Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
"Your mother was a Henchmen clubwhore?" he clarified. "Is that why you're here?"
My chin went up, a stubborn trait that all the women in my family seemed inclined to display when they found themselves offended.
"To be a clubwhore to you and your buddies, Reeve, is that what you mean?"
"Alright," he said, seeming to pick up on my tone. "I shouldn't--"
"Assume that all women want to get on their backs for you? No, you shouldn't do that," I agreed. "No matter how good-looking you are."
His lips teased up the slightest bit at that. "How good-looking I am, huh?"
"I would assume that even outlaw bikers own mirrors."
"What's with the no coat thing? In this weather?" he asked when he clearly didn't want to talk about himself anymore. Curiouser and curiouser. I remember when I was having issues learning how to communicate among my peer group at school, my mother once told me that if I didn't know what to say, just ask people questions, that everyone loved to talk about themselves.
This was, apparently, not true of Reeve.
I felt my shoulder shrug. "I like to wear what I like, regardless of the weather." That was why I was still wearing my summer dresses and skirts in winter, layered over longer sleeves and leggings. "I have yet to find a winter coat I like."
"In however many years you've been this same size?" he pressed, skeptical.
"Have you checked out the coat sections in the stores lately? Everything is black and bubble. Nothing has any character."
"Babe, I think you have more than enough character in and of yourself to pull off a bland coat."
"I can't tell if that is an insult or a compliment," I said, watching as Roderick came walking back, my skirt folded on top of my cape in his hands. I bet they were all toasty warm from the dryer.
"Insult? Mami, don't let me hear that he's been insulting you."
I looked over at Reeve, my lips twitching, before looking back at Roderick. "And what if I told you he was?" I asked as he handed me my clothes, the gesture, while innocent, made it feel like I needed to get up and get moving. So I stood, yanking on the skirt, and shrugging into my cape.
"Well, I would have to kick his ass for you, wouldn't I?" Roderick asked, all charm and dimples, and not one lick of sincerity.
"Seeing as I am a pacifist, I will take the truth of whether he was insulting me or not with me. I have a job to get to. Then a sick kitten to feed. Thank you for drying my clothes," I told Roderick before turning to Reeve. "And for the coffee and last night. I appreciate it."
With that, feeling an uncharacteristic awkwardness, I turned and made my way to the door.
"You're not just gonna..." Roderick's voice started, then cut off. "Yeah, didn't think so."
I had no idea what he meant until the door that had been quickly closing behind me got yanked open again.
"Rey," Reeve's voice called, and I looked to see him shrugging into his coat. I, oddly, liked the idea of him smelling like my mild lavender laundry detergent. Don't ask me why. It made no sense to me either.
"Yeah?" I asked, turning back, half-hunched forward against the cold. Which was weird since I wasn't as affected by it before. It was like these guys making such a fuss about it made me uber aware of the temperature.
"Let me give you a ride," he offered.
"I'm not going right home, Reeve," I reminded him.
"I got no place to be, babe. I can wait in the truck while you do your dog walking thing."
"It's just a quick walk," I said, not sure why I was accepting the ride. Maybe I just had this urge to spend some time with him, even if it didn't make any sense. "The owners are back by noon, so I don't need to hang out with them for hours like I normally would."
"See, it all shakes out," he agreed, hand reaching out to touch my arm just below my elbow to guide me toward the side of the yard where the SUVs and trucks were parked, along with a few bikes. As my gaze moved down to the contact of our bodies, he snatched his hand away fast. Too fast. Like I burned him. "This way," he said, waving a hand out instead.
Strange.
Very strange.
Who freaked out about such a chaste touch?
I only looked down because it had been a surprising, sweet touch. And, well, the touch of a man which I hadn't felt in a while. It felt good. Too good for something so innocent.
I wasn't a prude about sex. At all. But I also didn't just have sex to have sex. I had sex because I enjoyed someone's company, because they made me feel sexy and desired, because it was a normal progression of a relationship.