Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“Why me?” is the unanswered question that repeats the most as I continue to twist and turn, tugging blankets on and off.
Who did I piss off?
What did I find?
Was it something discovered by logic or luck?
Knowing if I were in the comfort of my own home that I’d simply reach over and text my best friend is the reason for the next series of actions. I grab the pillow, slide on my glasses, switch my head to the foot of the bed, and position myself to be in his direct line of sight if he looks inside.
To my surprise, he’s not only facing the same direction, he’s also equally as awake.
Or at least I think he is.
It’s pretty dark.
Kind of hard to tell, although the light in the far distance allows me to make a better guess.
Slater offers me a soft grin. “Can’t sleep, can you?”
“You can’t either.”
“I can, but I’m on duty.”
“Does that mean you’re not allowed to sleep at all?!”
“It means light sleepin’ and only when necessary.”
“That’s not…good for brain function.”
“Years of successful ops tell me otherwise.” Another small smile is shot my direction prior to him stating, “But you, on the other hand, my beautiful, brilliant brain ninja, do need sleep.”
“Did you just call me a brain ninja?!”
“That’s what you are.”
The top shelf snark that prepares to launch itself from my tongue comes to an unexpected halt thanks to the set of abs now fully on display due to him standing up.
Fuck. Me. Looking that good shirtless should be some sort of war crime.
An act of aggression against all lady parts currently in commission.
Slater’s arrival in his doorway is accompanied by him resting both his bent arms high up on the frame, presenting me with a perfect view of the parachuting tattoos on his cut chest as well as the deep v I have spent too many nights in the bathtub imagining myself tracing with my fingers.
And then my tongue.
Ugh.
I would almost rather whoever tried to kill me just succeed rather than have to continue to endure this new form of sexual torture for some unknown duration.
“What do you normally do when you can’t go down and the whale cries aren’t helpin’?”
Small snickers precede a small shrug. “Text you.”
“And when I’m on an assignment?”
“Do a few shots of tequila.”
The corner of his lip curls upward as he tilts his head to the side. “Is that why T is convinced you’re gonna need a new liver before you’re forty?”
A less than innocent expression appears on my face. “Maybe…”
Laughter leaves us both prior to Slater investigating further, “Anything else?”
“No.” Adjusting my head on the pillow is executed between sentences. “Those two things always do the trick.”
“Alright, well, I ain’t givin’ you tequila,” he sweetly denies, “but I got a trick that might work.”
“There’s still booze in a hot toddy, Cowboy.”
“I’m aware, Angel Cake.” More chuckles bounce between us. “And it’s not somethin’ you drink.”
“Eat?”
“Nope.”
Intrigue instantly gets my already whirling mind moving faster. Unfortunately for me, before I can continue our guessing game, my best friend back tracks the direction he came. Sounds of cabinet doors opening and closing further build my curiosity yet rather than yell out or interrupt, I simply wait.
Impatiently.
But I do wait rather than sneak out of bed to figure it out.
When Slater finally returns, he parks himself on the floor beside me and proudly lifts the object into view.
“A candle.” Not shitting on his idea is a struggle I hope he can’t hear. “Your…solution is…a candle?”
“Affirmative.”
“Is it like a magical aroma?” Quirking an eyebrow quickly occurs on another thought. “Is it one of those tactical candles that releases a subduing scent for honeypot assignments?!”
The faintest smirk touches his lips as he meets my stare. “It’s a prayer candle.”
Huh.
No idea where this is going.
“You know when I was little my ma used to light one of these for me every night.” He wistfully twirls the object in his possession. “It was part of our routine. Bath. Teeth. Book. Candle.” It’s impossible to ignore the sparkle in his speech. “Without fail. She’d light it. Ask the angels to protect me while I slept. And then kiss me goodnight.” His twisting action suddenly slows down. Almost completely ceases. “See, I was their miracle. I wasn’t supposed to survive to full term, and my ma was so scared of losin’ me that every night while she was pregnant, she’d light a candle and ask the angels to protect me while she slept. And then when I was finally born – against the odds – she went down to the hospital chapel every night before she would try to go to sleep and lit a candle, askin’ for them to protect us both while we slept. They had told her chances were that I wasn’t goin’ to make it out of the hospital due to the fact I had trouble breathin’ as a result of underdeveloped lungs, so she was even more terrified of closin’ her eyes. She was scared she’d fall asleep with a son, only to wake up without one.”