Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97944 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97944 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
“Let’s go.”
“Ha! You are super high if you think I’m going anywhere with you.”
“You can go willingly or unwillingly. Your choice.” He crosses his thick arms over his broad chest.
“I’m gonna take my chances with unwillingly because I’m not—hey!” Scooping me up at the waist, he throws me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Put me down!” I yell, pounding my fists against his back. He doesn’t say anything or put me down, making me even angrier. “Put me down, you ape!” I swear to God, the second my feet touch the ground, my knee is going into his groin. “You are so dead,” I hiss. Finally, he flips me back, and my feet slam against the gravel. The locks on his SUV disengage, and he opens the door.
“Get in.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t have to do what you say.”
“That signed contract says you do.”
“I’m not getting in.” He sure does seem angry. And he’s quite attractive when he is. Not the point, Parks! We have an impressive stare-off until the wear and tear of tonight catches up to me, and I give in. “Fine, but once we’re home, we go our separate ways.”
“Get in, Mindy.” Dammit, I want to refuse—I don’t let anyone tell me what to do—but if I stick around, he’ll notice how affected I am by the way he says my name. And later, I’ll be having a talk with my nipples about appropriate times to get hard—which is not now.
“You suck.”
“Great. Thank you. Get in.”
I unenthusiastically get into his SUV while he does his whole jog around and climbs in. “Buckle up.”
“Buckle up,” I mock, strapping myself in. I lean my head against the window. The next thing I know, Tate is unhooking my seatbelt and gathering me into his arms. “What are you doing?” I gripe, my voice groggy. “I can walk.” I shuffle out of his warm embrace and stand, trying to catch my bearings. Shooting him a sour look, I march into my building with him right on my tail. I would slam the door in his face, but it would probably splinter into a million pieces, and I don’t have any money to replace it. Instead, I stomp into my apartment, tapping my foot impatiently when I get stopped so he can look for burglars. As soon as he gives the okay, I make a beeline to my room and slam the door.
Pulling out my phone, I type out a massive text to Fay, telling her if she doesn’t get her boy toy to remove the hound, I will raise hell. I look at the time, my finger hovering over the send button, and decide against it. The last thing Fay needs is more stress. She’s been working non-stop to get her restaurant ready to open in a few months and doesn’t need me bitching about this. I’ll wait ’til morning, then stress her out.
I toss my phone on my dresser and get ready for bed, finally cooled down by the time I’m done. As the anger fades, stupid curiosity takes its place. What could he possibly be doing in my living room? I can’t imagine he’s sleeping since my couch is a good two feet shorter than him. And he didn’t appear to have any bags. He must enjoy sleeping in jeans, a T-shirt, and a frown.
Crawling into bed, I close my eyes and flip onto my side. My thoughts start to wander, and eventually, I find myself grunting and throwing my covers off. I open my bedroom door, grab a pillow and blanket from the hallway closet, and walk into the living room, finding him on the couch with his legs sticking off. “You look ridiculous.”
He doesn’t open his eyes. “Thank you.”
I toss the pillow and blanket at his chest. “Here. Don’t say I never did anything for you.” Walking back into my bedroom, I slam my door.
***
I often wonder who invented the alarm clock and why the psychopath decided that the blaring of an obnoxious noise was the best way to wake someone up. While my alarm clock does precisely that, I think about coming face-to-face with this person and punching them square between the eyes.
Reaching over, I shut off the stupid alarm and look at the time, noting the pain in my neck has dulled to more of a discomfort. I debate going back to sleep over staying fit. Since my job requires me to be naked…
“Burpees wait for no one,” I groan, throwing my legs off the side of the bed. Still in my nightshirt, I sneak down the hall to the bathroom, listening for any movement or noise while doing my business. When I finish, I tiptoe into the living room, expecting Tate to still be sleeping. To my surprise, all I find is the blanket folded in a perfect square with the pillow resting on top. I look around my tiny apartment. Since it’s a shoe box and there are only so many places he can go, I assume he finally got the hint and left.