Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 37970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 190(@200wpm)___ 152(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 190(@200wpm)___ 152(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
I pause, my heart rolling in my chest at the sight of her. She got dressed, opting for a simple blue dress and ballet flats. Her hair is piled up on top of her head, leaving the graceful column of her neck exposed. My lips twitch with the desire to taste every inch of exposed skin.
She must sense me watching her because she turns, glancing over her shoulder at me. Her eyes meet mine, her cheeks immediately turning pink. "I made you breakfast."
"You cooked for me?" I ask, striding into the room.
She shrugs, her gaze bouncing away. "Thought you were probably hungry. You worked all night." She grimaces. "You're probably starving, actually."
"I grabbed something on the way to the hospital. Full disclosure. I was going to bring you food too, but I wasn't sure if they'd let you eat or not. I thought it'd be less painful for you if I didn't bring anything than to show up with a juicy burger you couldn't eat."
"Good choice," she murmurs. "They probably wouldn't have let me eat it. They wouldn't let me leave, either."
"I heard. Something about a stupid-hot firefighter."
Her eyes nearly bug out of her head. "What? Who said that? Wasn't me."
"Clearly not." I chuckle, shaking my head. "I don't know any stupid-hot firefighters."
"Right," she snorts, grabbing the plates.
"Here, let me." I quickly take them, carrying them across to the two-seater table situated in a little nook.
She follows me with a coffee pot and two mugs, blushing when I hold out her chair for her. I can't resist running my hand down her arm, which elicits a shiver. I fucking love the way she responds to me. I may make her nervous, but I think she craves my touch. She certainly didn't curl into Alessandro last night like she does with me. Even in distress, some part of her felt the hum of electricity between us.
I take a seat across from her, my stomach rumbling loudly.
She hears it and laughs quietly.
"It looks fucking delicious," I say, shrugging unapologetically. It's true. The plate is heaped high with bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs, and biscuits.
"Nate eats a ton. I figured you probably do too."
"I'm a growing stupid-hot firefighter."
She chokes on her juices, her cheeks blazing. "I'm never living that down, am I?"
"Probably not." I grin, my eyes locked on her face. "I like knowing you're attracted to me, Red."
She rolls her eyes at me. "Half the population is probably attracted to you, Emmett. You're hot, in shape, and you're a firefighter. That's basically the trifecta as far as most people are concerned. And then there are the tattoos."
I pause with a forkful of eggs halfway to my mouth. "I'm not interested in what most people think. Their opinions are irrelevant. I'm interested in what you think."
"I think you're stupid-hot," she mumbles.
"I'm also just a man, baby. I'm covered in tattoos because I like ink. I'm in shape because the job demands it. I didn't have a say in the rest of it. It's just the way I was made. It doesn't make me more worthy than anyone else."
"Maybe not, but that doesn't mean you don't benefit from it," she says softly. "People treat you like you're more deserving than others because of the way you look. It's not like that for everyone." She glances away. "When you're my size, the world is less kind. I guess it makes it hard to believe that someone who looks like you is here for the right reasons."
I scowl, anger rolling through me at the thought of people treating her poorly because of her size. From where I'm sitting, there isn't a damn thing wrong with her or her body.
But she isn't wrong, either. Guys who look like I do have it easy. People treat us one way and treat others a different way. It's fucked up. But I've never been the guy who tries to use the way I look to my advantage or treated anyone else differently because of their looks or size. To me, thick is fucking sexy. Intelligence and spirit are attractive as hell. And the woman seated across from me—with her cute little attitude and her fire and sass and her dedication to her brother and those gorgeous curves—is the full package.
"The world is full of assholes, Nina," I murmur. "They see a beautiful woman like you who doesn't fit the mold and doesn't wedge herself in a box like she was told to do, and it intimidates the hell out of them. How dare you shine so fucking brightly outside of the box they dimmed their light trying to cram themselves into? But that's not your problem, baby. That's their problem. You weren't made for a box, and you damn sure don't deserve to dim everything that makes you beautiful trying to fit into one to make yourself more palatable to a bunch of assholes who can never and will never be good enough for you."