Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 79360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
That question was directed at Mr. Thorton, not me. I wouldn’t have a choice where I went.
I’d tried to leave.
Twice, in fact.
Both times I did, I found myself stopped before I could even get out of the driveway. Both times, Sean had dragged me back, even the second time when I’d waited until he was asleep with the lights off to try.
Though, I realized now, it was a mistake to ever think that Sean didn’t have eyes in the back of his head, because he did.
It was obvious, even to me, that he had to have some eyes somewhere. Cameras, or a movement alarm.
Hell, I didn’t know how I knew. I just did, and I didn’t try to escape anymore. Not after being on the receiving end of his blank stare that told me without words that the next time I tried that, he’d spank my ass—fucked up bowels or not.
“No, son,” Mr. Brady said. “But I’d love for you to put Butterfinger in my car. It hurts me to lift her sometimes.”
I looked down at Butterfinger.
She was an overweight Rottweiler who clearly needed to go on a diet…yesterday.
“Sure,” Sean said with so little enthusiasm I nearly laughed. “Can you unlock your truck?”
Mr. Thorton drove a small, thirty-year-old Nissan truck that clearly had been well taken care of. What hadn’t been taken care of, though, were the tires.
Tires that even I knew that he needed. A woman who had no clue when it came to anything car-related.
Hell, the only time I knew something was wrong with my car was when the beeping or warning lights started to appear.
Mr. Thorton handed Butterfinger’s leash over to Sean.
The moment Sean had the leash, Butterfinger dropped to her haunches and glared up at Sean.
“I don’t understand what I did,” he sighed. “I’ve never had a dog not like me.”
I wanted to say something along the lines of, ‘Maybe she’s reading that you hate me right now’ but chose not to open the can of worms.
It wouldn’t be good to deal with this now, in public with the whole freakin’ morning rush of men and women watching us hash this shit out.
I really, really tried not to laugh at what happened next.
But I couldn’t help it.
The moment that Butterfinger allowed herself to be hauled across the slick concrete, half of her body in Sean’s large arms and the other half stubbornly dragging behind her, I just couldn’t help it.
Sean glared at me to silence my laughter, but I could only turn and watch out of the corner of my eye while I said my goodbyes to Mr. Thorton.
“You really shouldn’t laugh, dear,” he informed me. “And I shouldn’t, either. He found my dog for me. I think that’s why she hates him, though.”
I agreed.
Two days earlier, Sean had disappeared for nearly the entire day, and only later that night would I get a thank you call from Mr. Thorton for having my boyfriend look for his dog.
A dog which happened to be staying at one of his neighbor’s houses being fed dutifully by three kids in their parents’ backyard, the parents none the wiser.
“You think it’s because she’s not getting fed his Twinkies and Little Debbies for dinner anymore that she dislikes Sean so immensely?” I asked for confirmation.
He nodded, smiling when Sean finally got to the truck and lifted the hundred and fifteen-pound dog into the passenger seat.
I walked forward and gave Mr. Thorton a hug.
“Be careful going home. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
Mr. Thorton smiled. “Yeah, but I usually don’t walk on Fridays. If I walk tomorrow, I will not be walking on Saturday, okay?”
I pursed my lips, then gave the old man a kiss on the cheek.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “But I’ll still be here, even if you aren’t.”
I had to hide the smile that threatened my lips when Mr. Thorton turned on his patented glare.
“That, young lady, better not be a guilt trip.”
I shrugged, then wiped my eyes with my sleeves.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
He rolled his eyes and walked slowly to his truck.
I followed suit, but went one car past Mr. Thorton’s to Sean’s big blue behemoth.
I did manage to get in myself this time, though, so I was getting better. Even if it wasn’t coming as fast as I would like.
“You ready?”
I turned to study the man who’d waited until I was all the way in before getting in himself.
“Yeah,” I said softly, wishing I would get more than two words from him at a time. “Ready.”
He started the truck up, and he drove home.
Without, I might add, saying a damn word.
Chapter 12
If you like to spoon, you’ll love to spatula. That’s where I flip you over and make sure you’re done properly on both sides.
-Pickup lines that don’t work unless you have a beard
Naomi
Three weeks later
I was officially over Sean’s shit.