Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 142728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Her gaze drops to my hand, and her smile falters. “Your knuckles look bruised. Did you hurt yourself riding?”
That would be an easier explanation, but I like her too much on the back of my bike to give her a reason to be afraid of it. “Work-related injury.” At least that’s almost the truth.
“I never asked what you do for a living?”
I don’t normally waste energy being ashamed of anything I say or do, but for the first time, I’m hesitant to tell someone where I work. “The MC owns a nightclub and I manage it.” Nightclub. Good one.
“Oh, that must be fun. No wonder you’re a night owl.” She scrunches her nose. “Does Empire still have nightclubs? I thought a lot closed down over the last few years?” She shrugs. “I don’t go out much anymore. What’s the name?”
I cough to clear the stranglehold my common sense has on my throat. “Crystal Ball.”
She tilts her head in the most adorable way. “Nope. Doesn’t sound familiar.”
Christ, she’s never heard of the only strip club within a fifty-mile radius of Empire County? Of course she hasn’t. Why would she?
I don’t belong here.
But I’m not giving up that easily.
To move away from this topic, I hold up the cold bottle of lemon juice. “Where am I putting this?”
“That can go on the counter and the butter on the table.”
“You got it.” I drop the bottle on the counter with a low clink and the butter on the table.
After we dish everything onto our plates and sit, Emily seems to finally relax.
“For ‘nothing fancy,’ this is really good,” I say, taking another bite of stuffing. “Like Thanksgiving but not as heavy.”
She beams, and damn if I don’t feel her smile in my bones. “The sage gives it the ‘Thanksgiving flavor’ but I think the lemon helps keep it crisp and light.” She takes a sip of water. “I like lemon in everything.”
“Interesting for such a sweet person.” What a line. I couldn’t come up with anything better than that?
“Obviously, you don’t know me that well. I’m not sure if anyone else in my life would describe me as sweet.” She shrugs. “But I have my moments.”
“I know you’re a good sister and a good friend.”
“Being a good sister definitely means not being sweet sometimes.”
I chuckle and lift my glass. “I can imagine.”
“If I can help Libby not make half the dumb mistakes I did when I was younger, I’ll be happy.”
“Spoken like a good parent. One who wants to set their kids up to do better than they did.”
“I guess so. I still don’t feel like I know what I’m doing half the time.”
“I don’t think you’re alone there.”
She runs her gaze over my arms, and I have the goofy, adolescent urge to flex for her. “You seem like someone who’s extremely capable in every situation. For example, I was running around the cemetery like a loon the other day and you just, poof, calmly sent a text and sorted it out. Had your friend bring me a loaner car. All of it.” She rests her hand over mine. “Thank you, again.”
“You’re welcome.” I rub my thumb over her knuckles. “Griff says he should be able to drop your car off in the morning.”
“Did he say how much it’ll be?”
“Don’t worry about it.” It’s an amount I can easily cover.
“Dex,” she protests. “I can’t—”
“It’s fine.”
Her jaw ticks but she drops it. For now.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dex
“That was incredible. Thank you, Emily.” I stand and pat my stomach. “Let me help you clean this up.”
Her cheeks flush, like she’s pleased or embarrassed by the compliment—I can’t tell. “Thanks. It’s usually just me and Libby, and she’s happiest with a fluffernutter sandwich or pizza.”
“Fluff, huh? I haven’t had that since I was a kid.”
“It’s sticky and gross and gets all over everything.” She shrugs. “But Libby loves it, so whatever.”
I don’t know my way around her kitchen, so I mostly watch as she pulls out plastic wrap and organizes what’s left over to store in the fridge. Once she’s finished, I grab a plate and follow her. She leans over, her dress gaping in the front just enough to flash a glimpse of blue satin and lace against pale skin. My free hand curls into a fist at my side so I don’t palm her breast. I shift a few inches to the right. This angle’s worse. Now I’m staring at her perfectly round ass hidden by thin fabric.
I’ve held myself in check all night. I can restrain myself for a few more minutes.
“Other one?” She holds out her hand without looking at me.
I pass her the plate.
It would be so easy to drag that dress up over her legs. See if her panties match her dress too.
She backs away from the fridge, closes the door, and turns. I’m so busy fantasizing about exposing her ass that I’m blocking her path. Her elbow hits me in the chest and my control snaps. I barely feel the impact. But it seems to be the cue for my baser instincts to take over.