Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 72362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
“No. As anticipated, you’re very dull.” I shift his hand, moving the ice pack so I can inspect the abrasion on his cheek. There’re a few inches at most between our bodies. It’s a tight space. “Has this been cleaned?”
“Grace took a look at me at the station.”
“Let’s make sure.”
“I’m sorry tonight turned out the way it did,” he says. “It’s not something that usually happens. The last time I got in a fight was over five years ago. One of the bartenders at the Lighthouse had broken up with this guy. A big dude, used to be a wrestler. He came in and started hassling her. It took a group of us to throw his ass out.”
I douse a cotton pad in alcohol and carefully pat his poor sore cheek. Then I do the same to the cut on his lip.
He winces as I work.
“You’re being very brave, Connor. I will definitely give you a sticker for participation after this.”
“Thanks.”
I go back to playing nurse. “Is there something on my face?”
“Hmm?”
“You keep looking at my face.”
“No. I just like your face.” He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. Then he says, “Another ladybug. Those things must really love you, huh?”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. But I can ignore it. This is fine. He’s just messing with me.
“Are you blushing?” he asks with amusement.
“No. Shut up.”
He smiles.
“How long do you think it’ll take for this gossip to get around?”
“I’d be surprised if there weren’t strained thumbs all over town from people texting,” he says. “Anyone who doesn’t know by now will find out at church tomorrow. Pastor Mike will definitely give a sermon all about it. They’ll either hear then or when they go to get their morning coffee.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you want me to take you home?”
I think it over. It doesn’t take long. “People will expect us be together. I’ll stay here if that’s okay?”
He just nods.
“I’m sorry he said what he did about your dad.”
“I don’t care what he thinks about me or my father.”
I raise my chin. “Then why did you hit him? Because he hit your first?”
“No. I could have dodged him. But he shouldn’t have touched you.”
I pause. “It was about me?”
“Yes.”
“Oh,” I say, surprised. “You don’t have to get into fights because of me. The last thing I want is for you to be getting into trouble.”
Connor leans in closer, and in a voice so deep it shakes me to my core, he says, “He shouldn’t have touched you, Blue. That was not okay.”
“You’ve given me a nickname?”
“Mm. Is that a problem?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“What would happen next if this was one of your romance books?”
“With the town?”
“No. With us here.”
“Um. Emotions would be high after the fight. Something like that causes a high-stress state so lots of hormones would be flowing. The characters in question are hetero, right? So, the hero would be dying to bang, have the hard-on of the century. But often the heroine is oblivious to his state of arousal. She might be a little shaken from the violence and focusing on the fact that he’s hurt.”
“She’s still processing.”
“That’s right.”
He cocks his head. “She doesn’t want to have sex?”
“I didn’t say that. It just hasn’t occurred to her yet that she’s in what is potentially a sexually primed situation.”
“Okay. What does the hero do?”
I clear my throat. “He might make some sort of overture toward intimate relations. Or she’ll accidentally stumble upon his previously mentioned hard-on of the century.”
His brows rise. “What if it’s only the hard-on of the year or like the financial quarter? Would that still be acceptable?”
“You’re funny.” I pause to inspect my work. “I forgot to tell you. A friend of Ava’s arrived while—”
“I don’t want to talk about her.”
I shut my mouth. There’s a weird vibe in the tiny room. Like he’s taking up all the air and my brain is not doing so great. I don’t know. He’s just this huge smoking-hot presence towering over me, leaving no room for rational thought. But removing myself from the situation isn’t an option. Because there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Being alone with him and getting all his attention is a heady thing.
Without a word, he reaches back and pulls his blood-stained tee off over his head. Such a hero maneuver. I would applaud if I had control of my limbs. The way the muscles in his arms flex. It’s almost as good as the revelation of his upper body. Picking a favorite part is impossible. There’s the width of his shoulders and the expanse of all that smooth skin. How my fingers itch to touch.
“We should, um, rinse your shirt to get the blood out,” I say. “That would be the smart thing to do.”
“I like it when you look at me like that.”