Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 68143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
“You literally just said that you don’t run marathons,” I said. “And I swear I heard you tell the lady behind you at the start line that you had no plans to ever run one again.”
“Plans change.” He chuckled. “Now, would you like to go look around the house?”
I glanced up at the stairs and said with complete conviction, “I don’t want to climb those stairs right now.”
His eyes were twinkling when he said, “Your room would be downstairs anyway. The entire upstairs is just one big loft area that I took over as the master suite.”
Oh, to have that kind of money.
I finally had the strength to walk my plate to the sink, and once there I washed it before setting it face down in the dish rack.
Gunner walked around me to my other side and bumped me over with his hip, taking over the sink as he washed and dried the rest of his dishes.
I couldn’t help but give him a once over.
He was in gray sweatpants that said “Oilers” on the hip, a black t-shirt that said “Hostel” on it, and black socks that had Under Armour over the toe.
I was dressed much the same as him, fucking freezing my ass off in his house.
I didn’t know if that was because it was cold outside, and he had yet to turn the heat on. Or if it was because my body was in shock.
Whatever the reason, I’d dressed in my warmest clothes.
A pair of black leggings, fluffy black socks, a t-shirt that read LSU on it, and a slouchy sweatshirt that said “Hostel High” on it.
He looked over when I was in the midst of examining my own clothes and said, “I can’t believe you still have your warm-up sweatshirt. Didn’t I cut the neck out for you?”
I grinned. “Yeah. With a pocketknife. That’s why it’s so jagged.”
His eyes went a little far away as he said, “Man, those were the times, huh? Track meets were the best.”
“Track meets were the worst for me. I ran the first run and the second to last, so I was out there the entire damn day. Plus, everyone was mean to me.”
His face went soft. “I wasn’t.”
No, he was right.
He was never mean to me.
“No, but your steady girlfriend was one of the worst ones there were.” I shrugged. “That was why I stayed so far away from you.”
“I should’ve taken your lead and stayed away from her, too.” He sighed. “I’m sorry she was so mean. I didn’t know that.”
No, he hadn’t.
If he had, he likely would’ve had nothing to do with her.
He was my biggest supporter in high school during sports when he caught people being mean to me.
That was why I always gravitated toward him.
We may not have spoken, but he offered a buffer even if he didn’t know I existed.
“You got something pretty awesome out of it, though,” I said. “Aleah was a dummy.”
His eyes narrowed on the mention of her name. “She’s the worst.”
“I actually ran into Aleah the other day on my way out of town. She was looking pretty dang rough.”
Gunner snorted. “She looks rougher and rougher each time I see her. Damn woman needs to get her shit together or she’ll waste the rest of her life away.”
Aleah was Jett’s mother.
I’d never been happier to see that they didn’t wind up together. Aleah would’ve only pulled the two of them down.
Plus, having that viper of a mother would not have been fun for either one of them.
“Ready to get out of here? We can go grab a cookie or something,” he offered.
My eyes snapped to his.
“Still have that sweet tooth, huh?”
My cheeks blushed. “I feel like it’s even worse now. Running more makes me even hungrier. I swear that I eat so much.”
“Come on.” He grabbed a set of keys, then turned to look at me. “Want to ride on my bike?”
I couldn’t think of anything better than being pressed up against him but, “I’m actually freezing right now.”
“Dang,” he sighed. “I don’t get to ride it all that much anymore. Lottie needs her car seat.”
Well, that made me feel bad.
“Do you have a big jacket I can use? Maybe I could borrow some sweatpants?”
He looked absolutely giddy when he said, “Of course I do.”
I walked out of the house five minutes later in his sweatpants, his sweatshirt, his large leather jacket, his beanie pulled down low over my head and his helmet.
“Not too big on you.” He shook my head in the helmet.
I snickered as he practically tossed me around.
He tapped his fingers lightly on the top of the helmet, then led me outside. “Just shove your hands into my pockets in my jacket. Hold on tight.”
He mounted the bike—still in his sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt to my own that said “Angel Security” and held out his hand for me.