Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
I’m kind and friendly and everything a man should be when a nice woman greets him, but I don’t dare invite attention that goes further than that. They seem like vipers, but I know for a fact that they’re the type to cling and clang about relationships and marriage as soon as their backs hit your bed.
Unlike Breezy Bishop, who snuck out early Sunday morning without a word or a trace. I don’t even have her fucking phone number, and it seems she actually wants it that way.
Though, it’s hard to really ghost someone in a town this small. It’s almost a certainty I’ll see her at some point.
Unless she already went back to New York, that is…
I ignore the uncomfortable ping in my chest and refocus on my sheep.
By the time I get them squared away in the trailer and pay Fran for all the flowers they’ve destroyed, I’m parched.
CAFFEINE is the perfect solution. I figure Randy deserves a peace offering anyway, and if Breezy Bishop just happens to be there to see her best friend Josie, all the better.
Two birds, one stone, you know?
I push open the door of CAFFEINE, the bell chimes above my head, and Josie is waiting behind the counter. “The usual, Tad?” she asks, her morning rush clearly already over.
“Yeah, but make it two and toss in a few cinnamon rolls as well.”
“Randy pissed at you again?” she asks, grinning at me as she rings me up. “Saw a few of your sheep make their way from Betty’s house to enjoy a buffet of flowers across the street.”
“When isn’t Randy pissed at me,” I retort on a snort. “And trust me, I know. I just paid Fran for seven bouquets worth.”
Josie makes my coffees and packs up the cinnamon rolls in a cute box, and I scan the tables around the café for the second bird.
Breezy sits at a table near the window, laptop open and fingers typing furiously. She’s dressed to the nines, even in a small-town coffee shop on a Monday morning, and makes the rest of us look like we just fell out of bed.
Jackpot.
I turn my baseball cap around, grab my coffees and cinnamon rolls, and head in her direction.
“Hey there,” I greet, drawing her blue eyes up to mine on a startled jerk.
“Oh, hello,” she says casually. “Can I help you, sir?”
Did she just call me sir?
“What?”
“Did you need something?” she asks, and my head fucking spins. I know how to play it cool, but this is more like fucking ice. I mean, I did lick this woman’s pussy not even two nights ago.
“Well. I guess not. I just…thought I’d say hello.”
“I love chatting with all of Bennett’s friends and neighbors,” she says sweetly, nodding toward me. “But I’m in the middle of something right now.”
My jaw runs tight. “Bennett’s friends and neighbors?” I ask with a whisper. So that’s how it’s going to be.
A wicked, teasing smile softens her face, and instantly, I eat crow. She had me fucking going good—too good for shit that’s so in line with my own damn terms of use sex policy.
“You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”
She scrunches her nose and grins. “Maybe a little.”
I groan, scrubbing a hand down my face. “You’re cruel.”
“Or…funny,” she tosses back. “Depends on how you look at it.”
And damn it, she is funny. Infuriatingly so. Beautiful and quick and confident enough to make me feel like I’m twenty again and out of my depth.
“You left early,” I say quietly, leaning closer.
“Pretty sure I left right on time.”
Before I can find the words to agree, with the caveat that we should arrange a time for her to hop in my bed, ride my cock, and leave expeditiously again, Clay Harris’s voice fills my ears.
“Tad Hanson,” he says, clapping a hand on my back. “Haven’t seen you in a while, bud. You planning on stopping by The Country Club tonight? I’ll be bartending.”
I flick a glance at Breezy, whose eyes are fixated back on her laptop, but it’s clear to me she’s listening. I look back at Clay. “Nah. Planning on staying in tonight. All night. By myself.”
It’s a hint and an invitation that would go over a dumb head like mine without notice. But Breezy Bishop is smart. Sophisticated. Educated.
She’ll pick up the nuance. I’m sure of it. She doesn’t look up from her screen, but the corner of her mouth curves just enough to let me know she heard while Clay and I say our goodbyes.
My dick tingles, and my heart picks up speed.
The rest of sheep-battling with Randy today just got a lot more interesting—I can’t wait to spend the day planning some moves for round two.
12
Breezy
The house is quiet when I slip out.
Bennett and Norah are asleep, and Autumn is tucked cozily in her bed with her curls spread over her princess pillow. The whole place hums with domestic peace, and I step into the night like I’m a teenage girl breaking my parents’ rules.