Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Frowning, I studied her. “No one else remembered to get you a cake? Or that you loved the chocolate cupcakes with buttercream icing at Sweeties?” I asked, hoping like hell that was what she meant.
The sadness in her eyes before she dropped her gaze back to the cupcake made it hard for me to breathe. I didn’t like this. Not one fucking bit. If she was about to tell me that my shithead of a cousin or her own father had forgotten her birthday, I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t go do bodily harm to both of them.
“My birthday,” she replied.
Fuck. I swallowed hard as my chest tightened—well past the point of discomfort. I wanted her to clarify, but I also couldn’t stand seeing her hurting. She deserved to be happy. The world needed those smiles. The ones only she could give.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a lighter, then lit her candle.
“Happy birthday, Oakley. Make a wish.”
She bit her bottom lip, then leaned in to blow out the candle. When her eyes met mine, I could see the desire in them, the same fucking need clawing at me, and I had to fight the urge to grab her and press her against the tree. I wanted to devour her mouth, taste the soft skin at the base of her neck, hold her bare tits in my hands, and feel her naked body pressed against mine.
But she was only seventeen. I was twenty-four. It wasn’t the illegal factor that held me back. A life of crime was something I lived and breathed behind the protection of the family.
As much as I wanted to touch her, own her, keep her, I knew she wasn’t ready yet. She had to grow up some more. Mature. Be sure I was what she wanted. Until then, I would keep this a friendship. One where I fucking worshipped the ground she walked on. I would be there for her, protect her, never let her down.
When the day came that she was old enough to know what she wanted, then and only then would I get my wish. The only thing in this world I would ever want. Her.
Seven
Oakley
Grabbing Sarah’s hand, I hurried to the front of her school, silently cursing myself for forgetting to set the alarm. We had stayed up past her bedtime to finish carving the pumpkins for the front porch, and then we’d accidentally overslept. If Wilder found out about this, he was going to be pissed.
I shoved open the heavy, large metal door and let Sarah go inside so she could lead the way to the front office. Perhaps the secretary would be nice and nothing at all like the one I’d had when I was in school. Pulling my jacket together to cover up the fact that I’d not taken time to put on a bra, I hurried behind Sarah through the entrance. The place smelled like a school. Why did they all smell the same? It was as if I had been thrown back ten years and shoved into the halls of my high school again.
“Sarah,” a male voice said, and she stopped walking to spin around.
I, too, turned my head to see a man about my age—blond hair, green eyes, and about six foot—wearing a pair of khaki pants and a dark blue polo shirt. His gaze swung from Sarah to me, and his brow eased up. The frown slowly faded. I recognized that look. It was a man interested in me. Fine. I would use it to our advantage.
“Mr. Powell,” Sarah replied. “Uh, I’m sorry I’m late. We were going to the office to check me in.”
His eyes didn’t leave me. I should be annoyed even if he was attractive. Sarah was talking to him. He needed to address her. But then she was late because of me, and he seemed to like me. I plastered on a fake smile and took a step toward him.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Powell. I’m Sarah’s aunt, and I’m staying with her while her father is out of town. It’s my fault she’s late, but I promise she won’t be late again this week. Learning curve for me and all,” I explained, making sure to bite my bottom lip nervously.
With the way his smile curled across his lips, I knew we were good to go. Sarah’s tardy wouldn’t be held against her. At least not with this teacher.
“No worries,” he replied, stepping forward and holding out his hand to me. “And please call me Barry. It’s nice to meet you.” He paused then as I slipped my hand into his to shake.
“Oakley,” I told him, holding my smile.
His hand gently squeezed mine, as if giving me some silent message. I tried to look shy and flattered as I released his hand and glanced back at the door we had been headed to that had the word Office on the front.