Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 117415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
“You kinda get used to the size,” he says from behind me.
I chuckle. “Don’t go actin’ like you don’t have three bedrooms to yourself.”
“Four.” When I look back at him, he rolls his eyes. “Kidding.”
He can’t even help looking irresistible when he rolls his eyes and throws me attitude, even if it’s playful. “Alright. Big-ass foyer. Is that it? I’m not too impressed yet, to be honest.”
He’s still fighting back smiles. Good sign. “You’ve been on the road for a while. Do you … want something to drink, maybe? Made sure no one’s home today. Not even Bella, who tends our gardens with a big hired team of her own. She used to babysit me as a kid, so she doubles as a friend of the family, really. Anyway, none of them are here. Both my parents think I’m out today, so they drove out together to one of our clients’ farms to check on—You know what? I’m boring you. And me. Let’s get something to drink.” And off his neurotic butt goes, leading the way to the kitchen.
With a bottled water in hand—I would’ve taken tap—he leads me around the house from room to room, meandering around as we please. “That’s my dad,” he explains, approaching a portrait of a no-nonsense man in a suit with an unexpected twinkle in his eye that instantly reminds me of TJ. I lean in and mutter, “The man looks like he drives hard bargains for fun.” TJ sighs and says, “Not far off from the truth.” I peer at the side of TJ’s face, seeing it on his face, his businessman dad, the distance in his eyes, longing for something more he can’t quite name. “Shall we move on?” I then suggest, and TJ takes that up instantly, leading the way.
His mom looks a lot warmer in the picture I see on the wall of a study he takes me to. She’s somewhere in her gardens grinning at the camera like a joke just caught her off-guard. I see tightness in her eyes, like she’s smiling too hard. “I can’t quite read her,” I note, “but there’s only so much you can get from a frozen moment in time, I guess. I’m a better read on people in motion.”
“Pray you never see her in motion,” says TJ, and that’s that.
The guest wing sure as hell ain’t dignified at all by the mere words “guest wing”. It’s a completely self-sufficient living quarters with its own kitchen, hallway of bedrooms, and huge living room complete with a huge entertainment set, all of this spilling onto an outdoor area with a pool and gazebo. He wasn’t kidding. This can house the whole band and crew, Soul Biter included.
“Is that fat beautiful pavilion of yours out there takin’ gigs?” I ask TJ, only half kidding.
He stands by the back glass doors, arms folded, and smiles. “Every summer, we host the Annual Spruce Ball Fundraiser for the Arts. It’ll be the seventh annual this year. Strongs hosted the first one ‘til my mom wrestled it away from Nadine.” He eyes me over his shoulder. “The politics around here … the trifecta of Spruce’s matriarchy vying for social power every turn of the season. You get used to it, and at some point, tune it out completely. Nadine’s the mayor now. What else could she possibly want?”
“Uh, weren’t you tryin’ to turn me off of your town?” I have to laugh. “The more you say, the more I’m fallin’ in love with this place. Both the mayor’s sons are gay, you were tellin’ me last night on the phone?”
“Both married to men. But one’s bisexual, the younger one. Came out to the whole town on that pavilion out there, actually, when he pulled his best friend up onto the stage with him for a dance. It was … actually kinda romantic.”
I come up to TJ, brushing his bangs off his forehead. He looks at me, startled by my touch. “They got a mind of their own, always tryin’ to cover up those pretty eyes of yours,” I say, like I have to justify my actions. “Damn, I want to kiss you so badly right now.”
“I …” TJ licks his lips instinctively. “I want you to, also. But …” He clears his throat. “I haven’t finished the, uh … tour.”
“I’ve seen enough.”
“Yeah, you have,” he agrees at once, then rushes into my face.
I stagger back, overcome by his kiss. My foot kicks into the leg of a chair—the biggest, cushiest armchair I’ve ever seen—and I fall back into it. He’s atop me the next second, and I don’t know where to put my hands as he dives into my face. We’ve traded places now with him driving kisses down my cheek, down my neck, and with no warning whatsoever, hiking my shirt up to continue carving a path of kisses down my sensitive chest.