Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
“Hey, sorry I woke you up,” she says, turning around to face me. “I dropped a pan.”
“It’s okay. Is it evening or morning?”
She smiles. “It’s evening. We got back here at eight thirty this morning. I slept until three thirty and I was starving for real food when I woke up, so I checked the fridge. It’s full of fresh vegetables and other stuff that wasn’t there when we left. What is this sorcery?”
“My housekeeper.” I walk over to a cabinet to get a glass.
“Nice. Well, I’m making a huge veggie stir-fry if you’re hungry.”
“I am. Thanks.”
I go over to the fridge and fill my glass from the water dispenser, drinking two full glasses before I sit down at the island.
“Am I supposed to offer to help?”
With a single note of laughter, she says, “Spoken like someone who definitely does not want to help.”
“I’m no good in the kitchen.”
She pops a broccoli floret into her mouth and stirs the food. “Okay, I have a noncooking job for you.”
“What is it?”
“Change Mr. Darcy’s litter.”
I scoff. “Not a chance in hell, Nosy.”
“I was joking. I want you to send a message to Abigail Matthews.”
“Who?”
“The law student who wants to go out with you.”
I groan, not in the mood to be fake friendly until I’ve at least eaten. A shot of whiskey would help, too.
“I’ll tell you what to write,” she says. “Find her on TikTok.”
I open the app. “Abigail Matthews?”
“Yep.”
“This is gonna be a pain in my ass.”
Josie sets a steaming plate of stir fry in front of me. “Why?”
“Because she goes by Abigail. Why not Abby? Same with Tamara. Just go by Tammy like a normal fucking person.”
Josie smiles wryly and makes a plate for herself, standing on the other side of the island to eat.
“Alright, I found her,” I say.
“Write this: Hey Abigail, it’s Dane.”
I look up at her, furrowing my brow. “It’s my account, of course it’s me.”
“So she knows it’s not from one of your people. Just write it like I’m telling you, okay?”
“Fine,” I grumble, typing out the message.
“I’ll be in Chicago in a couple of weeks for a game, want to grab some dinner?” she continues.
“Don’t ask me to use the word ‘cheers’ at the end. I’m not doing it.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re such a man-child. Just leave it like it is and send it.”
I finish the message and set my phone aside, digging into my food.
“This is actually really good,” I say.
“Of course it is. I’m a woman of many talents.”
Her confidence is hot. I try to figure out if she’s wearing a bra. No visible nip, so probably.
Damn. If she weren’t wearing a bra, that would mean she was trying to get me to look. Even though we don’t get along, today feels like a truce of sorts.
Who knows what tomorrow will bring, though?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Josie
If I didn’t know how moody and arrogant he could be, I’d think Dane Foster was an absolute saint. A stand-up guy. A gentleman, even.
Archie Bright, the nine-year-old cancer patient who just met Dane for the first time, is looking at him with such reverence that it takes my breath away. When we arrived, he cried and hugged Dane for a solid five minutes and he’s just now managed to let go of him so they can have a conversation, both of them wearing masks.
This morning, Dane called my cat “a furry menace” and griped at me for not emptying the lint trap in his dryer. Then he made me a delicious cheese omelet. I still haven’t figured out if he’s mercurial or just constantly trying to balance out his grouchiness with good deeds.
Right now, though, I’m in awe of him. Archie is bald and thin, and he was staring listlessly at nothing in his hospital bed when we walked into the room. Now his eyes are shining happily and he’s holding Dane’s hand. Dane is smiling warmly at the little boy, listening to him talk about watching hockey games on TV.
“They don’t have most of the Mammoths’ games on TV here,” he says glumly. “Sometimes they do, though.”
“How would you feel about watching tomorrow night’s game against Chicago?” Dane asks.
Archie lights up. “Oh yeah! I’m watching that one. Regina said I can stay up late and watch it on the big TV in the lounge. She’s one of my nurses.”
Dane shakes his head and makes a face, looking at Archie’s mom, Taylor.
“I don’t think you guys should let him stay up late and watch it in the lounge,” he says.
“What?” Archie cries.
Dane waves a hand dismissively. “If you’ve seen one hockey game, you’ve seen ’em all, man.”
“No!” Archie’s expression is devastated. “I want to watch the game! Regina said I can!”
“How about this?” Dane says. “You can still watch the game, but instead of watching it from the lounge here, you come to the arena and watch it with me in person.”