Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
“Me, too,” he says, his gaze telegraphing a silent “thank you.” He starts across the room, “Here, at least let me walk you out.” As he passes Bea, he bends to press a quick kiss to the top of her head and promises, “Be right back.”
She nods before calling over her shoulder, “Bye, Charlotte. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” I assure her, following Nix to the door.
He turns to face me, whispering, “I’m sorry. I need to figure out what’s going on. It’s more serious than she’s letting on, or she wouldn’t be here. That tour was really important to her.”
I nod. “Absolutely. Take care of her. And if either of you needs anything I can help with, let me know.”
His lips curve in a grateful smile. “Thanks. I… I appreciate it, Char. I appreciate you.”
“I appreciate you, too.”
“And I really want to pick up where we left off,” he murmurs, holding my gaze as he adds, “The next time we start kissing, we’re not stopping until you’ve come at least twice for me, okay?”
I bite my lip, fighting the wave of desire that surges through me. Before I can respond, Bea calls out from behind us, “I can seriously just go to the guest room, guys. I don’t mind. I feel terrible for ruining your night.”
“Stop, don’t be silly,” I call out. “I need to head home anyway.” Lowering my voice, I promise Nix, “I’ll text you when I get home. Good luck.”
“Thanks,” he says, opening the door with a sigh.
I pat his chest as I step past him, then stride toward the elevator, refusing to look back. That was close. Too close.
We were lucky Beatrice showed up when she did.
Now is not the time to break the rules.
Now is the time to focus and execute.
Even if my entire body protests walking away from Nix on a cellular level.
Eleven
NIX
The butter foams and crackles in the pan, turning from pale yellow to that perfect golden brown that smells like Saturday mornings and being a kid again.
I’ve got a massive bowl of batter beside me—protein powder, mashed banana, and a splash of the good Mexican vanilla. Mexican vanilla is the Nix family secret ingredient, passed down from father to son since Gramps brought home a big bottle in 1971.
I’m currently on pancake number fourteen.
The stack on the plate beside the stove is getting ridiculous—the Leaning Tower of Pancake—but I keep going.
This smell is certified Bea and Baylor crack, the one thing that always got us up and out of bed on a Saturday, no matter how late we’d been out the night before or how determined we were to sleep our way through whatever “forced family fun” our parents were insisting on that weekend.
One whiff of banana pancake and we’d rise like zombies from our teenage beds to stumble downstairs for the feed.
I pour another circle of batter onto the griddle, watching it slowly begin to bubble in the center, proving I haven’t lost my touch. I took over pancake duty my senior year of high school, when Dad broke his wrist in a beer league hockey game.
But before that…
Inhaling the banana-and-vanilla scent, I’m suddenly seventeen again, back in my childhood bedroom in Nashville, wrenched from the depths of a hard teenage sleep by the smell of browning butter and banana.
I’d roll out of bed with a groan, smacking my dry lips as I staggered to the bathroom to ditch my retainer before tugging on pajama pants and heading for the door. And I swear, the second I pulled it open, there was Bea, coming out of her room across the hall at the same time.
Bea, fourteen to my seventeen, all scrawny legs and a mouthful of braces, wearing one of the oversized “Zombie Unicorn Showdown” gaming shirts she collected from comic book conventions before the goth music scene got ahold of her. The moment our eyes met, she’d lift her clawed hands above her head, emit a screech like a pissed-off velociraptor, and take off for the stairs, running as fast as her stick legs could carry her.
Which was pretty fucking fast.
By the time Bea hit her teens, I had to work to get ahead of her. No amount of extra conditioning after hockey practice could make me as naturally fast as the little maniac who lived to give me shit.
“No! Cheater!” she’d screech as I grabbed her around the waist, spinning her back into the hall behind me as I took the stairs two at a time.
“It’s not cheating when there aren’t any rules,” I’d say, swaying my backside wildly from side to side, blocking her attempts to squeeze past me.
“There are rules!” she’d screech. “Velociraptor gets a five-second head start, and the dinosaur hunter can’t use his big hairy butt as a weapon.”
“My butt isn’t hairy,” I’d say, laughing and wincing as she leapt onto my back, emitting another raptor screech directly into my ear.