Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 83211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
It’s no secret that Banks and Maddox are very close—Ashley said he’s the third wheel in her marriage. She also says it’s a good thing she adores Banks because she can’t get rid of him. It didn’t hurt anything that he got into a bar brawl to save her from her piece-of-shit ex, Eton.
My stomach tightens as memories of that night shuffle through my mind.
He didn’t hesitate to jump into the melee. When a punch was thrown at his brother, Banks had his back. And when he noticed Ashley trapped in a booth with Eton, he did what had to be done to get her out.
He was a knight in work boots, switching from goofy sidekick to ultimate fighter in the span of two seconds. Watching him in that situation was impressive. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t even break a sweat—proverbially speaking. He was calm, cool, and a sexy badass.
Witnessing that moment is one of the reasons I can’t just be annoyed at Banks. He’s actually one of the good ones.
I look up as he sighs.
“I’m done with you,” Banks says to his brother.
And then there’s this side of him.
“Oh, you are not,” Maddox says. “You’ll be over here for dinner.”
“I’m really mad.”
“Ashley is making roasted chicken,” Maddox says. “And I heard something about chocolate cake.”
Banks sighs again, the fight in him waning.
“I’ll be home in about an hour, and we’ll eat. See you there,” Maddox says.
“Okay.”
I giggle.
“Bye,” Maddox says.
“Bye.”
He ends the call and puts the phone back in his pocket.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone cave as quickly as you,” I tease. “Is roasted chicken your weakness?”
“I don’t have a weakness.” He nods toward the nuts in my hand. “Don’t lose those.”
“There.” I push them to the corner of the counter. “Secure.”
Banks grabs the towel beside me, his knuckles brushing against my bare legs. If he notices the chill that snakes through me, he doesn’t mention it.
He drops the towel on the floor. Then he waves me over to him.
I hop down, my feet smacking against the cold tile.
“Grab the other side of this and help me move it,” he says.
I make a face. “Um …”
He looks at the ceiling.
This is reminiscent of one of our—many—disagreements in Orlando. Banks couldn’t get it through his head that I accompanied him on the trip for entertainment value and to run interference in case Ashley’s jerkoff ex-fiancé showed up. Ashley didn’t want Banks going to jail over her twice in one week. No, Banks expected me to help move heavy, dirty boxes in the sweltering sun in the oven that was the storage unit.
“It’s … gross,” I say, gesturing to the porcelain. “It’s filthy. And … gross.”
“You already said that.”
My hands go to my hip. “Well, it’s deserving of two grosses. It’s a toilet.”
“That your ass sits on every time you come in here. Now grab this thing and help me, or your landlord can handle your vibrator.”
“This is not a gentlemanly thing to do,” I say, gingerly touching the parts that feel dry. “Should we use gloves for this?”
He looks over the toilet bowl at me. “Do you have any?”
“No.”
“Then we don’t need gloves for this. Lift it up now.”
The damn thing is heavier than I anticipated, and it takes a bit of muscle to get it off the floor and onto the towel. Water sloshes from the bowl onto the floor.
“Good thing I’ve been working out, huh?” I flex for him. “I think I did more than half of the work there.”
He rolls his eyes.
“Now what, Mr. Fix It?” I ask.
He crouches down and uses the flashlight on his phone to peer into the back of the toilet.
“Do you see it?” I ask.
“How do I not? This thing is massive.”
I swat his shoulder, making him chuckle.
He plucks the perpetrator from the depths and presents it to me on his palm.
The sight of my purple peach in Banks Carmichael’s large, calloused hand does something to me. Lots of things. To a lot of parts. Dear lord.
“Toss it in the trash,” I say, unwilling to make contact with him and it at the same time.
“Are you sure? You went to a lot of trouble to rescue it.”
“I went to a lot of trouble to get my deposit back.”
He wraps his fingers over the silicone, dropping his hand to the side.
It’s virtually impossible to think of many things other than the fact that my vibrator is in Banks’s hand.
“How’d it get all the way back in there like that?” he asks nonchalantly.
Put it in the trash, Banks. “I don’t know. I plunged it for almost an hour before I called Ashley. I couldn’t get it to come up.”
“You probably pushed it down.”
His eyes lock with mine.
“That’s funny,” I say, holding his gaze. “I never have a problem getting things to go up.”
He grins. “I bet you don’t.” He turns and tosses the device in the trash.