Fighting Words Read Online R.S. Grey

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
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“So you’re really okay with letting a perfect stranger live with you?”

He shrugs. “You’re an employee of InkWell. You’ve been vetted and checked a thousand times over, I’m sure.” He looks over as if scoping me out. I know it’s meant to be teasing, but the way his eyes draw down my body, I swear there’s heat behind it. Then, finally, he adds, “I’ll take my chances.”

I shift in my seat and look out the window. “Right. It’s probably me who should be worried. You’re the recluse author, the man living by himself in the middle of nowhere…”

“Scared?” he asks lightly.

I know it’s meant to be a joke, but the question rings true.

Yeah, I am.

Terrified, actually.

CHAPTER 7

NATE

I haven’t shared my space with someone in years, not since before I moved to England. This cottage has only ever been my home. My kitchen has only ever been my kitchen, but when I walk downstairs in the evening after showering, I find Summer destroying it.

Well…destroying is a strong word. She could possibly be cleaning? The trash bin is sitting over near the sink, overflowing with junk she’s pulled out of the cupboards and fridge.

“You’ve been busy” is my passive-aggressive way of calling her out.

She spins around and smiles, propping her hands on her hips. She’s wearing jeans and a white V-neck, her sweater tied around her waist. Her strawberry blonde hair is twisted up on top of her head. A few strands slip free of the knot and frame her face.

I shouldn’t notice the way her t-shirt stretches a little too tight across her chest. I shouldn’t notice a lot of things about her.

“I took the liberty of organizing the fridge.” She pulls it open to show me and then sweeps her arms out Vanna White style. “Got rid of a few expired condiments.”

By few, she means a lot.

I frown and step up beside her so I can lean down and inspect her work. “Those were best-by dates, not expiration dates,” I point out, annoyed that she’s already messing things up. My fridge looks empty now. Where’d all the food go?

“Yes, well, I’m used to yellow mustard, not green,” she says playfully.

I stand up to my full height again and look down at her. We’re close enough now that I can pick apart all the varying green hues in her eyes. Beautiful.

I look at her mouth and frown. “I want my mustard back.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fine. Go digging.”

She’s pointing to the trash bin. I have half a mind to actually do it.

“Now, I’m happy to label things mine and yours,” she continues, “but it seems silly. We can share if you’re okay with that. I promise I won’t eat all of your chocolate.” She notices my alarmed reaction, and it makes her laugh. “Don’t worry.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t throw away the bar you had on that shelf.”

I tug a hand through my damp hair, and it makes me shiver. It’s cold in here. I haven’t put the fire on yet.

I nod toward her t-shirt. “Aren’t you cold?”

I really need her to put her sweater back on.

She shrugs and waves away my concern. “I’ve been working. You wouldn’t believe the crap I found. A box of crackers from 2005!”

I smirk. “That’s practically a collector’s item.”

She laughs and shakes her head again. “Did you even bother going through the kitchen when you moved in?”

No, actually; I never cared to. But I don’t admit that to her.

“I’m going to make dinner if that’s okay…since you made breakfast. I’m a pretty good cook. My mom’s amazing and she’s taught me a lot.”

Summer is a talker. The entire time I’m in front of the fireplace, loading logs and striking a match, she goes on about her mom’s cooking. It doesn’t matter to her that I don’t respond; she just keeps on going.

This cottage has housed nothing but silence for years. Occasionally, I’ll put on a record or listen to an audiobook, but the majority of evenings, I enjoy the peace and quiet. Summer has completely shattered that.

I need some wine.

But when I go to get my corkscrew out of the drawer where I usually keep it, I find the silverware.

“Dammit, why did you rearrange everything?”

I open another drawer and slam it closed.

“The kitchen made no sense! You had the knives and forks in one drawer and the spoons in another. I found an old moldy lemon in that drawer over there! Took me ten minutes to scrub the spot clean.”

I give up on finding the corkscrew, grab my jacket off the back door, stuff my feet in my boots, and head straight outside. Never mind that it’s cold as hell out here with my wet hair. I need to get out of the house and away from Summer. Except bloody hell, my jacket smells like her. This is the one she wore into town today, and her perfume lingers on it, floral and sweet.



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