Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
But by the time I hit my bed, he still didn’t reply.
* * *
So now was now.
It was three days after my fight with Boone.
I was lying in bed, Axl stretched out on my couch in the living room, no idea what was happening with Brett, the dirty cops, or any of that because I was now kinda mad at the guys for being semi-dicks to me when none of this was my fault, so I wasn’t asking.
And seriously.
Even if each day passed making it seem like it was over before it had begun and Boone and I had actually been able to make a go of it, we’d have occasions where we fought.
I hadn’t lost my mind in a fit of rage and set our bed on fire.
We’d had a fight.
Just a fight.
And it wasn’t even a huge one.
And he’d walked away and shut me out.
I was trying.
But he’d shut me out.
So now the boys had shut me out.
Even if I was trying with them too (I offered Axl breakfast every morning, and the Machismo Factor was at rocket rises around me, what with the addition of Chaos to my life, but at least every day I tried to pay for sandwiches for all the guys for lunch).
So yeah, the last three days had been not-so-great.
And they were ending now, with me texting,
Right.
Loud and clear.
Thanks for arranging for the boys
to look out for me.
You’re a really good guy, Boone.
And I wish you well.
And then…
Well then…
After over a decade, dry as a bone…
I turned to my side, curled up, and I cried myself to sleep.
Chapter Fourteen
Oh Hell to the Yeah
Ryn
The bed moving woke me up and flipped me out.
Like, huge.
So huge, when I felt a touch on my hip, I whirled and fought like an animal.
I connected with what I thought might be a jaw, heard a grunt, went back with nails bared at the same time positioning to catapult myself from the bed in order to commence running screaming from my house.
But I got my wrists captured, a man on me and my arms pressed to the bed at the sides of my head.
I was about to open my mouth and scream, terror racing through me not only about what might be about to befall me, but also, if whoever this was got to me, what had become of Axl, when I heard Boone whisper, “Chill, baby. It’s me.”
I went stiff.
Then I went lax.
And when I did and Boone’s hold on my wrists relaxed, the last three days hit me like a freight train, and I totally forgot my promise to take a moment and think about my reaction before I reacted.
I yanked my hands from his grip, lifted a knee high, and would have connected with this junk if he didn’t shift his hips so quickly.
“Christ, Ryn,” he bit off.
I made no verbal reply.
Commence massive wrestling match on my bed with me really going at it and Boone not. Instead he was trying to stop me from doing him harm, or the same to myself.
He did not succeed, since we rolled off the bed with me on my back and Boone’s entire weight landing on me.
I let out an “Oof” when my breath left me.
Boone instantly rolled so I was on top and not taking his weight.
I got my breath back and went at him again.
He knifed up to sitting, and with some difficulty (I could say proudly), he eventually got control of my wrists and yanked them behind my back.
This putting me in the position of straddling him with my chest pressed tight to his and my wrists bound behind me, which was sexy as fuck.
I wasn’t feeling sexy.
I was feeling raw, vulnerable, scared, sad and hopeless.
“Ryn, Jesus, what the fuck?” Boone clipped.
He was there and I had a feeling I knew why he was there in the middle of the night.
You didn’t wake up some chick to officially break up with them in the middle of the night.
I didn’t suspect he was there to get himself some either.
I suspected he was there because my last text ended us, and suddenly, after three days, he wasn’t down with that.
And Boone was the kind of guy who felt perfectly okay with waking a woman up in the middle of the night and scaring the crap out of her to communicate that.
Many women would think this was sweet and romantic (after they got over having the crap scared out of them, of course).
But me?
I was done.
“Let me go and get out of my house,” I returned, my voice cold as snow.
I felt his hands tense on my skin, then his body get loose under me, before he whispered gently, “Baby.”
“I’m serious, Boone.” I jerked at my wrists ineffectually, and then gave that up, but didn’t stop talking. “Let me go and get out.”