Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 107673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
One week later
“Are you sure you’re doin’ it right?” Beau asked seconds before I placed the raw, seasoned fajita meat on the indoor grill. Winter had finally crept its way into the DFW area. Between the cold wind and icy temperatures, outside felt like someone shook a snow globe.
With the marinated skirt steak ready to go, I hesitated with my hand above the grill. The juicy beef dripped on the hot surface below. The aromatic droplets dance over the grill. Beau had me second guessing myself. Even though I was new to grilling in general, it seemed pretty straightforward.
“What am I doing wrong? The temperature’s set. The meat’s been marinating all day. I have the meat thermometer out, the tongs ready…” I said, looking down at all my supplies. “The smoke’s normal.”
Beau looked up from slicing the bell peppers. “I don’t know. I was makin’ conversation. I don’t cook or grill, whichever we’re doin’.” His silly grin and playful banter were new. The wink he gave made everything right in my world.
Instead of firing back with a witty reply, I focused on the cooking, laying the meat down onto the grill. Instantly, smoke from the sizzling beef began to fill the kitchen. I pushed the vent button on, and it sucked all the smoke from the room. Impressive. Who knew it did that so well?
“Stop trying to flirt with me and tell me about the job interview. You really think you got it?” I asked, looking at the clock. I’d read to keep the meat on one side for six minutes then flip it and do the same.
“Yeah, I got it,” Beau said, his rusty knife skills making the slicing of the bell peppers and onions take much longer than necessary. “As long as my background check comes back clean, I’m good.”
“You’re happy with the hours and compensation?”
“Yeah, I guess. Why wouldn’t I be? What do you know that I don’t? Did you get me the job?” Lots of accusations in all those words.
“What?” I started. “No, I didn’t get you the job. I don’t know many people with blue collar employment…” The grin I tried so hard to hide wouldn’t be denied. I’d just tossed the gauntlet to begin our nightly ritual. Almost anything said turned into teasing banter, complete with goofy expressions and lots of laughter. Beau was my perfect match, always up to the challenge.
“Har, har, har. You need to leave the jokes to me.”
I sidled up next to Beau as his pocketknife sliced smoothly through the last piece of pepper. “In less than a week, you’ll have the job you’ve always wanted. The universe’s working in your favor.” I brushed the back of my fingers over Beau’s shaven cheek, a move I made over and over again, anytime he was near.
“Have you cashed the check from my mom yet?” Beau asked, a new addition to our daily routine since the check had arrived in the mail.
“No, I haven’t and don’t want too.” I replied with the same response every time he asked. Beau reached for a hand towel, rubbing it over the knife’s sharp blade. I felt the irritation wafting off him. And here we went again. I walked into him as he shifted to press his ass against the granite countertop, allowing me to maneuver between his parted thighs. The knife was forgotten, absently placed on the counter.
My nerve endings prickled, zinging across my body as the tips of his blunt fingernails trailed up then down my arms. I had to find balance with Beau if I planned to make anything more of my life. The palm of my hand rested over his heart, taking in its beat, matching mine.
Beau’s answer was to manhandle me in exactly the way I craved, tugging me by the waist, drawing me snuggly against his hard cock. The pesky thing was always hungry for more. I lifted the hem of his T-shirt, teasing his hard belly with my fingers, hungry for the skin-on-skin contact.
“They’ll start me out at fourteen dollars an hour. My mom sent my money to pay for the truck you bought, which is way more money that I would have spent. You cash the check then get the bills together that I’ll be responsible for. You’re bein’ hard-headed for no reason,” Beau said, all sweet and sensible and the exact opposite of what I wanted to hear.
That was a new approach to a weeklong argument in the Brooks/Richmond household. How did I tell him that he couldn’t afford the utilities in this house? Fortunately, the steak needed attention, and I busied myself there, trying my best to avoid this conversation.
The steak flipped successfully. I was the new grill master. Cool.
This time Beau initiated the contact, pulling me back into the circle of his arms again. A loud thunderous crash from above had our eyes lifting to the ceiling. From the way the movers were going, I was surprised nothing had fallen through the ceiling by now. They seemed more like a demolition crew than a professional moving company. That same knocking around continued all the way down the stairwell.