Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
“Even though you suck at following them, I’m adding a rule to our boundaries list.”
“Oh yeah? Tell me…what’s another rule that’s made to be broken?”
“We can never talk about morphine, or me on morphine, or bleeding feet again.”
“You weren’t that bad,” he interjects and squeezes my thighs again. “You mostly just liked to use the f-word a lot and tell the nurse you saw my ass.”
“What?” I release one hand to slap him on the shoulder. “I did not!”
“Look, I’d love to tell you more, but the rules say I can’t talk about it.”
I hate how well versed he is in sarcastic banter.
Oh, but the current smile on your face says otherwise, girlfriend…
I snub my brain’s stupid thoughts and concentrate on the upcoming task at hand—paddleboarding. I’m no professional, but the more I think about it, the more skeptical I become. There’s no way Mack’s going to be able to keep my foot out of the water on that thing, no matter how good he thinks he is.
“Maybe we can just hang out on the beach since your paddleboard stuff is up at the condo anyway,” I tell him. “No offense, but I don’t think I’m going to have very much fun on that board, stressing about my foot.”
“Don’t worry, we’re not paddleboarding.”
“So, what? You just told me we were for your own amusement? Your sister must have had a field day growing up with you.”
He laughs. “Well, she had it better than Satan’s siblings, at least.”
“Satan had siblings?”
He shrugs, his big smile falling just the slightest bit lopsided. “I have no idea. But I felt like if I was going to make you like me, I had to go big with the analogy.”
“I don’t dislike you,” I protest, making his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Anymore… I’m just confused about what we’re doing.”
He chuckles. “I didn’t intentionally lie to you. Just changed my mind when I had a better idea. We’re kayaking instead of boarding. That way, your foot is in no danger.”
He doesn’t waste any time adjusting my body from his back to his chest and gently setting me in the boat that, now that I know, was clearly our destination.
“How in the hell did you manage to get a kayak? You didn’t even leave the condo this morning,” I question as I look away from the sand and up into his eyes. I have to squint to see him through the sun’s intense rays. For March, the weather’s been unseasonably warm while we’ve been here.
“I called Fred.”
“Who’s Fred?”
“He’s the rental guy,” he says like I should totally know who Fred is. “You know, the guy with the booth who rents out kayaks and schedules parasailing and boat excursions…” He pauses to meet my eyes. “You really don’t know Fred?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I don’t know Fred.”
I swear, it’s a true skill how Mack always seems to become friends with everyone, no matter where he goes. We’ve been in Destin for all of three days, and he’s on a first-name basis with the kayak rental guy. Not to mention, when I started bitching about taking the prescribed Vicodin for pain this morning, he threatened to call Dr. Johnson because he has the man’s cell programmed into his phone.
I don’t have a lot of experience with physicians, but I’m pretty sure they avoid giving out their personal numbers to patients.
And don’t forget he’s been texting with your dad, too…
“Well, you’re missing out. Fred is a cool dude.” He continues rambling on about his beach buddy as he picks up one of the life vests that resides near my feet. “And he was nice enough to set up our kayak and everything.” When he starts to put the life vest on me, I swiftly take it from his hands on a laugh.
“I can handle putting on my own life vest, Mack. I’m not completely useless.”
He smirks. “Okay, Katy Ca—” He stops abruptly and finishes his sentence with, “Katy. Just Katy.”
I direct a pointed scowl at him, but I also don’t say anything and finish strapping the flotation device to my chest.
Once his life vest is on, he starts fiddling with my injured foot again. He covers the whole dang foot with another towel and a plastic bag he brought from the condo. Which, considering he wrapped my foot up in plastic before we left, is starting to feel a little overboard.
“I think it’s good,” I say, slapping him away with soft hands. “As long as you don’t flip the kayak over and send me catapulting into the water, my foot should be fine.”
“You sure?” he asks, staring down at me from his perch on the sand. “Are you comfortable like that?”
“I’m good. Promise.”
He searches my gaze for a long moment but, eventually, shrugs and proceeds to toss only one of the paddles into the kayak. “All right, Katy. Let’s do this.”