Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Okay, and also? Beau’s really hot, which I can’t help noticing.
I can’t help noticing it right now as he walks to the barn and stops at the entrance. He leans against the wall, which makes his body do insane things in that button-down dress shirt and those fresh jeans. Why did he also have to look so good in jeans too?
He stops, scans my face with those cold blue eyes of his that aren’t quite as frosty because it seems not even he can resist a beautiful country morning, and then eyes the cats flopping around on the barn floor.
“Absolute Unit Cat,” he greets Mama. “And…Little Absolute Unit Cat.” Baby meows at him and does that weird tail-vibrating thing she does when she’s happy or pissed and pretty much anything in between.
I want to laugh, but laughing feels like we’re friendly or at least on the same page or not all freaking tense, and I don’t know if that’s the truth. I know it’s not the truth.
He might be impeccably put together—freshly shaven, hair clean and styled, and clothing pressed like the ironing and drycleaning gods both smiled on the garments and decreed they should never wrinkle—but there’s something completely off about the way he carries himself. Either he’s finally reached the limits of how much of the country he can stand—even if he does get up and go for a million-mile run every morning and eat an endless supply of gross healthy things he has delivered and that appear magically on the porch in the morning, and his regular routine probably isn’t suffering all that much, at least not where his exercise and diet are concerned—or he has something on his mind.
I feel like I’m going to go straight through this bale I’m sitting on. Like it’s no longer sturdy and can’t support my weight even though it can. The feeling of sinking and falling is inside me.
“Do you have news about Aiden yet?” Maybe that’s why he looks so out of sorts. Although, if that was true, and he could leave, I think he’d probably do a backflip from the sheer happiness, tell me the rest of the contracted hot bedding dates are off and that I can keep the change, and then wish me a great life.
He keeps leaning hard against the barn doorframe. It’s a huge beam right there, but he somehow makes it look small. “No. It takes time to nail down such a cretin. It has to be airtight. We’re still working hard on it, don’t worry.”
I can’t help the frustrated sigh that comes out of me. “Then what?”
“Then what, what?”
Argh, why does he look so confused? No, I see it. The spark in his normally reserved, cold eyes. He wants to say something. I’m sure of it.
His jaw clenches and releases and clenches again like he’s hammering a piece of gum to a pulp, but he’s not chewing anything. I’ve seen him pop mints into his mouth on occasion, but never gum. Also, for the love of chicken rumps, is it a sin to be jealous of mints when they’re the ones getting sucked on, and I’m… yeah, definitely wrong if you’re taking it that far.
“I think we…” he begins.
An entire generation passes while I sit and wait for him to finish that sentence. When it’s clear we’re going to be as fossilized as dinosaurs if I don’t help him out, I step in and say, “You think we need to talk?”
A storm of relief shadows his face, and he replies, “Yes.”
“About the contract?”
“Not entirely.”
“Ahh. About the last time we did the hot bedding, how we went against the contract, and what was said and done.” I’m not sure which part he’s tense about, so I think a blanket statement is best.
“Yes.” His hands open and close. Then, he catches himself doing it after one time and pushes them into his pockets. He looks like a dark god standing there, holding the whole barn on his shoulders. Also? That pose and all his brooding beauty would break someone’s camera if they were here to capture this moment.
Well, I’m here, and I’ll frame that shot in my brain forever.
“I’m afraid I—”
“Whoa,” I gasp. I have to put up a hand to stop him. “You’re not afraid of anything.”
More jaw clenching on his part. His poor teeth. I know he’s rich and can afford whatever dentistry he needs, but my goodness. I’m going to shut up now. Right now.
“What happened—what I said, I’m…”
Another eternity. More fossils. More dust. The cats get up. Baby moves closer to Mama, and Mama starts licking imaginary leftover breakfast off her face and then moves up to her ears. It’s heartwarming. More sun streams through, and it brushes the tips of Beau’s expensive shoes. Shoes that probably cost a fortune. Shoe that shouldn’t even be here on a farm getting dirty.