Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 102361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
It feels so damn good to have my car back.
And it runs like a dream as I drive into the downtown area and park it behind my restaurant. When I drove past, I saw a huge truck setting a dumpster in the parking spaces in front of it.
I didn’t order a dumpster. I didn’t have the foresight to even think about a dumpster.
I was still stuck on what the fuck am I going to do?
I mean, a huge part of me is grateful that I didn’t have to make that call myself, but the other part wants to know who the hell decided to do this without me.
Actually, I know who.
Brooks.
My controlling, protective man.
Wait, is he my man? Ugh, I don’t know.
I stomp down the block and see that the front door stands open, and all four Blackwell men are inside, talking.
And what a sight to behold. The Blackwell brothers should come with a fucking health warning.
May Cause Vaginas to Spontaneously Combust.
“Ask her yourself,” Beckett says, staring at me, and the other three sets of eyes turn to me.
“What the hell is going on in here?” I ask, stepping inside, but I'm careful where I set my feet because most of the floor has already been torn apart. It’s a freaking war zone in here.
“Did you get my text?” Brooks asks me.
“Yeah, but it wasn’t very informative. First of all, how did you get in here?”
“I grabbed your keys,” he says with a nonchalant shrug.
“Fuck,” Blake says, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. He looks … guilty.
“You stole my keys, came in here, and the four of you decided to start ripping my floor apart?”
“You needed to rip it apart anyway, you said it yourself,” Brooks says, the scowl I’ve come to know all too well back on his handsome face. “And I won’t have you doing it alone.”
I blink at him. “You won’t have me doing it?”
“You’re so dead,” Bridger mutters. “Idiot.”
“We’re helping, Wildfire.”
“I didn’t ask for help.”
Now Brooks’s face falls, and I feel like an asshole.
“Okay.” I take a deep breath and wrinkle my nose.
“You should be wearing a mask in here,” Blake says, offering me one.
I take it, covering my nose but not hooking it to my ears, and then push my hand into Brooks’s, and he immediately links his fingers with mine, giving them a squeeze.
“Can I talk to you alone for a moment?” I ask him.
“I want coffee,” Bridger says, making a break for the door. “Let’s go harass Millie.”
“Good plan,” Beck agrees, and Blake follows them.
“Why are you pissed?” Brooks asks after they’re gone.
“Because this is my business,” I reply and squeeze his fingers. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate your help, but I should have been here to make the decisions.”
“It’s literally just pulling out a destroyed floor. I didn’t make any other decisions for you.”
“Okay. If this were the garage, and I told you to go to sleep while I went to your building and started giving orders on how to clean it up, you’d be cool with that?”
“You’re pretty good at giving orders, so probably.”
I narrow my eyes at him, and his shoulders droop.
“I get it. I didn’t mean to piss you off. I was trying to take this off your plate.”
“And I really do appreciate it. Because I admit, this is so fucking overwhelming, and I like having you here to help me figure it out, but I should be here with you. Your brothers came.”
He frowns. “Of course, they did. I asked them to.”
His family is so fucking amazing. Brooks hit the jackpot when he was born a Blackwell.
“So what’s your plan?”
He lets out a breath and looks around the room. “Right now, it was to finish emptying out the rest of the flooring, and then see what you want to do from there.”
“That’s the right answer.”
He lowers his mask, and his lips twitch, and then he lowers them to mine, but doesn’t kiss me. He hovers just an inch away.
“Were you really mad at me, Wildfire?”
“Maybe not.” I boost up on my toes and close the distance between us, and he lets out a low groan as the kiss intensifies, our bodies pressed together. I plunge my fingers in his thick, dark hair, and he covers my ass with his big hands.
He’s sweaty, but I don’t care.
I’d happily stay here, just like this, all freaking day.
But then he pulls back and brushes my hair behind my ear.
“We just finally got to a place where we’re not both angry with each other. Let’s try to stay there,” he says softly.
“I like that idea.”
Suddenly, there’s a knock on the doorframe, and when I turn, I find Connor Gallagher walking into my building. He’s in jeans and a long-sleeved black T-shirt, the sleeves pulled up on his forearms. He walks over to us, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.