Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
By the time we reach the second floor, Saint’s olive skin is tinted red, and he’s breathing heavily, but his pride doesn’t leave any room for complaints, and he only puts me down once we’re at the very bottom of the stairs.
He’s very careful about it too, making sure I’m leaning on the cane before he lets go.
During the time it took him to walk down two flights of stairs, I might have developed a crush. My heart is racing, my palms are getting sweaty, and it feels… good. Happy butterflies are fluttering in my chest as if I’m a teenager again.
“Wow. You’re… really strong,” I utter, desperately trying to keep my composure. I’m not even embarrassed over being such a weakling, because it got me a moment in this hunk’s arms.
Saint stretches. “No. I need to up my game. I think I’ve had too many bagels last month. But let me know if you need another ride,” he says and pulls out his phone. “What’s your number?”
Damn, he’s so smooth. If he’s trying to get into my pants, he’s going about it the right way. I can’t stop thinking about the tense muscles of his arms as I dictate my number. “I wish I could treat you to coffee or something? For the help. But I really need to get to work, or my boss will kill me.” Look at me, world. I’m flirting.
Saint’s smile is so blinding it warms my loins. I hope to never say that out loud.
“Sounds good. Maybe you could pop in to mine for dinner later?”
And this is when words jam in my mouth, blocked by my messy brain. Half of it is screaming yes and not wanting to question Saint’s intentions, while the other half suggests that maybe Saint is some kind of sex addict who needs his next hit.
But most of all, I can’t get over the hurdle of being invited to his place. Not dating has meant I really haven’t had to face being inside someone’s home, nor having them over at mine. Just the thought of it makes me so irrationally nervous my tongue swells until I’m unable to communicate.
I need to try to be normal though, I really do. So I laugh it off. “How do I know you’re not a serial killer?”
“Depends on how you define a serial killer.”
It passes from his mouth like many other offhand comments he could have made, yet my paranoia tells me to see a glimpse of truth in that handsome face.
I take him in from head to toe. “You’re gonna have to kill me another night, because I finish work late. But thanks. We really need to do that.” There. Smooth…ish.
“I’ll text you,” Saint says, offering me a nod.
So that was… surprisingly pleasant.
I walk off with a spring to my step, and even my knee seems to hurt less. I can’t get over it. He carried me down the stairs. Carried me. Like some knight in shining armor.
When I glance over my shoulder, he’s still there. Watching me. Then winks.
I grin and keep walking on clouds.
Chapter 5
Saint
Snowflakes create glinting flurries, set alight by the Christmas illuminations in the town center, and whenever I tune into the cheerful seasonal music playing in the cafe, the sense of nostalgia rushing through me becomes almost unbearable. ‘It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year’ was my mother’s favorite song, and while I used to detest it as a kid, now it never fails to bring back memories of her making copious amounts of cookies. The whole house smelled of vanilla and cinnamon, and every sip of the flavored coffee I’m nursing brings it all back.
A time when December wasn’t the loneliest of months.
But tonight feels different. Rowan might not be aware he’s being watched, but seeing him work behind the counter of the hunting store across the street eases my loneliness as if I’m there with him, chatting for real rather than just imagining it. Something about him intrigued me from the moment he passed me in the street. I don’t know what grabbed my attention more, the long legs or the big dark eyes filled with boiling fury. In the end, it was the letter he discarded that revealed the truth of his soul and pulled me to him as if he were a feral cat I could befriend. And I can never pass a cat in the street and not pet it or at least attempt to.
Thirst for revenge oozed out of every letter on the page so intensely I could feel blood on my tongue as I read the words over and over, drinking up his righteous anger.
It got me so excited I lost my cool. So much so that I may have gotten ahead of myself breaking into his home. I should have done my due diligence first. Obviously, had I known he’d lost his whole family during a home invasion and house fire, I wouldn’t have let myself in, I’m not a psycho.