Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
And it worked. After one very long second. Good thing too since my resolve started to waver.
It was because I hadn’t had sex in a long time. Hadn’t had good sex in an even longer time. I was in the presence of a male, a conventionally attractive one who had a sexual presence. It was a reflexive reaction. That was it.
Brody thankfully stepped back. With effort, I held myself upright, hoping my gaze was icy.
“I’m not giving up,” he replied, jaw hard.
“Well, then, I’ll be seeing you at the station when I file my restraining order,” I shrugged.
“I look forward to seeing you.” His eyes trailed purposefully up and down my body, leaving fire in their wake before he turned and walked out the door.
I couldn’t help but watch him walk away. He may have been an asshole, but he had a great ass. And I must’ve been in some kind of trance because I almost shrieked when my mother appeared at my side.
“Cacao,” she offered, holding a steaming mug. I’d long gotten used to my mother serving me cacao rather than hot cocoa like the rest of the moms during the holiday season. I’d actually acquired a taste for it and always had it this time of year.
I took the mug she offered, sipping to center myself. “Thanks.”
“You and the sheriff seemed to be having a … heated conversation,” my mother commented over the rim of her mug. It was in the shape of two large female breasts, complete with areolas decorated in detail.
I sipped from my own mug, a regular one. As regular as you could get in my mom’s store, at least. I didn’t answer her which, of course, only made my mother more interested.
“You have a history,” she deduced.
“You could say that,” I murmured.
Her eyes lit up. “Oh my goddess, this is perfect. A second chance romance. The timing wasn’t right, so now you’re back—”
“I’m not back,” I interrupted her. I immediately felt guilty for my harsh tone when the light dimmed in my mother’s eyes. “And it’s not a second chance romance,” I added, my tone less biting this time though firm. “There was never a romance between us. Do you remember what I looked like in high school?”
Mom reached out to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. I let her, despite the gesture making me feel ten years old.
“I remember you were unique and radiant.”
“The oil on my face from my acne did not make me radiant,” I rolled my eyes. “And despite your sunny outlook on life, even you have to admit I wasn’t the girl the captain of the football team,” I nodded to where Brody had left, “was going to give the time of day. Unless it was to taunt me.”
My mother’s perpetually sunny gaze turned stormy. “Taunt you? What are you talking about?”
For obvious reasons, my parents had not known about my bullying in high school. My brother was old enough to where he’d already graduated before it got to its peak. My father might have been a mild-mannered man, and my mother might’ve been a peace-loving hippie, but they loved me fiercely. There was no way either of them would’ve stood aside and let me be bullied. They would’ve stepped in, likely making things worse.
So they never knew.
“It’s nothing.” I waved my hand. “Forget I said anything.”
“Willow Artemis Watson. I have never and will never forget a single word you say,” she huffed. “You were … taunted in high school?” She sounded stricken.
I sighed, hating the look on her face and wanting to protect her from the past. “No, Mom. I just wasn’t exactly the prom queen and didn’t look like the shiny, pretty cheerleaders. I had a rather … eccentric background. It was like shooting fish in a barrel for people like Brody.”
Mom clicked her tongue, her fiery gaze aimed toward the front door of the store. “I’ve got half a mind to march down to the Sheriff’s Office and give him a talking to.”
I let out a bark of laughter. “Mom, you cannot tell the sheriff off for something he did eighteen years ago.”
“I can, and I will if it’s something done to my daughter.”
She was dead serious.
“Mom,” I sighed again. “With everything that’s happened, the last thing I want is more attention on me. I left L.A. because of it all. I want to exist here without notoriety, without making any waves. I just need to … be. Can we drop it?”
The tilt to my mother’s head made me worried that she would not respect my wishes—for the first time in recorded memory. But after a bit more of her angry staring, she focused on me, smiling sadly. “Yes, baby, of course.” She cupped my cheek. Again, I let her. “You need to heal. And we’ll forget about Brody Adams. He’s barred from the store and no longer gets my Christmas cookie delivery.”