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)
“I normally start my day with coffee,” Katy whispers in a breathless voice, her head resting on my chest and her body still entwined with mine. “But I guess this is a pretty good way to start the day too.”
“You guess?” I question through a chuckle and tickle at her ribs.
She giggles and squirms with a shrug and a wink and, eventually, disentangles her body from mine and uses one of her crutches to get off the bed. “Come on, Mr. Dirty Talker. We better get on the road.”
“Mr. Dirty Talker?” I question and lean up on my elbows.
“Bingo, buddy. It’s your thing.” She laughs again, but she also flashes a little wink at me. “But don’t worry, I didn’t mind.”
Didn’t mind? As in past tense?
Why don’t I like the sound of that?
Mack
“You really didn’t have to drop me off first,” Katy says as I pull the rental SUV to a stop in front of her apartment building. “I would’ve been fine taking the subway back after you returned the rental.”
“It’s no big thing. I’ll drop this off at JFK, grab my paddleboard from baggage—assuming it made it—and take the subway home. I’ll be at my apartment by eleven at the latest.”
“Are you sure?” she questions, and I answer by cutting the engine, popping the trunk, and hopping out of the driver’s side door.
Katy feels like she’s putting me out by having me drop off the rental car by myself, but after twelve hours on the road, she really needs to get settled, rest her foot, and get ready for the day tomorrow without the extra activity.
I’m used to next to no sleep, and I’ve got the stark advantage of being fully ambulatory.
I make quick work of her luggage, and she meets me on the sidewalk, using one of her crutches to help keep the weight off her injured foot.
“Why do you keep using only one crutch? Pretty sure you’re still supposed to be using two,” I comment, and she shrugs me off.
“It’s fine, Mack. I’m barely even putting weight on my foot.”
She reaches for the handle of the bag in my hand, but I pull it back, adjust her purse on my shoulder, and take her loose crutch into my other hand. I head for the front door of her building, looking back to check on her, only to find she hasn’t moved a step.
“What are you doing?” she asks, staring at the luggage in my arms.
“I’m helping you inside.”
“I can get it,” she snaps back. “Trust me, you’ve already done way too much for me.”
“Woman, I swear, you need to just let people help you sometimes,” I say through a teasing smile. “You’re not putting me out. I want to help you, okay?”
“Fine,” she grumbles. “But you’re only helping me to the elevator.”
I ignore that comment and jog ahead of her so I can hold open the door to her building. Thankfully, she doesn’t hassle me about that and moves toward the elevator.
I follow her lead, and when the cart arrives, I don’t hesitate to step right inside with her, all her belongings still in tow.
“Mack,” she chastises, and I just grin.
“You know, the more aggravation you give me about helping you, the more time I’m going to be parked illegally. It’d be a real bitch to have that rental get towed.”
She huffs out a breath and hits the button to her floor.
Seven flights up, and the elevator dings its arrival. Katy hobbles out on one crutch, and I follow her the short walk to her apartment door.
She reaches into the purse that’s hanging on my shoulder to get her keys and unlocks her door without much issue.
I step into her apartment but stop in the entryway and set down her belongings.
“So…uh…thank you,” she says, turning back toward me and tossing her keys down onto the table by the door.
“You gotta stop thanking me,” I tell her with a smile. “I’m always happy to help.”
“So…” She pauses and glances down at the floor. “This was…an interesting vacation.” Her eyes are on their way back to mine, I can tell, but they’re moving really fucking slowly.
“Definitely unexpected.”
“And tomorrow…we’re back to work.”
I smile down at her. “That we are.”
“Back to being…coworkers.”
I furrow my brow. “What are you trying to say?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I guess…I’m just saying that while what happened in Florida and stuff was fun, it can’t happen again, you know? We work together.”
Ah, I see. So, when she was speaking in the past tense at the hotel this morning, this is what she meant.
I almost want to laugh at how predictable this situation is. This is Katy Dayton we’re talking about here. She overthinks and overanalyzes, and she likes to have everything planned out to a T.
She likes to know what to expect. In all situations.
And I am…well, the opposite of all those things.