Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
The framers refused to come some days due to the mud that surrounded the house, but since there would be so many contractors coming up and down the driveway, I didn’t want to put twenty grand into something just for them to ruin it.
So I’d held off, and it had added nearly a month onto the construction timeline because of rain delays.
Then the roof went on, a different color than I’d originally chosen—with five thousand more in costs due to a fuck up because of the builder’s inability to calculate shit correctly.
Followed by the Dallas Cowboy paint. Then the trim that was all wobble jobbled due to the shit job they’d done on framing.
It literally was one thing after another with this house, and it all kept coming. Leading me to now, standing in my house, pointing out imperfections in the paint, the scratch in the newly-installed counters, and the crappy floor job.
“It isn’t that bad,” she finally said. “A few cosmetic things…but this is one seriously beautiful house. I would kill for a house like this.”
I’d kill to have you in my house, snuggled up to my side. Your deliciously curvy body there beside me every night for me to do whatever I damn well pleased with it.
Luckily, I was able to hold my tongue.
My cock, however, was a different story.
At least I was wearing jeans today, making it much easier to conceal.
“It’s definitely my dream home,” I told her. “And the day I’m finally moved in, with my shit in here instead of a goddamned storage facility for the last year, it’ll feel more real. Right now, it’s like I’m in limbo, waiting. Always fucking waiting.”
She grinned.
“I hear that if you’re married when you’re building a house, it’s the most harrowing time of your relationship due to all the stress of construction,” she grinned. “And since you’re not married, you have to carry all of that without anyone to help share the load. Pairing all of that with your duties in the ER and as a teacher, I can imagine you’re stressed.”
I laughed.
“Kind of like being a single parent to an infant, who is holding down a full-time job while going to nursing school and doing clinicals?” I teased.
She snorted.
“Yeah, kind of like that.”
“Sir!”
I turned to find Jody hurrying toward me.
Meeting him halfway, I stepped out onto the porch and then moved even further so that I wasn’t in the way of the men working.
“We’re going to fix it!” he promised over and over again. “I talked with the builder, and we think that we can find a way to make it look good.”
I crossed my arms over my chest.
I knew what I looked like.
A six-foot-three man with heavily muscled arms and wide shoulders sporting a cut indicating that I was a member of a motorcycle club—The Dixie Wardens, Alabama Chapter, to be specific. Dark hair, trimmed beard. Defined, muscular legs encased in a pair of blue jeans that had definitely been worn and used exactly like they were intended for—work. I was an intimidating bastard, just like I’d intended to be.
His eyes stopped on the tattoos curling around my wrists, and he swallowed thickly.
“I would hope that you’re going to fix it,” I told him bluntly. “Since you were the one to fuck it up in the first place.”
Tally snorted and turned her head to study the grounds, then walked off when she spotted the ducks and chickens that were directly behind me.
When we’d gotten closer, the drake had started demanding food, knowing if I passed him I wouldn’t be able to resist.
“We’re going to fix it. You’ll be happy,” Jody promised.
I wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of that statement.
“If you wanted me happy, you’d have done it right the first time,” I replied. “Now all you’re going to do is appease me, not make me happy.”
He swallowed and nodded. “I’m going to go to the store today and buy what I need to fix the problems. We’ll make it right.”
“I sure as hell hope so,” I told him, then turned around and started for Tally, who was trying to get one of the chickens to eat out of her hand.
“This one is about to start laying,” she informed me.
“How do you know?” I asked, remembering the discussion I’d had with her at one point during our shift yesterday about my chickens and how I was waiting for them to start laying eggs.
“I looked it up for you on my phone,” she waved it at me. “They’re ready to start laying when their little comb and wattles darken into a redder color.”
She indicated the red area between the chicken’s eyes and beak.
“Hmm,” I murmured. “What else gives you that indication?”
“When you pet them, they squat,” she demonstrated, and I watched the chicken do just that.
“Impressive,” I murmured. “I’ll have to keep an eye out.”