Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
I manage to roll myself onto my back and brain scan my own body. Everything hurts, but it feels more like a big bruise. I start flexing everything, and nothing seems broken, as far as I can tell, so I dig my hands into the dirt and get myself upright. My head swims, but it calms down soon enough. Before long, the world rights itself like my breath did after it returned to my lungs. My side aches like a mother, and it feels a lot like my face—raw and scraped to shit. Shingles: One. Beau: Zero. Hmm, no, it’s more like two for the shingles and zero for Beau since I did slip up there as well.
I lift the corner of my shirt up, and Ignacia gasps. Her hands fly to her mouth, and more tears stream down her cheeks. Her eyes look so much bluer at night, especially when they’re filled with tears. I’ve never hated myself more. She’s crying because of me. This is what it’s going to look like when I break the news to her about this job. And it haunts me.
I finally make my eyes track to where she’s looking. Fuck, the pump is gone, and there’s a pretty big, bloody scratch where the shingles had their way with it and me, causing it to tear out. It’s probably destroyed. But no matter. I’ll call someone, and they’ll be here within a few hours to replace it. I’ll even fit it myself.
“You need a doctor,” Ignacia hisses.
“I’m fine. Most of this is cosmetic. Sorry to say, but your roof did a number on my good looks. The upside is that you don’t have to worry because I’m not going to sue. I got up there on the roof of my own free will.” Even if I’m not normally known to make bad decisions.
Ever since I came out here, I can’t stop making them.
“Goddamn it, Beau.” Wow, that had some real heat this time. “You’re such a stubborn asshole.” She yanks my T-shirt down and slips her hand under my arm. I have no clue what she’s doing and then I realize she’s trying to help me up. As if I’m not four times her size. This is like an ant lifting a house, but the ant has some serious strength I didn’t give her credit for.
Some of my strength is returning, too, so I slowly get myself to my feet. I don’t want to lean on her, but I have to. She doesn’t complain. She’s warm and still angelic, and she smells heavenly, like sugar and flowers and her night moisturizer, which definitely contains cucumbers and almonds.
Slowly but surely, we make it all the way to the living room. There, she helps me into a chair and gives me a stink eye that’s unlike any stink eye I’ve ever seen. I know if I get out of this chair, I’ll regret it. I’ve never seen anyone look more afraid yet more fierce at the same time.
Ignacia leaves, and I hear her in the kitchen. Within moments, she races back into the room with an icepack and a wet cloth, her hair flying out all angelic again, her nightgown swirling around her body in a not-so-granny way. Fuck, granny clothes are hot.
She’s hot.
And I’m not dead.
I want to touch her, kiss her, stroke her hair, and bury my fingers in it. I want to sob about things that happened a long time ago. And I want her to kiss me and tell me it’s alright, all patient and sweet. I want to devour her sweet lips and her sweet other places.
Also? I might have a concussion.
The devouring part? Alright, fine, I wanted that before. But the opening up thing isn’t going to happen again. It’s not. And hoping for the future? Me confessing she’s right and I don’t want to be a glass house full of shadows and shit anymore? That’s a weakness. It’s feeling. And I don’t do either of those things. I’m a rich man, but that’s the one thing I can’t and won’t afford.
“You’re bleeding from your mouth,” she murmurs as she dabs at my bottom lip carefully.
“I think I bit something in there.”
She studies me, her eyes narrowing and her brows turning into a series of lines I want to kiss away. “Your lip, I think.”
I run my tongue along the inside of the bottom one. Ouch, it stings. “I think so.”
She frowns. “I’m so sorry about your face. It looks bad, Beau.”
“How bad?” I ask.
“Like you had a fight with a rusty cheese grater.”
“Wow.” I had the same vision as I was falling.
“It’s only the one side, though,” she tells me as she sweeps her head around. “Yeah, not your best side. You’re safe there. The other side still screams cold, hard, unfeeling, and hot as hell arsehole. Your game face is in place. Plus, the whole fight with the roof thing is serious. It makes you even more of a badass. Not that you weren’t before. I know you are. But…scars are hot, I guess. Not everyone can say they fell off a roof and survived.”