Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 134830 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134830 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
“Not offering that,” Kyle replies easily. “Especially after that stunt you pulled yesterday. But maybe we can call a momentary truce so I can help? You really do look like shit.”
I blink at his bluntness, wanting to tell him to fuck off, but at the same time, I instinctively reach to smooth my hair, swipe at my face, and straighten my clothes. I haven’t looked in a mirror this morning, so I can only guess what I look like, but I’m guessing my pajama pants with paw prints all over them, oversized black T-shirt with bleach stains, and bare face aren’t exactly my best.
Kyle holds up a hand, proclaiming peace. “I mean, I’m sure you clean up good and all, but whatever you were drinking last night… yeah, not the best choice.”
Hands on my hips, I snap, “Well, what’s your excuse?” I look him up and down, frowning and crinkling my nose like he’s the one who looks awful. Except he looks good. Sexy good, good enough to smear on some toast and gobble up in the morning. He’s obviously freshly washed up, with clear skin and bright eyes. He’s wearing his work boots, but his jeans are dark wash and have never seen a jobsite, and his T-shirt fits across his chest like a hug, reminding me of the tiny barbells through his nipples. Even his hair, which should be a mess from the helmet, is sexily tousled, not a rat’s nest, which isn’t fair.
Why would the hair gods favor him over me?
Futilely, I push a stray lock behind my ear and lash out like my hangover is his fault. Because it is. If he hadn’t screwed up my whole week, Nessa and I could’ve had a pizza and pedicure spa night instead of a drink and shrink one, where we played drunk therapist for each other. “Let me guess, you went home and drank a twelve-pack on your own, cursing me the whole time until you fell asleep in your ratty recliner, only to wake up and decide you were gonna fuck with me in new ways on the only day off I have.”
Instead of responding to my oddly specific insults, Kyle teases, “Did I mention this secret spot I know has the fluffiest pancakes you’ll ever have in your life?”
Ooh, that’s a hard one.
Pancakes? He’s bringing out the big guns, and apparently, Kyle knows my culinary kryptonite, because that’s all it takes to push me over the edge. I’m a cheap slut for carbs, but I can’t care right now. I hold up a finger, taking a deep breath of surrender. “Give me one minute to get dressed, and if these pancakes don’t live up to expectations, I’ll file a permit complaint with the city.”
I know what a hassle that’d be for him, so it’s no idle threat. But Kyle just nods, smiling like he’s proud of me… for coming or for the threat, I’m not sure.
Except then he leans forward and says, “Sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight…” He raises a sharply arched brow, and I whirl, running for the house.
But I stop before getting three-quarters of the way across my yard because jogging is not a good idea on an empty stomach or with a headache. I glance back over my shoulder to find him fighting back laughter at my predicament.
Inside, I quickly trade my PJ pants for the first pair of jeans I find, yank a T-shirt over my head, and put on tennis shoes. I blindly and expertly pull my hair into two tight, low buns for what I know will be a windy ride, splash cold water on my face, swish some mouthwash, and put on deodorant.
That’s it. I’m not dressing up for Kyle or for breakfast. But making myself minimally appropriate to be out in public seems warranted. I don’t even glance in the mirror. That’s how ‘don’t give a fuck’ I am, I tell myself. But deep down, I might be a little scared of what Kyle saw when I came barreling out the door today.
The one brain cell that’s still working reminds me to tell Nessa where I’m going in case I end up on the side of a milk carton. Snagging my wallet and phone, I quickly type out, Breakfast with Kyle. He bribed me with pancakes bc I feel awful. You okay?
I don’t wait for her to answer. Knowing Nessa, she’ll start celebrating that the retooled version of my plan she concocted last night is working out. But mine did too—annoying Kyle and fucking up his day the way he keeps messing up mine.
Out front again, his eyes drop from my face, over my body, to my shoes, and back up again. He doesn’t even try to hide the slow perusal, but he nods approvingly. “Better.”
I match his action, letting my eyes drift down his body again before returning a hard-eyed glare to his eyes. “Still the same.”