Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Maybe she should leave the beer-and-truck boonies and move to a place with public transportation and better emergency services, the way my mother finally did when I was a teenager.
And maybe if the woman under water leaves now, her children won’t grow up believing love is a dangerous thing, best avoided.
I’m about to lean over and ask Weaver—who has also refused to join the absurdity on the dance floor—if you eventually grow immune to the music, or if my ears will still be bleeding at the end of the night, when I catch sight of a tall guy in a Stetson approaching Elaina on the dance floor.
I straighten, eyes narrowing on the reasonably good-looking younger man, with only a hint of a paunch above his giant belt buckle.
What the fuck is wrong with these people? We’re in Maine, not Texas oil country. What’s with the hats and cowboy jewelry?
“Barnaby Holbrook,” Weaver supplies, making me curse myself again for being so obvious. “Third generation lobsterman. Dumb as rocks, but good guy. We don’t have to worry about him.” He nods toward the opposite corner of the dance floor. “I do like to keep an eye on the skinny redheads over there, though. The Roy brothers. They misbehave when they’ve been drinking and they’re already five beers in. Last time we were at one of these things, Robby Roy grabbed Sully’s ass during ‘Achy Breaky Heart’.”
“And he’s still able to walk?” I ask, only partially kidding. Weaver is borderline obsessed with his fiancé, Sully, and every bit as possessive as I am.
“I was on my way to deck him, but Sully got to his jaw first,” he says, his lips curving as he watches his tall, blonde, and effortlessly beautiful other half cross the room, returning to his side now that everyone else has coupled up for the slow dance. “She doesn’t take any shit, my girl.”
Elaina doesn’t either, but I’m still not sure I’d be able to stop myself from teaching any man who touched her without permission a painful lesson.
Hell, she’s given “Barnaby” her permission, and I still don’t like it. The proprietary way he places his hand on her lower back as they sway back and forth makes my jaw clench. And when he leans down to whisper in her ear, sneaking a peek down the front of her dress in the process, it’s all I can do not to charge the dance floor.
I take a slow pull of my beer, telling myself to look away. This is none of my business. In fact, it’s good if she’s seen dancing with other men. It will help maintain our cover.
Barnaby’s hand slides lower, dangerously close to cupping Elaina’s curvy little backside, and my bottle creaks in protest.
“You two okay over here on the sidelines?” Sully asks as she sags down into the empty seat between us.
“Never been better.” Weaver puts his arm around her shoulder as he passes his beer to her for a drink. “Watching you dance, even to music that makes my ears bleed, is one of my favorite things.”
With a soft laugh, I admit, “I was just thinking the same thing. About the ears bleeding, not about watching Sully dance.”
Sully grins as she hands the beer back to Weaver. “Oh, I know. It’s awful. I grew up listening to country music with my dad on the boat all the time, but it wasn’t like this modern stuff. It was real country. It had heart and soul and grit. A point of view.” She shrugs as her lip curls. “This stuff is so bad it almost feels like a parody, you know? I can’t help but laugh every time one of them mentions a truck. It’s just so ridiculous, I—” Her eyes widen as she glances past me. A beat later, she’s tapping Weaver on the chest. “Uh-oh. Roy brothers alert. Rory just cut in on Barnaby and is drooling on Elaina’s boobs already.”
I shift my focus back to the dance floor, where a skinny redhead with a patchy beard is indeed leering down at Elaina with a slack-mouthed grin. He leans down to say something and she leans back with a slight flinch, making me think his breath must be horrendous.
She responds, then offers what is clearly a forced laugh, before motioning to our side of the room, and trying to step away.
But the mouth breather tightens his grip on her waist, pulling her fully against his lanky frame, making her flinch again.
“I’ll go cut—”
“I’ll go,” I say before Weaver can finish his sentence, up and out of my chair in seconds.
I cross the floor with measured steps, doing my best to maintain an expression of polite interest. If he plays nice, Rory will never have to see the murder in my eyes. And if not…
Well, I have an excellent lawyer.