Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
I nod. “Pretty Girl for sure. He might be a little nervous, though.”
“He let me pet him earlier, but I’ll be careful.” She kneels, and Pretty Girl immediately goes to her. It takes a moment, but after he sees how Meadow is petting Pretty Girl, and that it’s okay, he eases her way too.
“You adopted my dog.” Archer crosses his arms, but there’s a smirk on his face. He’s…too fucking sexy. I try not to think about it most of the time—his full lips and square jawline; the way his dark hair hangs over his forehead, his eyes either full of mischief or heart. Not the love kind, just the one that says he’s a good guy who cares about everyone.
My initial reaction is to tell him to fuck off, that the pup is mine, but I wouldn’t say that in front of Meadow, and I know Archer is teasing me. Instead, I find myself cocking my head, looking at him while trying to make sense of this. “You wanted him? Even the way he is?”
“He deserves love too. Hell, I probably wanted him because of the way he is. I hadn’t planned on getting a dog, and it shouldn’t be a spur-of-the-moment decision, but there’s something about him. I didn’t want anything bad to happen to him.”
My stomach twists up. What he said, that’s a good thing, and I shouldn’t be surprised, not with Archer, this man who saw me losing my shit in the woods and held me all night…and then again the following year… But it’s a struggle to trust the good in people, to believe it can be real. “Mr. Perfect,” I say, trying not to show my conflicting emotions.
“I mean, I’m not going to argue with that.” He winks.
“Why did you volunteer here?” The question had been teasing the edges of my thoughts. “I’ve been doing this for years, and I’ve never seen you here.” Is this another of his save-Easton ideas? Or is he trying to find a way to get close to me for… Actually, I have no idea why he does that other than he thinks I need it, need him.
“You volunteer here?” The way his forehead wrinkles up, I can tell his question is genuine. He really didn’t know, so this isn’t part of his weird plan to fix me.
“Never mind.”
“It doesn’t surprise me,” he replies. “But Meadow likes animals too, and I thought it would be a good lesson for her, learning to volunteer and things like that. I told Cass I would bring her.”
He does stuff like that with her. I’ve seen them together before. It’s so strange to me, something I don’t understand, which makes the truth come out. “My dad never wanted to spend time with us, especially me.” But Archer wants to, with her. This girl who isn’t even really related to him.
The second I realize what I said, my mouth clamps closed, jaw tight. Why the fuck did I give him that? Give him that piece of me, and then…my gaze darts down, but Meadow is in her own little world with the dogs, not paying us any attention.
“Hey.” Like he’s done before, Archer reaches over and takes hold of my chin. “Your dad is a fucking bastard. That says more about him than it will ever say about you. You deserve better.”
Archer got the part about Gregory right, just not the one about me. I pull out of his hold. “I gotta go. I’m taking the dogs to the park before I go home.” I hate taking them away from Meadow, and her from the dogs. I’m sure they would much rather play with a kid than be with me.
“Can we go too?” she asks. “Would you mind, Mr. Easton? Dad is working late, so I’m hanging out with my uncle tonight.”
Say no, say no, say no.
Meadow looks up at me and smiles.
Say yes, my sister tells me.
I’m sure Tripp doesn’t want his daughter around me.
Then there’s something wrong with him. You’re the best guy there is.
You don’t know many guys, I reply.
“As long as you don’t call me Mr. Easton.”
She stands.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s weird.”
Archer laughs. “You can call him Easton. Your dad won’t care since that’s what he wants to be called.” He puts his arm around her, and for some reason it’s hard not to watch him with her.
When he glances at me, I turn away.
“What park are we going to?” he asks.
I give him the name.
“We’ll meet you there.”
I nod, then stand there with my two dogs as Archer and Meadow head to his truck. This is different from the other times I’ve been with him. Those were all because he stalked me in the woods or bailed me out of trouble.
Part of me wants to go home, to get out of here and never talk to Archer again. He doesn’t treat me the way other people do. He doesn’t talk to me the way other people do.