Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Shane gets in the driver seat and holds out his hand. “Keys.”
“I thought you said you were on a deadline?” I remind him while I hand him the keys and climb into the passenger seat. “I am,” is all he says, as if this should be obvious. He turns the ignition on and we take off to feed the horses.
“Tell Mona that I found a truck to replace hers and we’re going to check it out tomorrow. I need to go to Malibu and I want you to come with me.”
“Do you ever get tired of bossing me around?”
The Santa Anas kick up and a hot gust almost blows my straw hat away. He parks the Polaris along the gate of the pasture. Turning in his seat, he rakes his eyes over me.
“Were you tired of it the other night when I had my hands on your throat and my dick buried inside of you while I acted out scenes from your favorite book?”
My ears get red hot. “When you put it like that…”
Score tally… Hughes: 1 Me: 0.
I’m having a hard time believing wily Mona bought the story about the pickup truck. The one Shane and I are supposedly going to check out in Tarzana. But Mona and I have been operating under a “don’t ask don’t tell” policy lately and it suits me just fine.
The ride down Pacific Coast Highway to Malibu in the Cobra is glorious. I’ve almost forgotten how nice it is to feel moisture on my skin. Savanah Conley comes on the radio, singing Never Wanna Be In Love, and I turn up the volume. The song is downright prophetic.
“Never wanna be in love,” I sing along quietly.
“But I wanna be with you ’cause
Never wanna be in love
But look at you, look at you
You saw right through me
I tried to hide
Turn my eyes from you
I’m about to lead a lonely life
But I’d change my mind for you
I never wanna be in love
I never wanna be in love
But I’d change my mind for you
I never wanna be in love
I never wanna be in love
But I’d change my mind
I’m my only enemy
Just passing time to get through
You gotta be the one to choose
'Cause I can’t be, I can’t be
You saw right through me
I tried to hide
Turn my eyes from you
I’m about to lead a lonely life
But I’d change my mind for you…”
Shane turns to watch me. I can feel his scrutiny on the side of my face. But he doesn’t say anything.
We stop at Malibu Farm Restaurant and Shane tells me to wait in the car. He must’ve called ahead because he comes out minutes later carrying two big bags filled with takeout boxes. He hands them to me and we head to his trailer on the bluff. If I didn’t know any better, I would think this was a date.
He parks and I walk to the edge and take in the one-hundred-and-eighty-degree view of the coastline.
“This place is magic,” I say, closing my eyes and letting the wind blow my hair back.
“Can you grab the plates and utensils?” he asks while he pulls the takeout out of the bags.
After we set up the small card table outside for lunch, we kick back in the lawn chairs and destroy the assortment of food Shane ordered. Watching the sun sink in the distance, I’m reminded how truly lucky I am.
“Mona makes us eat dinner on the patio almost every night so we can watch the sunset. And almost every time she says it’s her favorite one… She’s so brave about losing her eyesight.” It brings a smile to my lips.
“The legend of Mona Harris will live on long after she does. She’s a character in my next book.”
My head whips around. “Are you kidding?”
“No,” he says casually, and rubs the back of his neck. “So are you.”
His hooded eyes fall on my mouth and a soft smile spreads on his face. He gets up and offers me his hand. “Let’s clean up.”
“Aren’t we having dessert?” I’m sort of bummed about dessert, but excited about being a character. Shane walks into the trailer holding a bag of trash. “You better make me look good in your book!”
He pokes his head back out. “You’ll have to read it when it comes out.”
I grab the plates and silverware and wash them in the sink while he wraps up the leftovers and sticks them in the refrigerator. It’s so natural and domestic of us, a small glimpse into how wonderful our life could be.
I dry my hands on a towel and turn to find him watching me. He’s wearing another one of his fertility outfits: black t-shirt, softly worn jeans, and Gucci driving moccasins. He crosses his arms and his expression turns serious. “You wanna talk?”
“Wow,” I say, feeling intimidated again, my pulse racing with dread and my palms sweating. I brush them on my blue jeans. I’ve been wanting this for the past week, and now that it’s here, I don’t know what to say. “Way to make me feel comfortable in your home.”