Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
When I walk in, Boone glances at me over his shoulder, still carefully stirring something in a pan. “Were you actually working or just pretending again?”
I grin, yanking open the fridge for three beers. “I was working very hard actually. My brain burns more calories than your fancy workouts when I get in the zone like that.”
Chance snorts. “Maybe it’s time you tried burning a few more. You know, balance things out. You didn’t meet me for that run earlier.”
“Yeah, I was too busy working on my stamina in other, more enjoyable ways.” I pop the caps off and hand them over, laughing at the expression on Chance’s face. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Marine. I was napping. You should try it sometime. It’s really fucking great.”
Boone plates up dinner for each of us, steak, roast potatoes, and enough greens to make him feel like he’s being responsible. “Sit down before I change my mind about feeding you.”
“See?” I say, sliding into my chair and winking at Chance. “This guy talks tough, but deep down, he’s the mom of the group.”
The glare Boone sends me could cut steel, but Chance laughs so hard he nearly drops his cutlery. We eat like we always do, fast and quiet for the first few minutes. All three of us have learned at various points in our lives that you don’t waste time talking when good food is in front of you.
Finished eating, Boone leans back, wipes his hands, then gets serious. Even as a teenager, when his dark brows had drawn together those stormy gray eyes had gotten so…well, stormy. He’d made grown men shake in their boots. Not even teachers had wanted to go up against him sometimes.
To this day, Chance and I are the only people who can tell when he’s actually dangerous, and when he’s just annoyed, ticked off, or in this case, simply about to say something important.
“We got a few more requests from town today,” he says as I take a sip of my beer and Chance swallows the last bite of his steak. “The youth center wants help with some repairs before winter and the animal shelter’s short on funds for heating.”
I lean forward, sliding my elbows onto the table. “We’ve already sent the check for the basketball uniforms, right?”
“Yeah,” Boone answers. “That’s why I had to run into town yesterday. But we’ll need to budget for the repairs. You know how these things go. Once they actually start working on the building, there’s always more and more that needs to get done. We can handle it. All I’m saying is that we’ll need to keep an eye on it to make sure it doesn’t get out of hand.”
Chance nods. “We can do that, but I don’t think we can really say no to any of it. The town depends on us. Not that I mind. It’s nice being the good guys.”
I smirk. “Excuse me, I’m the charming one. The real good guy. You two are just the muscle and the scowl.”
Boone shoots me a look. “You’re one bad line away from being banned from the bakery again.”
“That was one time,” I protest. “How was I supposed to know you weren’t supposed to flirt with the baker and her sister?”
Chance smiles, a wicked glint lighting his hazel eyes. “By using your brain, maybe?”
I shrug. “My brain was occupied with solving a genius-level cybersecurity problem. I can’t multitask.”
Boone shakes his head, but he’s smiling now. “You’re impossible.”
“Oh, no. I’m very much possible these days.” I smirk at both of them. “Either way, you still love me.”
Chance raises his beer. “Some days more than others.”
Boone and I clink our bottles against his, and despite the restlessness of the last couple of months, I still wouldn’t have been anywhere else, with anyone else, doing anything else. We’d built this life from nothing, just three screwed-up boys from Chicago who’d found peace in the mountains.
When we finish eating and the dishes are cleared and the dishwasher running we step out onto the deck. The mountain air outside is crisp, the scent of pine wafting on the breeze, and the faint hiss of the propane heaters lining the wraparound porch.
We’re stretched out in the Adirondacks, our boots up on the rail and beers sweating in our hands while the valley lights blink far below. It looks like a carpet of stars down there. Fucking beautiful.
Boone leans back, his eyes half-closed. “Damn, that was a good meal. Even if I do say so myself.”
Chance grunts in agreement. “You don’t have to say it yourself. I’ll say it for you. You’ve come a long damn way from the days when you were burning spaghetti.”
“I’d hope so. We were in the ninth fucking grade.”
“It’s a memory that stuck,” Chance replies lightly. “Just like the spaghetti.”