Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 114793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
I let my chin rest on top of her head, closing my eyes for a second and letting the weight of her settle into me.
And then, right as peace started to settle in—smack, smack, crunch, slurp.
I opened one eye. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Gabby turned her head slightly, peeking out from under my chin, and followed my gaze. There, in the shadows just past the stove, was the raccoon family. Steve, the one I'd called Gremlin, and another that I was pretty sure she’d named Popcorn. They were sitting very proudly in a circle, passing around chunks of our steak as if it were their last meal on Earth. Steve had a piece bigger than his head and was chewing like his jaw was possessed.
Gabby let out a long, suffering sigh. “Should’ve known.”
“You gave them a taste once,” I pointed out. “Now they think they’re part of the rotation.”
“They kind of are,” she admitted.
“I told you—”
“I’ll make toast,” she offered suddenly, already starting to shift off my lap.
My blood pressure spiked. “Hell no.”
She froze. “What? It’s just—”
“Nope,” I repeated, gently but firmly grabbing her waist and pulling her back into place. “You’re not making toast. Not out here. Not ever.”
“I can toast bread, Webb.”
“You almost set eggs on fire,” I reminded her, narrowing my eyes. “Eggs, the literal water balloons of the cooking world.”
“That was one time.”
“One time that left the stove with emotional damage.”
She made a face and tried to swat my arm. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“If we’re avoiding a campfire so we don’t draw attention,” I drawled, raising an eyebrow, “lighting the entire cabin up like a damn flare because you wanted toast would be one hell of a way to say ‘Hey, bad guys, we’re over here!’”
She snorted and muttered something about dramatic overreactions. Still, she didn’t argue when I stood and started prepping a few slices of bread myself.
Behind us, the raccoons crunched on, completely unbothered and absolutely sure they were now part of the family.
I sighed and turned to Gabby with the spatula in one hand. “Do not feed them anything else.”
She looked back at me innocently. “What? Who, me?”
I gave her a look, but she batted her lashes. “Tinkerbell might’ve given them a few crumbs.”
I stared at her, my expression giving away how much bullshit I thought that was, making her grin. And just like that, the tension broke again, and I couldn’t stop the laugh that rumbled up from my chest. Even with half our dinner stolen, armed psychos on the hunt, and raccoons treating us like a free buffet, she was still right here.
The night had been hell, and not because of anything outside the cabin. No traps had gone off, there weren't any whispers in the woods or even any raccoon-related disturbances. No—this hell was purely environmental.
The heat from the day still hadn’t lifted. There was no breeze, no hint of relief—just a heavy, unyielding weight that had settled over the cabin like a punishment. Inside, the air clung to everything it touched: skin, breath, even sanity.
I’d peeled my shirt off sometime before midnight and slept on top of the sheets, tossing and glaring at the ceiling like it owed me an apology.
But that was nothing compared to the torture I was currently faced with.
Gabby had changed into a pair of shorts that defied the laws of fabric coverage. I had to squint to confirm they were, in fact, shorts and not just the bottom hem of a very bold decision. Every time she bent down to pick something up or even just took a step, the lower curves of her ass flashed like they were personally out to ruin me.
I’d been clenching my fists all morning, trying to focus on practical things. Productive things like helping her clean up the dishes and making sure she didn’t soak the damn skillet again. But the way she moved around the kitchen, humming under her breath, completely at ease with the thin tank top clinging to her damp skin and those shorts...I was going to combust.
As she stepped past me to put the plates in the cabinet, her body brushed mine—just a glancing touch, but it was precise. Then, she shifted, and her ass skimmed over my crotch like it had GPS.
I dropped my head back and stared at the ceiling. Gritting my teeth, I glared at those old wooden beams like they could offer me an answer. A prayer or a warning would be sufficient. Something. Anything!
She moved again, sliding back to where she’d been drying the plates, and this time, her hip grazed me, slow and smooth. My spine snapped straight, my jaw locked, and I knew if she did that again, the skillet wouldn’t be the only thing getting seared today.
I cleared my throat, voice low and strained. “Is it just me, or did it get hotter in here?”