Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
“Do you like this place?” he asked, voice husky from strain.
“It’s gorgeous,” she whispered, looking around while a trench slowly formed between her brows. “What does it cost to buy an apartment like this?”
“We wouldn’t be buying it,” he informed her patiently. “We’d be renting it.”
“Renting. Ohhh.” She gave an exaggerated nod, as if she’d just been let in on a great secret. “And what does that cost?”
“You’re not going to worry about that.”
Her gaze zipped up to his. “Are you sure?”
“I’m going to handle it while you’re training at the conservatory.” He thought about the dreams she’d confided in him over French toast yesterday morning. How she thought it might be time to take baby steps out of training and become a practicing member of her chosen field of music, something her mother never seemed inclined to let her do. Pursuing a place in an orchestra, instead of playing exhibitions where she was billed as a prodigy to come observe and gawk at. “Eventually, when you’re placed with an orchestra, you’ll take over.”
A shadow passed across her face. “You have a lot of faith in my ability to be placed with an ensemble.”
“Yeah.” He gave in. Brushed a hand down her hair, teasing the soft ends with his fingertips. “I do.”
Her eyelids dropped to half-mast at his touch, their chests rising and falling simultaneously. “Will you teach me how to do laundry?”
“As long as the basement isn’t a murder trap, yes. Let me check it out first.”
She considered him. “You’re going to be a little overprotective of me, aren’t you?”
A little? If he signed a lease on this place, he would be installing a third dead bolt before the ink was dry. “What makes you say that?”
“Well.” The Realtor appeared at the far end of the kitchen, her eagle eye zipping back and forth between Sig and Chloe. How close they were standing. Especially after they’d introduced themselves as future stepsiblings. “What do you think of the place?”
Chloe galloped toward the woman. “We’ll take it!”
“I want to see the basement first,” Sig growled, stomping after her.
It didn’t matter that he would probably have to stretch financially to pay rent on this place, as well as his own. Not to mention, he was still making mortgage payments on the house he’d bought for his mother upon signing his current contract. But, hey. He’d sell memorabilia on eBay, if necessary. Get the guys to sign some shit and make some extra cash. Plus, he had a few high-ticket items he’d collected over the years that would be in demand at auction.
And he’d pray the Bearcats offered him a decent contract for next season.
Bottom line, Sig would do whatever it took to give Chloe this place.
His entire life, he’d told himself you don’t need it. That he didn’t require nice things.
But Chloe . . . she was the first nice thing he couldn’t live without.
Two weeks later
Chloe sat on top of the washing machine with the blue bottle of detergent in her lap and tried very hard not to look smug. Sig would be arriving any moment to commence their first laundry lesson and he was going to be shocked to find she’d already bought soap. Shocked.
That day had been a good one already and this was going to be icing on the cake.
She’d woken up to a wine-soaked, apologetic text message from her mother, offering to send Chloe a small weekly allowance. Chloe could see the offer for what it was. A very strategic amount that would give Sofia access to her plans, her progress, but not a large enough cash flow that Chloe wouldn’t miss the luxuries of home.
Chloe’s first instinct had been to refuse the money, because this move to Boston was supposed to be about discovering her independence, but ultimately, she’d decided to accept the cash. She’d only been in Boston for two weeks—long enough to know everything cost money. So much money. And she was already relying on Sig for too much. Asking him for spending money on top of laundry lessons, Sephora spending sprees, rent money, and everything in between?
Out of the question.
Her spine straightened at the sound of bootsteps coming down the basement stairs, every cell in her body running in haphazard circles, pulse skittering. Sensitivity attacked her breasts before he even came into view, but when his big frame filled the doorway, she didn’t even know which direction her heart traveled. North? South? Both? Mainly that it dislodged and floated out of position, made lighter and heavier at the sight of him in jeans, a blue puffer jacket, boots, and a Red Sox hat.
“Hey, Chlo.” He crossed his arms, propped a shoulder against the doorjamb. “Whatcha got there?”
“Laundry detergent,” she said primly. “No big deal.”
“Wow. Did you go to the store?”
“Yes. I also bought olives and coffee.”