Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
“Honestly? I never know what I’m doing, but it always works out.”
“I love that for me,” I say, not sure what I’m doing either, but here we are.
Brooks leads me through the small groups of people to the street. He slides an arm around my waist, careful not to grip me too tightly or make too much contact, and I nod at him in appreciation.
“So what do you do for a living?” I ask.
He scoffs. “Not a fight fan, huh?”
“When you look at me, do you see fight fan? Do I give off that impression?”
“I’m not sure what impression you make. You’re quite an enigma.”
I snort-laugh. “An enigma? Really?”
“Yeah. If I had to put it into words, I’d say you’re a lady in the streets, although you’re currently wearing Gray’s high school rugby shirt, and possibly a freak in the sheets.”
He thinks I fit that vibe? Whether he means that or not, I don’t know. His smirk makes me think he’s just screwing with me, but that doesn’t take away from the heat scorching my face as I try not to die in embarrassment.
“So you’re a fighter,” I say, firmly redirecting this conversation to more neutral territory. “My friend’s brother is a fighter.”
“Oh, really? What gym does he fight out of?”
I wince. “Boston?”
“That’s not a gym. It’s a city.”
“It’s the best I can do.”
Brooks opens his mouth, but before anything can come out, a set of large hands perch on his shoulders, and he’s yanked backward. He twists, raring back with a fist—ready to pound someone into the asphalt. Once he realizes it’s Gray, he drops his arm and bursts out laughing.
“You about met your maker, buddy,” Brooks says as Gray stands him upright. “And, no, you may not cut in.”
Gray wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me into his side. I gasp, going wide-eyed at the contact, but melting into him all the same.
Gray lifts a brow at Brooks. “It’s a good thing I didn’t fucking ask, then, isn’t it?”
My God.
Brooks smirks, walking backward and pointing at me. “You are very welcome. I take thank-you gifts in the form of gift cards and cash.”
“You are trouble!” I call after him, giggling.
Gray’s fingertips press into my side as he guides me in front of him. My skin sizzles beneath his touch, responding to him well before my brain can catch up. His gaze is rich and warm as he bites his lip to keep from smiling.
“Your friend is a character,” I say, trying to keep my words even as Gray connects his hands in the small of my back.
“Oh, he’s the main character in his own mind.” Gray grins. “What did that fool have to say, anyway?”
My palms skim his chest and over his shoulders, committing every layer of muscle to memory. “Nothing much. He was offended that I didn’t know who he was. Speaking of that, I saw you giving an autograph up there.”
“It’s no big deal.”
“I think his mom wanted a different kind of signature, if you know what I mean.”
He snorts. “That wasn’t his mom. His mom was my third-grade teacher. That woman runs the farmers’ market just outside of town.”
“She’s very … hands-on.”
“That’s what Brooks tells me,” Gray says.
“Oh really?”
He chuckles. “It’s obvious that you don’t know Brooks. Nothing is surprising about that guy. However, he’s fucked half … or more, of Sugar County.”
The band shifts gears, starting a popular nineties country ballad. More couples join us on the street. I notice many eyes, mostly women but some men, too, checking out Gray. But his? They’re solely on me.
I toy with the hairs on the back of his neck, enjoying the ease I feel in his arms. I’m aware that putting my guard down is probably a major mistake—lowering it has never not bitten me in the ass. But the beer and possibly the town’s tranquil, unhurried vibe have chipped away at some of my restraint, and lowering the shield—if only for a moment—is incredible.
“So nothing’s surprising about Brooks,” I say. “Tell me something that would surprise me about you.”
“What do you want to know?”
“What are my parameters?”
The corner of his lips pulls to the sky. “Are you going to stay within them?”
“It depends on what they are,” I say, giggling.
He adjusts his hands, pulling me even closer to him. “What do you want to know?”
Gray has never been this open with me or this willing to talk. He’s never had me in his arms in the middle of a fair either, but that’s not the point. The point is that he’s trying to let me get to know him better—and I appreciate that. More than he’ll ever know.
I force a swallow, knowing that asking the one question I’ve wondered about a hundred times could shatter our newfound peace. But I do it, anyway. “Who was the woman in the picture in your apartment?”