Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
After my overhead stretch, I open my eyes, landing on the lump on the couch. I walk closer, curious about who might have fallen asleep out here. The form is too damn small to be one of the guys, and the women in the club are still considerably bigger.
The dark hair splayed out on the throw pillow gives her away, but why in the hell is Ali here, asleep on the couch when she’s been staying at my house across town.
She shifts in her sleep, her body moving incrementally. She’s not awake, but the threat of her waking up makes me backpedal.
The kitchen doesn’t hold the same solitude as it normally does with her out in the living room. Was she there yesterday morning? Did something bad happen at my house yesterday?
That last question makes me think of Boomer being there.
Surely he wouldn’t sleep with the woman and then kick her out of his room.
If he didn’t want her around, he could’ve done the deed back at the house, and then came to the clubhouse. I’ve fallen asleep on that couch. It’s awful on the lower back, but maybe it won’t have the same effect on her with her tiny size.
Although I’m always quiet in here in the mornings, I make a point to be extra quiet today. I even leave the overhead lights off and use the guidance of the light under the microwave that’s always on to see what I’m doing. I wince when the coffee pot gurgles and hisses its last drops into the carafe, wondering if it’s always made this much noise or if I’m just now noticing it because the last thing I want is for Ali to wake up.
I pour a cup, pull the monitor out of my sweats’ pocket, and place it on the table before taking a seat. The smart thing to do would be to sit with my back to the door so she’s easier to ignore if she does come into the room, but muscle memory brought me to the opposite side to the chair that gives me a perfect line of sight to the entryway.
I manage half my cup before her shadow crosses the doorway. She’s rubbing her eyes, and as she walks toward the coffee pot, I realize with me sitting in the dark, she doesn’t even know I’m here. It feels a little creepy to be watching her in the dark, but I’m torn on whether I should make my presence known.
Thinking maybe she’ll just grab a cup of coffee and go drink it in the living room, I keep my mouth snapped closed. The entire length of her slender body is cast in light as she opens the fridge door and looks inside.
“We’re out of creamer.”
She jolts, a sound of terror escaping her throat on a hiss as a carton of heavy whipping cream hits the floor.
“It’s Harley, Ali. You’re not in any danger.”
The fridge door is now standing fully open, filling the room with enough light that we can now see each other plainly.
Her hands are clasped over her heart, and once again, I feel like an asshole for upsetting her.
“I’m just going to make a cup of coffee. I’ll leave after I’m done,” she finally says as she picks the cream container up from the floor, pours some in her coffee, and puts it back in the fridge.
“You don’t have to leave,” I tell her, wondering a little too late if it was the wrong thing to say.
“I’m not going to sit in the dark with a man I don’t know.”
I stand from the table, leaning to the side to flip the switch on the wall.
Big mistake. If her silhouette in the shadows and light cast from inside the fridge was appealing, seeing her in full light all rumpled and tousled from sleep, is eye opening. She’s tiny as far as her frame is concerned, but there’s no mistaking that she’s all woman. I look back down at my coffee as I retake my seat, my body responding to the sight of hers. I blame biology rather than any real attraction on the reaction, and pray she will leave the room even though I told her she didn’t have to.
She doesn’t leave. Instead, she takes a seat at the other table in the room, facing in my direction. I know that has a lot to do with her recent trauma. I hate that she doesn’t feel safe around me, even though I’ve given her no reason to relax in my presence.
Now would be the time to apologize, but as I’m preparing what I need to say in my head, Aria’s little whimper echoes from the baby monitor.
I stand immediately, carrying my coffee to the sink. I pour the remaining coffee out before rinsing it and tucking it into the top rack of the dishwasher.