Well, what makes a good man then?” I ask.
The kitchen suddenly feels small as his eyes focus on me, his jaw clenching like he’s chewing on his teeth. So many unspoken things conveyed. “Staying away from something he should not want.”
His words carry a force with them, like a wrecking ball threatening to smash the trailer into bits.
“But…what if the thing he wants doesn’t want him to stay away?”
Silence stretches taut like a piano wire, threatening to snap.
I see his hands gripping the counter edge, his knuckles white. There’s a battle playing out across his face. Has he been losing this battle since he first looked at me, or am I just imagining things…?
I remember the first time he gave me the look. Mom had passed out early with a glass of wine beside her, and I was reading on the couch. Cam had just come in from a late shift and he looked exhausted. But when our eyes met, it was like something fundamental shifted, like the entire foundation of the universe had moved.
Before I could speak, he shook his head and scolded me like a child. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, little girl.”
Little girl!? That’s what I wanted to say, but I stayed silent as he went into the back.
I do know what I’m getting into!
I’ve seen what happens to trailer park girls who aren’t careful. Pregnant at sixteen with some guy who doesn’t love them, trapped into aluminum boxes and abusive relationships for the rest of their lives—and that’s if they’re lucky enough to have a man who sticks with them. Lucky, I guess…
Sometimes I think about applying to college—study business or something that could take me away from here. But that requires money. Money I don’t have.
I’ve watched my mom cycle through men with a new one almost every season, each one taking a piece of her with them, until now she’s nothing more than red wine and bitterness.
But Cam is something else entirely. He’s controlled, contained, with a vision for life so sharp it could cut through steel. And he looks at me like I’m precious and terrifying at the same time.
“I saw your notebook,” I tell him. “I know how close you are.”
His eyes narrow. “How in the—”
“I pay attention,” I reply, proud of myself, stepping even closer now. His eyes track my every move like I’m prey and he’s a predator. “You need fifty thousand for your down payment on the garage.”
He braces himself. “So you’ve been going through my things?”
“You leave your notebook out sometimes.” I shrug. “Can’t blame me if I pick it up.”
I take another step. I can smell him now. Manly soap, coffee, oil, and of course that underlying scent that’s just him. “I see you working sixteen-hour days, eating peanut butter sandwiches and driving that old beater truck to save money.”
“Katie.” He shakes his head. “Stop.”
I should, but I can’t. I’m blinded by his presence, and the words just continue to pour out of my mouth.
“I saw your blueprints. Your plans. You’re going to make it happen, Cam. I know you are.”
My excitement is unstoppable, like this unquenchable thirst inside—a desire so hot it burns like the sun. I want to reach out and touch him. Throw myself into his arms. What would it feel like to have him holding me against his body? The broad muscles of his chest heaving against my breasts?