Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 36643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 183(@200wpm)___ 147(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 183(@200wpm)___ 147(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
“Ready to go home, sass?”
I squeeze him, inhaling his wonderfully unique scent. “Yeah, I’m ready. Let’s get out of here.”
This is the first time, I realize, that I’ve seen Travis and not wanted to cry.
Because you’ve transferred your infatuation from him to Eric.
Not exactly making progress here, girl.
Eric
I’m in the zone.
Ingredients are all over the damn place as I sample a few different versions of the gingerbread batter I’m toying with using. It’s kind of ridiculous how into winning this thing I am. Just because I got canned at my job doesn’t mean the competitive streak is gone too.
“So, what are we doing exactly? A gingerbread house? People? Cookies?” Clara asks, reaching past me to swipe her finger along the edge of the bowl of the newest batch. She sucks a finger between her lips and makes a groaning sound that’s distracting as fuck. “Ohhhh, yes. We have a winner. This one is really good.”
None of them are particularly sweet because of their purpose, but this one has a unique flavor. We’re going for creativity with our entry, but we’re hoping the taste will be as good as it can be.
“The glazes will be what sets it apart,” I explain to her as I set the bowl down. “One for humans and one for dogs.”
“What’s the difference?” she asks. “Is the human version better?”
“Sweeter. The dogs can’t have all that sugar.”
I show her the ingredients on my phone for the dog’s glaze. “Peanut butter and pumpkin puree.”
“That sounds super tasty, though.” She cocks her head at me. “Wouldn’t it be cool if we just made one that was good enough for humans but safe enough for dogs?”
It’s certainly less complicated than making multiple recipes.
We spend the next couple of hours focused on perfecting our recipe that’s intended to be consumed by both humans and dogs. The house smells like ginger and molasses and I haven’t thought about stocks not once. I’m happy. I haven’t had real fun in so long, I forgot what it felt like.
You always had fun with Clara.
While the gingerbreadmen-shaped cookies bake, I lean my hip on the counter watching Clara as she washes more of the dishes we used up. Her dark hair has been pulled up in a messy pile on her head and she’s changed back into that sinful snowflake-midriff-showing sweater. I’m so fucking here for it.
Pervert.
I ignore my inner hater to sneak a peek at her ass in her leggings. Looking doesn’t hurt a damn thing. I’m a man who can appreciate the sexy swell of a woman’s curvy ass. My cock twitches in agreement. If she weren’t my stepsister and were just some woman I wanted to fuck, I’d have no problem crowding her from behind and letting her feel how aroused she makes me.
Fuck, I need to get my shit together.
What if she sees me drooling over her with my dick trying to tear out of my jeans?
I can’t lose her again. Not when I finally got her back in my life. My stupidity tore her from me once before, but I’ll be damned if I let it happen again.
To keep myself distracted, I set to cleaning up some of the mess on the countertops. Clara glances my way and flashes me a sweet smile that makes my chest ache. I smirk at her which has her cheeks turning as pink as her sweater. Fucking adorable.
Movement outside the window steals my attention. I squint through the heavily falling snow to see something running near the pond. It’s a small dog, I think. The thing races between Clara and her neighbor’s townhomes toward the parking lot. Seconds later, a massive man in a blue uniform trudges through the snow following the dog’s tracks.
I abandon my cleaning rag to rush over to the front of her townhome to peek out the door. An animal control truck sits idling in the parking lot with the back cage door open.
Out of nowhere, the little dog runs for me, past me, and into the house. I see the guy round the corner and I panic. Quickly, I shut the door and spin around to face the little runaway. He stares up at me with the most pitiful eyes I’ve ever seen. If I had to guess, he’s a toy poodle mixed with maybe a Yorkshire Terrier. And, he’s old, exhausted, filthy, and shivering.
I scoop him up and hug him to me, unsure what to do. What I’m not doing is letting him get captured. The dog catcher looked scary as fuck. I’d run for my life too.
“I’ve got you, little man,” I whisper. “You’re safe now.”
Clara walks into the living room. “Who was at the door—is that a dog?”
We both stare at her with puppy dog eyes, one of us shivering from the cold and the other twitching with nerves.