Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 180(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 180(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
Like enjoying conversation with Brayden Foss, eighteen years my junior.
His attention, while welcome and sweet, was inappropriate. Sure, he’s a legal adult now, but just barely. He’s my landlord and neighbor’s son. It has “mistake” written all over it.
You’re just lonely, Casey.
As if conjured up by my thoughts, the cat hops onto my bed and sits on my stomach. His purring is soothing. I scratch him behind the ears and smile.
“Maggie has a lot of cats,” I agree, like I can read his mind. “No wonder you wanted to escape. You know I have to put you out, though. You’re not mine.”
He meows in protest. His glittery green eyes are intelligent as he stares me down. I feel bad that he has to share a home with a bunch of other cats he clearly doesn’t want to be around.
“I’ll talk to her,” I vow, already dreading that conversation.
Satisfied, he climbs off my stomach and stretches, orange tail swishing back and forth. He keeps me company as I get ready for work, and when I grab breakfast, he gets a few bites along with a bowl of milk. When I finally open the door to leave, he bolts, not giving me a chance to walk him over to Maggie.
He’s a survivor.
I smother a silly giggle as I head out the door. I’ve always enjoyed my job. It helps that the man who runs the physical therapy clinic, Drew, is a good friend, too. My patients are who have kept me out of my depressed state, giving me the will to keep plugging along.
They need my help, and I love helping them.
By the time I arrive, the place is already hopping, patients crowding the small waiting area. I’m not late, but with some of the looks I’m getting, you’d think I was. I flash the group a friendly smile and then head to the back to put away my purse in the break room.
Drew is leaned against the counter, an eyebrow hiked up, as his woman, Sophia, yaps at him. Not many people like Sophia, because she’s a grumpy old man in a young woman’s body, but Drew seems to enjoy her fire.
“You done, crybaby?”
She gives him the finger and limps off. He smirks at me in triumph.
“A little too busy to be flirting with your baby dragon,” I tease as I stuff my purse in a cabinet. “I wouldn’t want to have to tell the boss you’re fraternizing with the employees.”
Drew snorts. “Sophia doesn’t work hard enough to be considered an employee. And at least I was here early. Your boss should fire you, Monroe.”
We both grin and then get to work.
The first part of the day is so busy I don’t have time to obsess over my conversation with Brayden. During lunch, though, when I’m heating up a Lean Cuisine in a desperate attempt to eat healthy, I can’t help but let my mind replay last night.
He’s just a kid.
Not anymore…
I’d looked at him as a man for the first time. Though nothing like Derek, who’s broad and muscular, there was something truly appealing about Brayden’s lean but tall body and adorable smile.
A lot of men are sure in their advances with women, but he was so awkward it was endearing. Honestly, it was refreshing to not be the one with all the confidence issues.
It was also really cute when his face would turn red.
I wolf down my tasteless food and hurry back out to greet my next patient. Riko Valentine scowls, long legs sprawled out in front of him, as he sits in a waiting chair.
This is the second time this week to see Riko. He recently suffered a grade II hamstring strain, and like every teenager, is in a hurry to get back to the soccer field. Unfortunately, the human body doesn’t work on sheer willpower alone. His injury wasn’t severe enough for surgery, but he’ll need repeat sessions to get him back to where he needs to be.
“You got to leave school early,” I say, gesturing for one of the therapy tables. “Why are you pouting?”
He grunts as he slowly rises to his feet, not bending his right knee. As much as he tries to hide it, I notice the slight grimace of pain.
“I’m not pouting,” he states, voice booming, as he limps over to the table. “Just over this shit.”
An elderly woman recovering from wrist surgery frowns at his language. I would usher him into one of the private rooms because he’s so loud, but they’re all full.
“I know,” I tell him kindly. “We’re going to get you fixed in no time.”
Once he settles on the table, I begin working on him with a soft tissue mobilization massage. With gentle movements, I knead the tightness in his hamstring. This will help with the blood flow so we can stretch it in a bit.