Made For You (Made For #2) Read Online Natasha Madison

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Romance, Sports Tags Authors: Series: Made For Series by Natasha Madison
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Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 86068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
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I clean up the table before walking back downstairs and coming face-to-face with Beatrice. “I’m fine,” I assure her as she comes to me and circles my legs, telling me that she’s right here. “What the hell did I do?” I sit on the couch, and Beatrice follows, getting on the couch next to me. “It’s like I was out of my body while the words came out of my mouth.” She places her head on my lap. “She literally called me on my bullshit.” I shake my head and rub my hands over my face. “She was right, I did the same thing she did, but I didn’t have an asshole breathing down my neck.” I rub the top of Beatrice’s head. “We’ll take her out tomorrow, and then my good deed will be done.” I swallow down. “Good God, I even told her who I was,” I hiss, and Beatrice’s head comes up. “Yeah, I know, rule number two, don’t go to the neighbor,” I remind myself of the rule. “Rule number three, it’s not my problem.” I put my head back. “And rule number four, do not tell anyone who we are.” I close my eyes. “That should be rule number one.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” I ask Beatrice, who doesn’t move. Well, she moves. She just gets off the couch and makes her way down to her bedroom. “I take it that is you saying good night?”

Making my way to the kitchen, I wash the plates and put everything away before I lock up the doors. Looking next door, I see that all the lights are off. “It’ll be fine,” I mumble to myself. “What’s the worst that can happen?” I close the curtains before walking to the table and picking up the book. “She googles and sees what a mess you are.”

I laugh bitterly, walking down to my bedroom and tossing the book on the bed before going into the shower. I walk to the bed naked, slipping under the covers, and turning on the television, not because I’m going to watch it but just to have the background noise. Picking up the book, I turn on the soft light behind the headboard and I start to read. I read one page after another, and when my eyes start to burn, I put the book down. Shutting off the television, I shout, “Night,” to Beatrice. Turning on my side, I close my eyes, and the only thing that flashes through my head is Vivienne. Her smile most of all, especially the one she does when she’s really excited. It fills her whole face, making her cheeks a touch pink and her eyes crinkle. I turn on my back, trying to think about anything but her, but no matter how much I fight it, it all comes back to her. Turning on my other side, I replay our conversation at the dinner table. Her being shocked that I played hockey. Her not asking why I walked away. Usually, it’s the first question someone will ask. Why did you stop? Fuck, even I would have asked the person why they walked away. I toss and turn five more times before throwing the covers off me and checking the time. “Three a.m.” I shake my head, walking to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water and a cookie. Walking back to the bedroom, I fluff my pillows twice before trying to lie down again. I don’t think I sleep for more than ten minutes when Beatrice jumps on the bed. I just look at her. “How did you sleep?” I ask her as the alarm starts to ring. “I bet you slept better than me.” I get up, turning off the alarm as I walk over and slip on my boxers. Grabbing a pair of black gym shorts and a black sweater, I walk to the kitchen to start the coffee.

“I’m going to suffer today,” I predict. Even though I didn’t sleep, I feel so alive; it’s the strangest thing. It’s like my body is filled with adrenaline. “You ready?” I ask Beatrice, who sits by the door. “Baseball hat or no baseball hat?” I ask her as I open the door and step out.

I take two steps before I look over and see her outside. “Um.” She looks over at me. “Baseball hat,” she answers the question and laughs. She sits there with her hair on the top of her head, a blanket around her shoulders, and her laptop on her outstretched legs. A cup of coffee is in the middle of the table next to her phone.

I don’t move from my spot for a good five seconds before Beatrice walks off the boat. “What are you doing out here?” The words finally come out. “Are you doing the writing thing?” I point at the laptop.



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