Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 29429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
“Are you two coming?” Brody yells from further into the house. “Stop messing around, Delia. You don’t need to put on this polite princess act for my dad.”
“I am polite,” I blurt out to Dean, flustered and embarrassed by Brody. “I’m not a princess, though. But definitely polite.”
Dean’s smile is slow and luxuriant. “Oh, I don’t know. I think you could be a princess if you really wanted to.”
Oh my God. Why does that make me so hot? I swallow hard, a nervous giggle popping out of my mouth. This stoic man teasing me makes me want more, but before I can tease right back, Brody pops his head around the corner, and I can basically feel Dean shut down again.
I wonder what that is all about.
"Delia, seriously. Come on," Brody says.
I sigh and walk past Dean, but his hand brushes the small of my back and it sends a wave of heat through me. I look up at him, and he gives me a small, private smile. "If you don't mind, I'd like to use your bathroom," I say, needing an excuse to get away from both of them and collect myself.
"Down the hall, first door on the left. There's an attached bath, and there's plenty of hot water if you want a shower."
"Thanks."
"I'll take a shower too. I stink," Brody announces, leering at me. I'm ready to tell him absolutely not because we haven't even done more than kiss. What the hell is he thinking? But before I can say a single thing, Dean takes over.
"No, you stay here and help me bring your stuff in."
My stomach twists, and I don't know if Dean is really doing what I think he is. Is he trying to keep me and Brody apart? I appreciate it, but it's not like Dean can possibly know we're on the verge of breakup anyway. Does my boyfriend's dad really think something might happen between me and him?
Because...yeah. I want it to, but I also know how wrong it really is.
"What do you mean? She's my girlfriend," Brody insists.
"I'm sure she'd prefer a little bit of privacy." Dean’s eyes cut to me. "That and you didn't even ask her if she wanted company."
He's not wrong. "Uh...no. Thank you. A shower alone would be great."
Brody crosses his arms over his chest and stares at Dean, looking petulant and ridiculous. He looks like a child. "Fine. Whatever."
"Thank you," I whisper, and Dean nods. I'm still reeling from the exchange when I close the bathroom door behind me.
Holy shit. What in the world is going on?
After taking the longest shower of my life and washing away all the grime from the road, I dry off and stare at myself in the foggy mirror. "Don't get too excited," I tell my reflection. "He's probably just being protective. Don't read into it, Delia. You're here for Brody and to enjoy a good meal. That's all."
Saying the words out loud doesn't stop my heart from beating double-time.
Once I'm dressed, I walk back into the living room, but Brody and Dean are nowhere to be found. My purse and the bag I packed are sitting on the floor in front of the couch, and I pick it up, looking around. "Hello?"
No answer.
I take the time to look around the house and what I see makes me smile. I had been in such a rush to get away from all the testosterone before that I basically had blinders on, but despite all of Brody's complaining about his childhood home, this place is nice. Charming.
There are signs that it was first decorated sometime in the eighties—simple things like the pale polished wooden cabinets and a black and white tile kitchen floor—but everything else is simple and modern.
Dean must not be a decorator, but what he does have is well-placed and classic. There are framed newspaper articles and a few awards that Dean must have won on his way from police officer to police chief hanging on the wall. The furniture looks expensive and handcrafted, with a huge plush gray couch that seems like an odd choice for a bachelor. Underneath the flat screen hanging on the wall, there is what I first think is a bookshelf but, on closer inspection, is a collection of vinyl records. So Dean Dixon does have a personality. Interesting.
I turn the corner and walk down the hall, and the first room has an open door and is definitely Brody's. It's a small bedroom with a single bed and posters from bands and movies from his younger years still hanging on the wall. It's the only room with a door that's still open, so the next door must be the master.
I bite my lip, thinking about what Dean's room might look like, and decide to indulge. I reach for the handle, but it swings inward, and I'm standing there with my hand still on the knob, my eyes going wide.