Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 114211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
“Forgot my wallet, of all things.” Trey chuckles and shakes his head, then smiles. “Thanks for fixing all the lights, by the way. The annex is nice n’ bright for Cody’s trauma group and my dad’s book club meetings. No weird, dark, buzzing spots.”
I stare at him, confused for a second. All the lights? I barely began fixing the first one before I fell off the ladder. There must’ve been six or seven problem lights on that cursed-ass ceiling.
“You’re … Y-You’re welcome,” I decide to say, still at a loss.
“May still go through with my plan to paint the annex green—I love green, got a thing for it. But even once you’ve picked a color, it’s all about tones. Never in my life did I realize there could be so many damned greens. But once I settle on one, would you be up for the job? Oh.” He lifts his eyebrows. “Sorry, I didn’t even ask what you came here for! Are you okay? I’m sorry about what happened at Gran’s. I hope you didn’t get in trouble for it or anything.”
I’m still trying to figure out the light thing. “Uh …”
“Shoot, it was bad, huh? Don’t worry,” he quickly tells me, “I’ll have a talk with Gran. Bridger’s totally fine. Even laughed it off.”
“He … laughed it off?”
“Yeah, said next time he won’t order a well-done anything. He didn’t even care about the A1/habanero mix-up, either. Said he likes spicy food and wished he could have enjoyed it more, had he not been so hasty and choked on that bite.”
If I couldn’t feel more like shit about that night, now Bridger has to go and prove himself a better person than me, brushing it off like no big deal, like he’s covering my ass.
“Is that his jacket?”
I glance down at the jacket hanging in my arms. “Uh, yeah,” I say, coming out of it. “He left it at the … the church. Somehow.”
“He visited you last night while you worked?”
I blink, still staring at the jacket.
My heart races again.
Uncontrollably.
Bridger’s face, once more, in front of mine. His eyes, confused, bright and blue.
The sound of his breath crashing in my ears.
The touch of his lips on mine.
“Anthony?”
I flinch out of my thoughts so violently, I drop the jacket. “Uh, y-yeah, apparently, maybe, I don’t know.” I pick up the jacket with a single hand and offer it to him, suddenly not wanting to look at it or think of its owner for another second. “Speakin’ of, can you give this back to him? Please? Please just take it and … a-and give it back to him?”
Trey, who barely notices my sudden unexplained skittishness, smiles warmly at me. “Why don’t you give it to him yourself?” he suggests. “Come over for dinner tonight.”
I about fall through the floor. “Do what now?”
“Italian night at our house. Do you like Italian? Who doesn’t? Shrimp scampi. Pasta. More pasta. Garlic bread.”
He pats me on the shoulder like it’s already a done deal before hopping on over to the desk to snatch up his wallet. I’m paralyzed. I keep seeing Bridger’s lips. I can feel them, too. I swear I can feel them on mine.
His bright blue eyes.
Our hips smashed together.
My throbbing cock between us.
Or his …?
“See you at seven!” Trey cheerily calls out.
Then he’s headed out the door, even as I sputter, “But … But I got a … I-I need to do … I-I’m not available for …” My fake excuse doesn’t come fast enough. He’s already long gone, the jacket still hanging off my arm.
He probably wouldn’t buy any of my excuses anyway.
My heart hasn’t stopped racing.
I think I’m losing my mind.
Carla sighs happily from the desk. “I guess it’s a definite no-go on the date with my gal.” With a sly smirk, she vanishes back into her work—in other words: twirling pens around fingers—while I stare out the window, feeling like I’m about to shit a brick.
12
BRIDGER
All Trey says is: “Oh, we’ve got a guest joining us tonight.”
That’s it. No clue or hint.
I have no idea otherwise.
Maybe his dad is joining us all on his own. Maybe Cody’s mom. Maybe Duncan will show up in a Santa suit because why not? All I know is that one minute, I’m setting the table while overhearing Pete telling a story about a dickhead sergeant we both had to deal with after Cody’s time, and the next, the doorbell rings, and I’m asked by Trey to go answer it.
I open the door.
There stands Anthony dressed up in a short-sleeved blue plaid shirt buttoned to the chest and tucked into a pair of blue jeans with a brown belt.
And my jacket draped over his arms.
I’ve been thinking about him all day. Anthony. And that kiss. I still haven’t made up my mind about it, and now I’m staring at the guy on the front doorstep of Trey and Cody’s house.