Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
All ridiculously hot, but seriously screwed up.
“Look at you all sweaty, sleazing up to Tai.”
Tai sends Wyatt a sharp look. “You’re reading into this. Go home.”
“If I don’t want to go home?”
“Then adhere to the rules of this library.”
“I’ll keep my voice down.”
They exchange a few dozen looks within the space of seconds, and I sidle to the side.
In the end, Wyatt folds back a step, crossing his arms tightly, and Tai returns to me. I feel Wyatt’s scowl on the back of my neck. I’m nervous enough coming here. This is not helping.
“Um, can we speak privately?”
Wyatt is suddenly in front of me. “No.”
I take a few steps back, and he inclines his head. “That’s right. Go back to your books.”
His dismissal rankles, and unexpected pride rushes up my throat. “Actually, when I’m finished with Tai, I’ll be seeing your nana.” True, actually. Since I have another self-defence class today. “Last week I had her under my thighs, she bucked me so hard, I bruised.” Also true. I pull at my pyjama pants and reveal the dark mark. “You should ask her about it.”
Wyatt’s face pales and then fills with crimson and suddenly Tai’s between us, his face contorting as he tries not to laugh.
He looks at me and shakes his head, a slither of respect in his eye. Then he looks at Wyatt. “If you give us some space, Leon and I can speak at the counter.”
Wyatt leaves with a slicing scowl at me, and Tai returns to his side of the counter.
“Can you . . .” I bite my lip. “Can you tell me about Mark?”
“Damon’s Mark?”
Damon’s Mark. How intimate. My stomach plummets towards my feet, and I smile wanly. “Right.” My voice cracks. “Damon’s Mark.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to ask Damon?”
“I wouldn’t want to open old wounds when I can ask others.”
Tai pauses. “What do you want to know?”
“What was he like? What did they do together?”
A rising brow.
“Damon was happy with Mark,” I say. “He must have done things Damon liked?”
“There are many things Damon likes.”
“Yes, but I mean . . . what did he find attractive? What stole his heart? Made him smile? What made him want Mark to stay?”
“Leon, I think—”
“Damon’s Mark?” A smooth voice cuts in from my left. Carter, smiling over a large book.
“You know him?”
“He roomed with me briefly. He was forever waking me at the crack of dawn to catch the surf. It’s how he and Damon met. Their boards bashed together and they got . . . entangled.”
Surfing. It hits me like a thousand ‘duhs’.
Of course. Damon is always out there in his wetsuit. Unless he’s accidentally sleeping in next to me. But riding waves is another love of his life.
Damn.
I take the book from Carter and pass it to Tai to check out for him. Tai opens his mouth to say something and shuts it again, proceeding to scan the book and Carter’s library card.
Carter looks inquisitively at me, and I flash all my teeth at him. “You’re a great instructor—can you teach me to surf?”
Carter is willing. He’ll even start our first lesson this afternoon. If I still have the energy after a dozen grannies have had me on my back.
I groan after the last exercise and pick myself up from the mat. “I don’t ever want to cross you ladies for real.”
Giggles ensue.
From the storage room, I pull out three bags of pyjama pants that Damon was kind enough to trudge here last night. I return to the mats and begin doling out by size. Soon I’m smothered in granny kisses, and Tiff and Gretchen are reminding me about their petition for better bingo prizes. Mar rescues me by hooking an arm around mine and using her cane to clear a path.
She steers me into the tea rooms, and before I know it, I’m eating lunch and discussing my intentions with her boy.
There are sparkles in her eyes . . .
Ahhh, I see. She’s asking as part of the boyfriend/fiancé plot.
I lean over my oat cappuccino and say, in a tone that suggests a private conversation but actually carries to any listening ears, “I intend to be his happily ever after. I’ll have and hold him, in sickness and in health. For as long as he wants me.”
“I think,” comes a sly voice, followed by a shiver at my nape—what is it with people sneaking up on me today!—“the words you’re looking for are ‘until death do we part’.”
I whirl around. “Damon!”
He’s in his work clothes, and just messy enough to show he’s had a hard morning on site. His smile is fresh, though. It glistens as much as those devilish eyes.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came in for lunch.” He motions to Troy and steals a seat from a neighbouring table. “So nice to see you and my Mar getting along.”