Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
“You sound real confident about that,” Grady says, smirking. “Sure she’s not writing a story about you?”
I glare at him. “Shut it, Grady.”
“Relax, man.” Slate raises his hands in mock surrender. “We’re just saying, maybe you’ve met your match. She seems like the type to give as good as she gets.”
“She does,” I admit before I can stop myself. The admission earns a round of hoots and hollers, and I down the rest of my whiskey to shut them up.
But as the conversation shifts and the guys move on to talk about Ridge’s latest cabin repair project, I can’t shake the thought that Cal might be right. If Amelia’s been here before, why didn’t she tell me? What brought her back now? And why does it feel like she’s burrowing under my skin, one sarcastic comment at a time?
By the time I get back to the loft, it’s late. The garage is dark except for the faint glow coming from upstairs, and I know Amelia’s still awake.
When I walk into the loft, she’s curled up on the couch, one of my old flannels draped over her shoulders. The sight hits me harder than I expect. She looks like she belongs here, like she’s always belonged here.
“You’re back late,” she says, her tone light but her eyes sharp, watching me like she’s trying to figure out what kind of mood I’m in.
“Went out for batteries and gasoline but ran into the guys at the Devil’s Brew,” I say, shrugging out of my jacket. “Had a drink. Forgot all the rest.”
“Oh–I’ll pick up batteries when I go out tomorrow, no problem. So…did they interrogate you about me?” she asks, smirking.
I narrow my eyes at her. “How do you know that?”
“Because it’s a small town,” she says simply. “The gossip runs wild and I’m the new flavor of the week.”
She’s too damn perceptive for her own good. I lean against the counter, crossing my arms. “Why didn’t you tell me you’ve been here before?”
She blinks, caught off guard. “What?”
“Cal said you spent a summer here in high school,” I say, my voice sharp. “Why didn’t you mention that?”
She fidgets, tucking her legs under her on the couch. “I didn’t think it mattered.”
“It matters.”
Her gaze drops to her hands, and for the first time, she looks unsure. “I wasn’t trying to hide it, Fox. It’s just... a lot happened that summer. Coming back here feels different now.”
“Different how?”
She hesitates, and I can see the wheels turning in her head. “It’s complicated,” she finally says.
“Try me.”
She lets out a shaky breath, meeting my gaze. “I came back because I needed a fresh start. The city wasn’t working for me anymore. And, okay, maybe I have some unfinished business with this place.”
“Unfinished business?” I repeat, my frustration simmering. “Like what?”
“Like figuring out why it feels more like home than the city ever did,” she snaps, her tone defensive. “And maybe figuring out why you seem to care so much all of a sudden.”
Her words hit their mark, and I feel my control slipping. Crossing the room, I stop just short of the couch, looming over her.
“Maybe because you’re not just passing through like you keep pretending,” I say, my voice low and rough. “Maybe because you’re turning my life upside down, and I don’t know what to do about it.”
Her breath catches, her eyes widening. For a moment, the air between us is electric, charged with everything we’re not saying.
“Fox...” she starts, but I don’t let her finish.
“Don’t,” I say, shaking my head. “Don’t say my name like that unless you mean it.”
“Mean what?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Unless you’re ready for what happens next.”
The tension snaps, and before I can think better of it, I close the distance between us. I pull her in for a kiss, my hands holding her neck with tender possessiveness. Her lips are soft and warm, and when she kisses me back, it feels like the only thing that’s made sense in a long time.
This girl is trouble. But I’m starting to think she’s just the kind of trouble I need.
Chapter Seven
Amelia
The smell of coffee still lingers in the loft when I decide to tackle the chaos that is Fox’s living space. I can’t stop thinking about the way he pressed his lips to mine last night, the rough rasp of his calloused palms on my smooth skin…and the disappointment I felt when I realized he was sleeping on the couch last night and not with me in bed. It’s only been a few nights but I’ve been here long enough to know one thing: this man might be a genius with engines, but he’s clueless when it comes to keeping his space livable. Tools piled on the kitchen counter, random screws scattered across the floor—how he hasn’t tripped and died is beyond me.