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)
Slamming the door behind me is so absentmindedly done that it doesn’t even register that’s what happened until Blu playfully bitches, “I am not helping you put a new one of those on because you Wyatt Earped your ass in here like we’re about to have a final showdown at sunset you forgot to tell me about.”
Carelessly dropping my gym bag near the island he’s occupying occurs prior to me putting my gun case down on the surface. “Not in the mood, Blu.”
“Don’t recall asking if you wanted a little ‘happy ending’ to your outing.”
Man…when was the last time I even rubbed one out?
Has it really been that long?
Is that why the shit with Seventeen has managed to get so deep under my goddamn skin?
Is that why I’m so fucking tense all the time?
Is that why I almost ripped the door from its hinges?
“What’s going on?” He asks at a much lower volume than I expect.
“Why the fuck are you whisperin’?”
“Because Arley’s napping on the couch.”
Craning my neck slightly to the side gives me a picture-perfect shot of her curled up under the new hot pink and purple throw blanket I ordered her last week.
Ever since she’s moved in, I’ve done an odd amount of shopping.
We’re talking an embarrassing amount.
But I can’t help it.
I want her to feel like this place is home.
And she feels at home when she’s surrounded by brightly colored shit.
Nowadays, my penthouse appears to be sponsored by fucking Crayola.
Don’t even get me started on the overly vibrant display area she bullied me into displaying my flag and medals in.
They’d take them all back if they saw it.
I let a small smile cross my expression and meet his eyes once more. “How long she been out?”
“About an hour.” He casually shuts his laptop. “She started working on the dessert menu for that engagement shower thing again and ended up stressing herself out, so she put on some baking shows, which made me hungry, but-”
“Calmed her down.” The grin on my face thoughtlessly widens. “They always calm her down.”
Blu kicks his chin in my direction. “Same way she always calms you down.”
There’s no denying the accusation as I give the nape of my neck a good squeeze. “Better than a five-mile run ever could.”
“Five miles?” My partner gawks in disgust. “What the fuck are you running five miles for? Were you being chased by the Yakuza again?”
“It was cardio day.”
“And?” Bewilderment quickly takes hold. “Isn’t your brother a professional hockey player, not cross country?”
“Like I said…” mirth remains in my gaze, “it was cardio day.”
“Fuckkkkk,” he grumbles during a headshake. “I hate cardio day.”
“He said the same shit.”
“Between running to catch trains and running from jumping off of trains and running to find trains-”
“You know we don’t deal with trains nearly that often.”
“I feel like we cover enough cardio without having to add to it like you demand.” Small chuckles bounce between us before he asks, “How’s Kolby doing, anyway? Happy to be back in Texas?”
“Happy to be near his mother’s cookin’ again.”
More laughs precede him further investigating, “Can she cook? I mean, I know you didn’t grow up in that house with her, but you had weekends there. I’m sure she made your ass mac and cheese or something.”
“Eh.” A small shrug is presented. “She could use a few tips.”
Another round of snickers are instantly shared further alleviating the stress that settled on my shoulders.
Nothing can bring me peace quite like being around Angel Cake, but bullshitting with Blu is a distant second.
However, it does come first when we’re in the field and I can’t so much as send her a text to see how her day has been.
“How’d the briefing with Seventeen go?”
Aggression instantaneously takes hold of my demeanor, pushing my shoulders back and commanding me to fold my arms over my chest. “Well, let’s see. He wants answers we don’t have.”
“Pretty standard.”
“He thinks I’m underqualified for the assignment.”
“Don’t you have like a star or some shit?”
“Medal of Honor,” I offhandedly correct. “And he’s plannin’ a fuckin’ romantic getaway with my fake girlfriend.”
“Ahhhh,” Blu waggles a finger my direction, “there’s the reason you Fistful of Dollars your ass in here.”
“Why?” My hands are thrown up in the air. “Why the fuckin’ western references?”
“It’s what we were watching while we were working earlier.” The corner of his mouth kicks upward. “You know if I hadn’t met your pops, I might think you were one of Eastwood’s illegitimate love children the media doesn’t know about yet.”
“That’s not what you were workin’ on, was it?” Humor manages to find its way back into my voice. “Tryin’ to build my family tree?”
“Guys gotta have hobbies other than banging the hottest beekeeper on the planet.”
“Is that a hobby?” Chortles shake my shoulders. “I thought that was your contribution to the science community.”