Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Chapter Eight
HUNTER
I couldn’t stop thinking about the damned turkey—and for once, I didn’t mean Dolly Parton.
After all the revelations of the day, I was seeing Charlie in a whole new light. He was a good sport. A kind person. The sexiest man ever to wear a bird costume. And now that the last of my anger had left the building, it was really hard to remember why I shouldn’t just enjoy as much time with him as I could, in every sweaty, fulfilling way I could.
And that was why there was no way I could show myself at the Johnsons’ house tonight. The last time I’d seen Charlie, I’d begged to suck his cock, and we both knew it. I wasn’t all that great at hiding my emotions at the best of times, and if I felt Charlie’s molten-hot gaze on me at any point or caught even the slightest glimpse of wanting in his eyes… well, the Great Turkey Incident would be nothing compared to the scandal that followed.
I stretched my neck from side to side for the millionth time as I looked around my small house. I hadn’t been lying when I said I was tired, but for some reason, I couldn’t sit still. Even though there was a new episode of Virgin River waiting for me on Netflix, I found my mind wandering too fast and far to concentrate on it. My thoughts felt like a Formula One race populated by errant, hyperactive toddlers.
Out of desperation, I turned to the kitchen to busy myself with unnecessary chores. Everyone’s fridge needed cleaning out from time to time, right? It was better than stomping across the street and making a public spectacle of myself.
I shuddered at the thought.
I emptied the food out of my fridge until the sink was full of dirty leftover containers and various sauce bottles and bags of veggies covered the countertop of my small kitchen island. Once everything was out of the fridge, I sprayed the interior down with cleaning solution and began to scrub.
It was ridiculous to be this obsessed with someone I hadn’t even spared a thought for in over a decade, anyway, I reasoned. It was great that I wasn’t angry anymore, but Charlie and I still weren’t friends, and we weren’t likely to be. He was a nice guy, but I knew plenty of nice guys. Had been attracted to lots of ’em too. Nothing about Charlie was special…
So why did the knowledge that he’d be leaving town in a few days make me feel nearly as devastated as I’d been the first time he’d left? And why was it suddenly so clear that my anger all these years hadn’t been about the dang turkey at all but about the fact that my friend had left me and hadn’t seemed to care?
That didn’t change anything, of course. Even if I loved Charlie—and I didn’t, because you couldn’t fall that hard for anyone in a matter of hours, no matter how sweet and funny and kind he was—the distance was a deal breaker. I wouldn’t be able to make a life in the city. I needed to be outside with my feet on the ground and my hands in the soil. I needed to feel the warm pressure of sunshine on my back and the damp curl of morning mist against my skin.
I scrubbed harder. Why am I even thinking about this?
I forced myself to make a list of the plant diseases I needed to read up on when I was forced inside during the next bit of bad weather. Maybe there was new research on how to battle the usual suspects.
Black spot.
Rust.
Botrytis blight.
Powdery mildew.
Bacterial canker.
I’d finished the list of diseases and was on to the most common pests when a firm knock startled me so badly I jumped, bumping my head on the fridge shelf.
Fuck.
The knocking came again, faster this time.
“Jesus, Alana,” I muttered, rubbing my head as I crossed the room and reached for the door. “Figures the one damn time you actually knock instead of walking right in, you— Oh.” I swallowed hard as the door opened to reveal a frowning face that did not belong to my sister. “Charlie. H-hey.”
Suave, Hunter.
Charlie’s eyes roved over my pained face, then down to my rumpled shirt, damp with sweat and cleaning products. I shifted on my bare feet, hating that I was such a hot mess when Charlie looked like sex in a sweater and smelled like vanilla cologne, fire pit, and… barbecue sauce?
In my defense, I’d convinced myself that he’d been kidding when he’d said he’d come over tonight. That he’d rethink things and realize that he didn’t actually want me the way I wanted him—
“Oh, boy. Get inside and lie down right now,” Charlie commanded. “Bed or sofa, up to you.”