Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
My confession is followed by a light grunt from Rocky and the fire crackling. Which, to be honest, is fine. I don’t want him to say anything. Not that there’s anything to say other than how stupid I’ve been, but still.
“I’d order takeout, light candles, and read your letters out loud. I guess I wanted to pretend we were having a conversation over dinner.” I shake my head. “And for the third time, I know how crazy it sounds and—”
“It does sound crazy,” he cuts me off.
My heart drops.
His jaw clenches before he adds, “Because he’d be too high to hold his head up at the table, let alone make dinner conversation with you.”
God, what an asshole.
“Forget it.” I stab a potato with the plastic fork. “I don’t even know why I told you that.”
“Me neither,” he says. “Thought we weren’t talkin’ about letters.”
That gets my back up, and I stab the potato-laden fork at him. “Well, you don’t get to talk about them. I can do whatever I want.”
He studies me a beat, then he straightens up and sets his plate aside. “That so?”
“Yes, actually it is so.” I lift my chin. “In case you forgot, I’m the injured party between the two of us.”
“Injured party.”
“Yes, I am. I’m the victim here. The forced; the silenced; the kidnapped. I’m allowed a few concessions.”
“Fine.”
I raise my eyebrows in disbelief. “What?”
He throws out a short nod. “You’re allowed a few concessions.”
Despite myself, I smile a little. “Does that mean I can call you an asshole whenever I want?”
His gaze drops to my mouth for a second before he drawls, “Don’t you do that already?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Criminal cowboy.”
“Used that one before too.”
“I—”
“If that’s the extent of your imagination, college girl, we’re in a lot of trouble.”
In his low and drawling voice, it sounds exactly like I wanted it to, “college girl,” and yet nothing like I imagined it would.
I blink myself awake and ask, “Why?”
“Might get old after a while,” he tells me, his eyes boring into mine. “Since we’re gonna be spending the rest of our lives together.”
“We’re not.”
The determined lines on his face make me shiver, and I glance down at the food. “You know I’m not a vegetarian, right?”
“I’m aware.”
I look up to find his eyes pinned on me. “So then why do you always make sure I have no meat in my food?”
For the record, I don’t care. I’ll eat whatever is put in front of me and be grateful that I wasn’t the one who made it. Growing up, I had to do all the cooking myself because my mother was either too busy with making my father happy or too beaten up to do anything else but lie down. So I’m not picky.
“Just coverin’ my bases on the off chance you were.” Then, “You didn’t want me feedin’ you somethin’ against your will, did you? Like I did with the tranq.”
I was in the process of putting a deliciously cooked potato in my mouth when I stopped. I put down the fork and asked, “Is this an apology then? For drugging me? You know, how you sometimes apologize in a weird way. Like when you read my favorite book.”
“It’s a fact,” he tells me. Then, as if muttering to himself, “Still don’t know why that’s your favorite book though.”
I keep my eyes on him for a few seconds more, as if by doing that I’ll learn all his secrets and solve the mystery he is. Not that I want to know him, but I think I need to. Keep your friends close but your enemies closer. Isn’t that what they say?
I’m trying to get away from him. Shouldn’t I know about any potential weaknesses or vulnerabilities that I can use against him? Like the fact that I now know where he keeps his knife.
Tucked in his boot.
I’ve been watching him retrieve it to chisel the twigs and fallen branches in order to make the firepit; to cut the rope to get the saddlebags down; even to skewer the meat while cooking. Every time he’s done using it, he puts it back in. I can see it even now. The black handle peeking out the top.
I’ve never used a knife before, and I don’t know how I’ll react if I do need to use it. Either on him or those wild animals he was talking about. All I know is that I have to try. I have to get away from him, and I need a weapon for my protection.
And all the information I can gather.
“So,” I begin, breathing in, “where’d you learn to cook like this?”
He keeps looking at me for a few seconds, his eyes roving over my features. As if he’s mulling something over. Just when I think I won’t be able to take his scrutiny any longer and he’s probably never going to answer me anyway, he speaks, surprising the hell out of me.