Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 68177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
I drop my eyes to his mouth and lick my lips. “Breakfast sounds good.”
“Come on.” He takes my hand, but I stop him before he can pull me away. I turn off my machine, and then—because I’m petty—I shrug at the redhead and smirk, a silent sorry not sorry, he’s mine.
“What?” I ask Braxton when he chuckles, but he just shakes his head.
We stop at the lockers, and I grab my sweatshirt and bottle of water as he grabs a large black duffle bag before taking my hand once more. I let him lead me to the elevator, and he releases my hand to turn his back to me and wave his wrist across the screen. I put on my hoodie, leaving it unzipped, and lean against the wall as the doors close, holding my breath because I’m unsure what to expect as he turns to face me.
“Where is the watch I gave you?”
“I gave it to my brother,” I reply, and his eyes narrow slightly. “What? I might have agreed to keep it, but I didn’t tell you what I would do with it, and I wanted Jamie to be able to get into my place.”
“Hmm.” He skims his finger along the top edge of my sports bra, and I automatically grab onto the rail to keep myself standing. “Do you always work out dressed like this?”
“Why?”
“Curious.” He slides his finger between my breasts and up my throat to my chin, taking it between his thumb and pointer finger.
“Braxton?”
He lowers his head toward mine. “Yeah?”
“Are you going to kiss me?”
“Is that what you want?” He tugs on my chin, forcing my lips to part.
“Maybe,” I say as the doors behind him open.
“You let me know when you’re sure.” He steps back, leaving me disappointed as he takes my hand from the railing.
As soon as I step out of the elevator with him, I’m confronted with exactly how much money he has. His place is ginormous with two full walls of window that overlook the rest of the buildings in the area and the sound, which I never realized is only blocks away. After releasing me, he walks across the open floor and tosses his bag on a sleek black couch that could seat the entire Brady bunch along with a few dozen more kids.
“Are scrambled eggs okay?” he asks as I slowly walk behind him toward the open kitchen with black cabinets, pure white countertops, and top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances.
“Sounds good.” I keep walking toward the windows and look out. “I could never live up here. I’d feel like I lived in a fish tank and people were watching me all the time.”
“That’s why the windows can do this,” he says and suddenly the windows seem to fill with smoke, blocking out the view.
“That’s very fancy.” I look at him over my shoulder so I can watch him laugh.
“A little too fancy. It took me a month to figure out how to use them,” he replies as I walk to the large dining table and run my hand over the wood surface that looks like someone split a tree in half then glazed it, with the natural pits and grooves filled with some kind of gold flecks. Even the outer edge of bark is glazed over. “You like it?”
“It’s very pretty. Where did you get it?” It looks custom made for the space and is big enough to sit at least twelve people or more if you added a few more chairs.
“I made it.”
I lift my eyes off the table and meet his gaze. “You made this?”
He shrugs. “It’s a hobby of mine.”
Isn’t he just full of surprises?
Then again, he’s been surprising me since the moment we met. “Where did you get the wood?”
“I have a piece of land and a small cabin just outside the city,” he explains, moving around in the kitchen while I walk around the table, inspecting it more closely. “I like to spend time there when I need to disconnect. There’s no Internet and barely cell service, so I hike and look for fallen trees.”
“Where did you learn to do woodworking?”
“My dad is a carpenter. I used to spend my summers helping him make custom pieces for people’s homes. I hated it, but I guess it’s still in my blood.”
I laugh. “Yeah, I guess. I bet people would pay lots of money for a table like this.”
“Maybe,” he agrees as I take a seat on one of the barstools surrounding the outer edge of the kitchen island. “I don’t sell the stuff I’ve made, and it takes me a while to finish anything, since I don’t get away as much as I’d like. That table took me a little over a year to create.”
“Is it the only thing you’ve made?”
“No. I made a coffee table for my mom, which she took the legs off of and hung on the wall.” He grins, and I can’t help but grin back. “Besides that, I’ve made a couple other things, but like I said, I don’t have a lot of free time.” He fills two cups with coffee out of a pot, handing one to me before going to the fridge and coming back with creamer.