Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 111(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 111(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
The parking lot is packed, the morning sun is shimmering off the cars, and it’s already starting to get warm this early in the day.
He walks near me, allowing me the opportunity to take him in. His jaw is strong, unmistakably rugged and masculine, dusted with dark stubble. His mouth curves slightly upward—not quite into a smile, but the slight hint of one, like he can read my mind or something—when his eyes meet mine. They catch the light from the sunshine, are steady and intent. Warmth settles in my lower abdomen when our gazes lock, and his light green eyes meet my hazel ones.
His clothes are faded and worn, pulling tightly across his broad shoulders and powerful chest. The few buttons at the top are undone, showing off his throat and upper chest, causing my eyes to linger there a smidge longer than I mean them to. The jeans he’s wearing sit low on his hips, hugging his strong thighs that look more than capable of carrying their fair share of weight.
I tell myself this is only a figment of my imagination, the haze of sleeplessness sucking me in, but then the deep rasp of his voice says, “Mornin’, ma’am.” The tip of his head stirs a swirling sensation right between my thighs.
“Oh, hi. Good morning,” I reply, hoping I don’t sound like a bumbling idiot. He shoots a wink my way and saunters past me. I guess my morning is turning right side up with the eye candy I hope I get to enjoy daily.
1
Dean
PRESENT DAY
“Mornin’,” I tell the woman I’ve seen five out of seven days this week. Clearly, we both live in the same apartment complex, and I’ve yet to see her with anyone else. Another plus is that there isn’t a ring on her finger, not even a faint tan line, and from the looks she’s given me the past few days, I’m pretty sure it all aligns with her being single. At least I’m hopeful that’s the case.
“Good morning,” she replies sleepily. I can attest to the tiredness. No amount of getting used to shift changes has helped me become adjusted to going from working day to night. The latest round of working nights is taking its toll on me, probably because I’m in a different place altogether. New city, new apartment, and new schedule. I guess I’m fortunate it’s not a new company as well. A lot of times, when you’re a lineman, the moment the contract is up, so is your job.
“Rough night?” I ask, going further in the topic of conversation than what we’ve had before.
“Do I look as bad as I feel?” From the moment I first saw her, the quiet beauty nearly disarmed me with her wide, expressive hazel eyes surrounded by dark lashes. Her lips are full and naturally curved, resting in a gentle way, as if she’s in a thoughtful moment. There’s nothing forced in her expression. She’s soft, at ease with confidence, and an unspoken invitation to look a hell of a lot closer.
Today, she’s in an oversized white collared shirt with the top three buttons undone, showing the dew-touched skin above the scrap of lace beneath her shirt with a hint of her breasts peeking out at the top. Jeans cover her lower half, which is probably a good thing, or I’d be swallowing my goddamn tongue. As it is, her hair spills over her shoulders in loose waves, catching the light from the sun, illuminating the honey-gold color framing her face.
“Nah, more like I can hear it in your voice. At least it’s Friday, right?” It doesn’t make a difference to me. My job isn’t a nine-to-five, Monday-through-Friday career. You get a set of hours, work over those, get called in, and sometimes, you get moved to an entirely different area with a moment's fucking notice. This job isn’t for the weak or the faint of heart. Right now, I’m in this area for a hardening project, but that doesn’t mean a Florida thunderstorm won’t blow through, causing us to pull off an area and support the local crew.
“Yeah, thank goodness. Well, I guess I should let you go and get to work,” the golden-haired beauty says as she takes a sip from her coffee mug. Not one of those to-go thermos-style ones, either—an honest-to-god ceramic cup. She’s got to be playing a game of Russian Roulette not to spill the hot liquid while driving.
And I’ve noticed it’s not just on rare occurrences either; it’s every day, and each one has a different state or country on it.
“Have a good day. See you around.” I give her a smirk, dip my chin, and watch as she walks past me. It’s only when I glance over my shoulder that I notice she’s looking back at me.