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)
Finally, he got his shirt down and continued his long-legged stride in her direction. “Hey, Chlo.” He hesitated in front of her, but after a brief check of the empty hallway, ultimately leaned down to kiss her cheek. Once. Twice. “Sorry, I tried not to keep you waiting too long.”
“It’s fine,” she said in a rush, goose bumps shivering down her back. “I’m reading.”
He looked down at her dropped book and raised an eyebrow.
“I got to a scary part,” she explained. “A jump scare. It flew right out of my hands.”
“I see.” He swiped a hand through his wet hair. “You ready for your driving lesson? We’re going to use the underground parking garage.”
“The one beneath the arena?”
“Yeah. It’s empty.” He ran a knuckle down her cheek. “No one for you to crash into.”
“Oh, really?” she deadpanned. “What about the walls?”
“They can rebuild those.”
Chloe broke into a laugh.
Sig’s gaze traveled from her mouth to her eyes. Back down. “Listen, about yesterday—”
“There she is,” said a voice behind Sig—one that caused him to roll his eyes. Corrigan.
And a second voice. “Stop trying to sneak her out of here before I get a chance to say hello.” Mailer.
Collectively known as the Rookies. Or the ORGASM DONORS, according to the matching sweatshirts they often wore.
“Hey, Chloe,” Mailer said, drawing even with her and Sig, shoulder to shoulder with Corrigan. Both of them were . . . hot, frankly. Tall and stacked. Corrigan with his wild reddish-brown hair and beard, Mailer with his ice-blue eyes and shaved head. To put it simply, however, they paled in comparison to Sig. From her point of view, anyway. Someone else might disagree.
That someone would be wrong, but they were entitled to their opinion.
Chloe smiled. “Hey, guys.”
“Don’t encourage them,” Sig muttered.
“We don’t need encouragement,” Corrigan said, trying to slide in between her and Sig and getting an elbow to the chest for his effort. “Ow.”
“What brings you to practice, Chloe?” Mailer asked, watching Sig’s elbow out of the corner of his eyes, poised to block it. “Stop hiding your true feelings. You can tell them you came to watch me.”
“Actually, Sig is going to teach me how to drive.”
Corrigan did a double take. “You don’t know how to drive?”
“Do you like your nose where it is?” Sig snapped. “Because I’d be happy to relocate it for you.” He gave Chloe a reassuring look. “Plenty of people in Boston never learn how to drive. That’s what the trains and buses are for.”
“You’re not going to teach her in that old truck, though, right?” Corrigan asked, obviously placing very little value on his life.
That moment marked one of the two times she’d seen Sig look less than 100 percent confident and in charge of his surroundings. The other time had been at the country club. When they’d walked into the lounge together to charge his phone and he’d seen the luxury she took for granted.
“I love his truck,” Chloe blurted. “I never would have met Sig if it wasn’t for that truck.”
The Rookies exchanged a confused glance.
“But . . . really? I thought your parents were getting married. Isn’t that how you met?”
“Yes,” Sig said, emphatically. “It is.”
Mailer looked like he was doing math. “So . . .”
“I’m confused,” Corrigan added.
“Confused is your default,” Sig shot back, steering Chloe out of the tunnel and into the parking lot. “Let’s go.”
“I love your truck,” she whispered up at his set chin.
“Nah, they are right about this one thing. It’s time for a new one.”
“No.” She dug in her heels, literally, but he merely picked her up and kept walking. “If you try and get rid of that truck, I’m going to handcuff myself to the wheel.”
Humor was slowly drifting back into his expression. “I’d get a much higher price if you were included in the deal, dream girl. In the billions, at least . . .” He looked over his shoulder, presumably to make sure they weren’t being followed. Then he hefted Chloe up so the fronts of their bodies were pressed together, her toes dangling in the vicinity of his shins. “Never mind, you’re priceless,” he grumbled, rubbing their noses together. “A high enough number doesn’t exist.”
Then he set her down, grabbed her hand, and kept walking.
Chloe floated on a breeze behind him, her body twisting in the air like a windsock.
“Don’t get rid of the truck, Sig.” She tugged on his hand, giving him her most pleading look when he turned around. “You love it. You told me it made you feel free. When your mom was working late and your house felt quiet, you’d go drive around and listen to sports radio in your truck and feel less lonely. Remember? It’s part of you. It’s . . . freedom, you know? For you and me. Please don’t listen to those guys.”