Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
If the boy wants fireworks, he’s about to get them.
My nostrils flare as I squeeze the wheel, wanting to get this whole episode over and done.
The sooner I can chew him out, the faster I might figure out where the hell this whole escapade went wrong. Every father expects a little teenage rebellion, sure, but you never expect how your half-grown kid decides to kick you in the nads.
He used to be a good kid, too. Quiet, serious Boy Scout type. Hardworking as well.
Well liked with his books and anime and wood carving. Colt spends whole weekends planning his next project for science fairs and watching animated strong men yell at each other in badly dubbed English.
Now, I’ve got him breaking and entering at my star properties.
What the hell happens in a year or two when he’s older? When he can finally drive, and then when the day comes to turn him loose for college?
Inwardly, I groan, stomping the gas.
I finally hit the turn for Solitude and pull up next to a newer looking vehicle parked there. A Trailblazer. Smaller than some of the other models, but still a decent-sized SUV.
I guess the occupants hear me arrive. Before I’ve reached the front door, it swings open, and a woman wearing a baggy tee and plaid pajama bottoms steps out on the porch.
It takes less than a second to notice she’s stunning.
She can’t be that old, probably in her mid-twenties.
Long curly auburn hair that looks a little damp in the porch light.
Sparkling green eyes made to shame emeralds.
Full plush lips for whispering secrets.
Legs, hips, and just enough softness around her waist to threaten a man with a good time—or else break his heart to hell and back.
For a second, I almost stop moving, staggering forward like this dumb beast caked in cement.
Any other night, I could gawk at this woman for hours.
Maybe we’d lock eyes and she’d smile with those heart-shaped lips like the start of every bad hookup. Maybe I’d give in to my baser instincts I normally keep chained up.
Tonight is not that night.
Her jaw looks tight, her eyes are restless, and she’s right on the edge of unloading pure venom into the gold star jackass who got her into this mess.
Technically, that jackass is me.
And now I have to deal with the fact that my bored-ass son probably scared her out of her skin.
“Hello, I’m Winnie,” she says as I approach, her voice clipped.
“Archer,” I say, trying to force a smile that doesn’t fit my face.
Christ, I want this over already.
The fact that she’s looking at me with the same caution I have leveled on her just makes this worse. So is the fact that it’s less anger than fear on her face, I realize.
They must’ve rattled her so bad she cried, judging by the puffy marks under her eyes.
“I’m sorry about all this,” I rush out. “This isn’t remotely in line with our brand, and it’s certainly not what you should ever expect from a stay at our properties.”
“It’s… it’s life, I guess. I’m the forgive and forget type. Do you want to see him?” She steps back to let me inside as I nod.
My eyes lock on Colt immediately, sitting at the island with his friends. He looks up like the guilty little imp he is as I stride over.
“Explain what the hell you think you were doing. Right now,” I snap.
Then I notice the cake.
The fucking wedding cake.
It’s there, smack in the middle of the table, complete with royal icing and pink and purple flowers and a miniature bride and groom discarded off to one side. For some unholy reason, all three kids have a plate heaped with large half-eaten slices.
I have to rub my eyes.
Colt might be stupid, but there’s no denying his luck.
Only my son crashes a honeymoon and winds up eating wedding cake. What a life he has.
Correction, had.
Seeing this, his ass is grounded until Christmas, and that’s almost six months away. Hell, maybe I’ll put him under house arrest until he’s eighteen, because what the ever-loving fuck is going on?
He gives me a pained smile and pushes his plate toward me. “Uh, Dad? You want some?”
Kill. Me. Now.
I open my mouth, trying to find the right words, while the woman—Winnie, she said—sidles around behind the kids. She puts a hand gently on Colt and Evans’ shoulders like she’s protecting them.
From what? Me?
I don’t like where this is going.
Look, I’ve never been known for my bottomless patience when someone pushes my buttons, and tonight my diplomacy well is pretty damn dry.
“Don’t be too mad at them,” she says softly. “They screwed up big-time, yeah, but doesn’t everyone when they’re young?”
I realize I’m scowling, staring through her, so I try to moderate my expression.
She’s a customer, you dolt. Don’t make this worse. If she’s willing to let it ride with a stern warning, be grateful. Get them home and then you can deal with Colt.