Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 86833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“Answer, man, I don’t want it to spread out.”
“It already would have. They’d all already know.”
“Know what?” I ask, tugging on Bishop’s hand.
Tillie walks out the front door, watching me with a worried look. “Come on. We can put those away before someone gets shot.” She smiles weakly, gesturing me to come inside. I let go of Bishop’s hand and walk around Nate, toward her. We both walk into the house in silence, passing the guys who are all in the sitting room.
Walking down to the basement, she breaks the silence. “Are you okay? You and Bishop looked cozy.”
I laugh, opening the cabinet with the keys I got from him. “Yeah, I don’t know what we are.”
“Do you trust him?” she asks, as I hang the guns back, placing the shells on their shelf.
“Yes, I do.” She pauses, so I look at her over my shoulder. “Why?”
Shutting the cabinet, I lock it again and put the keys into my pocket. She turns around, leaning against one of the old shelves. “I don’t know. It’s just… I knew his ex.”
“Khales? Yeah, he has sort of mentioned her.”
“What did he say?” Tillie asks, her eyes watching mine.
“Just that it wasn’t as people thought it was—whatever that means.”
Tillie shakes her head, hiding a scoff. “Games, always games with these boys.”
“Tillie? I trust him.”
She looks like she wants to say something else, but changes her mind. “Okay.”
Nate lights up the fire pit and then walks toward me, handing me my drink. “You know…” He grins, flicking the Zippo between his fingers. “…Bishop inherited this house.”
“Really?” I perk up, wanting to know more. The sun is setting, letting off a beautiful orange hue in the sky, and the drinks are going down smoothly, and despite the circumstances of me being here, I feel great. “Do tell me more.”
Nate takes a seat on the log beside me, casting a small glance toward Tillie, who’s chatting with Saint opposite us. His eyes stay there for a beat longer, watching her and Saint.
I nudge him with my arm. “Hey.”
He looks back toward me with a smile, just as Cash takes a seat beside me on the other side. I look at him and smile; he smiles back. I haven’t spoken to Cash much, if at all, and I don’t really know his story, but I know he’s Saint’s younger brother. “Hey.” His blond hair drops to his collar. He has sort of a surfer look to him, with bright blue eyes and golden skin. So different from Saint, who has dark hair, a dark five o’clock shadow on his strong jaw, and dark eyes that could pin you with one stare. They must be half-brothers.
I look back to Nate. “Keep going.”
“Is it story time already, Nate dawg?” Cash teases with a smirk but then takes a long pull off his beer.
Nate shrugs easily. “Why not?” Then he takes a sip of his own beer. I don’t miss the silent communication that passes between the two of them. Nate brings his beer to his lap and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “As I was saying, Bishop inherited this cottage.”
“His grandparents or something?” I ask, looking back to the beautiful, large structure. You can see it has some age to it, but not old enough to go back any further.
Nate chuckles sarcastically. “Something like that.”
“Carry on,” I probe him.
“Well…” He leans forward, the rim of his bottle dangling between his fingers. “This house is sort of like a family heirloom.”
“Some heirloom,” I mutter, taking another drink of my whiskey sour.
“Okay!” Bishop grins, dropping a whole bunch of black bags at his feet.
I smirk at him. “Why do you have no top on?” His beautiful body is on full display, and he’s put a baseball cap on backward, covering his hair. I fight the urge to lick my lips, because the way the ripped denim jeans hang off his narrow waist, showing the edge of his Calvin’s, makes me want to melt into a puddle on the ground.
“This is how we play, baby.”
“Play what?” I ask, inching forward as Nate stands, drinking the rest of his beer in one go and then tossing his bottle to the ground. He grips the back of his collar and tears his shirt off, all his muscles tensing at the action, and his tattoos—a little more than Bishop has—coming into view.
Nate smirks down at me. “Paintball shooting.”
“Really?” I stand instantly. “I’m in!”
All the boys remove their shirts, and my eyes find Tillie’s instantly. We share a look that’s something like “Well gawd dayum,” then both laugh. I feel the tension ease off my shoulders in our laughing, and then I look back to Bishop, who is giving me the sexiest evil grin I have ever seen in my entire life.
“Nawww,” I tease him, walking past Nate and coming to the front of Bishop. Circling my index finger over his left pec, I grin back at him. “Jealous?”