Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 156146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 781(@200wpm)___ 625(@250wpm)___ 520(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 781(@200wpm)___ 625(@250wpm)___ 520(@300wpm)
“Yes.”
He liked it that word sounded disappointed.
“I’m driving,” he decreed.
Her head tipped to the side. “Why?”
“I know you’ve been hydrating, but you drank so much, you still might have alcohol in your system.”
“You can stop giving me shit now,” she warned.
He gave her a crooked grin instead and murmured, “Okay, baby” before he dipped and touched his mouth to hers.
She pressed back.
He then let her go.
She clicked on her pumps into the house, and he followed her just enough to see her grab a small bag from the kitchen island.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded.
Judge led the way out, stopping after she closed her front door to lean in and test it to make sure it was locked.
He felt her eyes on him while he did this, and he felt her hand jerk slightly when he took it and held it as he guided them to the Cherokee.
It had jerked because she was surprised at the hand holding.
But she didn’t pull away.
Since he needed to work on his gentleman skills, he opened the door for her, and he felt her gaze on him again as he closed it after she hiked her ass into his SUV.
He rounded the Jeep, climbed into his side, dropped his visor to let them fall, put on his own shades, started up, and they took off.
“Fashion Square, yeah?” he asked.
“Prep and Pastry is just outside. I’ll show you where to park when we get there.” She had her phone out and was looking at it. “Tiff is already there.”
“Shit, are we late?”
“It’s usually at least a half hour wait, Sundays, it can be longer. She got there early to put our names in.” She dropped her phone in her bag. “Apparently, Tiffany is hungry.”
He was too.
That was surprising, considering their meal last night was unexpectedly (for two chicks who clearly looked after their bodies) filling. Homemade bacon jam and brie puff pastry tartlets. Fried chicken thighs and the best waffles he’d ever eaten, made with heavy cream. Followed by a light pavlova covered in mascarpone cream, pomegranate seeds and raspberries.
He’d noted Jacob was mostly along for the ride (and the food), and it was Mi and Chloe who were the engines of the Club.
And it couldn’t be missed it was organized to within an inch of its life.
It had a scheduled timeline, they all had stations, and as such, Judge spent most of his time hanging out at a counter and watching, talking sports and shit with Jacob, and spelling him at the fryer when that time came.
But the food was great, Chloe could really cook, and her friends were awesome.
City folk for certain, but that was a small part of how he grew up, so even if he didn’t pick that for his life, he was comfortable in it.
“You have, as you predicted, Mi and Jacob’s enthusiastic approval,” she noted as he headed to the 10.
“Enthusiastic, eh?”
“Don’t fish, Judge. You’re likeable and you know it,” she returned.
“How likeable?”
“We can just say, chéri, that I wasn’t that drunk last night.”
Well…
Shit.
“Baby, we’re not there yet,” he said low and gentle.
She had no response, so he glanced at her.
“Christ, did I hurt your feelings?” he asked.
“No one…”
She delicately cleared her throat but didn’t say any more.
“Did I hurt your feelings by not spending the night last night, Chloe?” he prompted, quiet and careful.
He heard her take a sharp breath into her nostrils and then she said in a rush, “I’m the oldest. I’m expected…certain things are expected of me. It’s natural, I’m sure, but it sometimes isn’t the greatest that no one thinks to take care of me.” Pause then, “You took care of me.”
Jesus.
He got it now.
“Honey,” he murmured.
“It’s fine. It’s life. Upon some reflection, I realized that was why I spent so much time in France. J’adore France.”
And she pronounced “France” as “Frahnce” and didn’t sound like a poser when she did.
Total class.
“But I needed a break,” she concluded. “And it’s just nice that you considered us. Me. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Of course,” he replied. Feeling it didn’t need a big deal made of it, and there was something more pressing to discuss, he asked, “No one?”
She didn’t answer.
“You seem tight with your mom and dad. Duncan too,” he noted.
“There’s parental taking care of your children, no matter the age they are. And they’ve always done that. Always. I love them both, like crazy, and as far as I can tell, though there might be some prejudice, they’re the best parents ever. But there are other things.”
She said no more.
But he knew.
Heavy things.
Like your parents divorcing.
And your mom’s best friend committing suicide.
And that was a huge-ass burden.
“I’m assuming we’re talking about you helping your brother and sister to deal,” he remarked.
“Failing in helping them,” she corrected.
Another load to bear.
Suddenly, Judge was getting pissed.
“Your parents were in the thick of shit, especially your mom. But your brother and sister should know you’ve got your own baggage to unpack,” he stated, his words edged and curt.