Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 99967 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99967 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
She laughs at her own joke, and I can’t help it. I cage her in against the car and kiss her again. She’s smiling against my lips, and when I pull back, I don’t even pause. “I want to take you out to dinner tonight.”
Her smile doesn’t slip. “I could eat.”
“I’ll pick you up in two hours.”
“Okay, I’ll text you the address. Don’t think I didn’t catch the whole send me that picture so you could get my number thing you did. You didn’t outsmart me, Dr. Blackwell.”
I can’t help but laugh at that and lean in to kiss her forehead. “Got me. Hey, it worked. Shoot me that address, and I’ll see you in two fucking hours.”
“I’ll be ready.” She smiles, and I walk to my car.
When I turn back, she’s gaping. Because I’m standing by the Mercedes she pointed out before, and it makes me laugh.
“Show-off!”
I smirk. “Get in the car, Harper. I won’t leave until you do.”
She shakes her head, sinks into her driver’s seat, and pulls out ahead of me.
Two hours later, to the minute, I pull off the highway and onto a driveway that meanders back through some trees, and then a clearing opens up to a huge log-style mansion that has me blinking in surprise.
This is where she lives?
I pull up in front of the double front door and cut the engine, then climb the stairs and ring the doorbell. A few seconds later, she opens the door, and my jaw goes slack.
She’s in jeans and an oversized pink blouse that falls over one shoulder, leaving it bare.
I want to sink my teeth into her there.
“You’re fucking gorgeous.”
Her hair is down and wavy, and she put some makeup on. Not too much, just enough to make those gray eyes look like … magic.
She takes in my jeans and green button-down. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
“Are you hungry?”
“No. I’m hangry. I could eat literal sawdust, and it would be amazing.”
I watch as she locks her door, then I take her hand and bring it up to my lips. “No sawdust tonight. How do you feel about burgers?”
“I have a fondness for burgers,” she replies. “I’m down for that.”
I lead her to my car and open the door for her, and once she’s settled in the seat, I close the door and circle the hood, giving the house one more curious glance.
“That’s a nice house,” I say as I put the car in gear and pull away.
She glances back at it. “Yeah, it is. The inside is nice, too. But it’s kind of ridiculous.”
I blink at her in surprise. “You think your house is ridiculous?”
“Oh, it’s not mine.” She laughs at that, as if just the thought is preposterous. “It’s Xander’s. He’s another brother. Xander’s never home because he’s off being a fancy hockey player, so when I moved back, he basically insisted I housesit for him.”
That’s right, Xander Hendrix is the starting center for the Denver Flurry.
“Ah, I see.” I nod and pull onto the highway just as Harper’s phone rings. She checks the screen, and I see her frown out of the corner of my eye.
“Sorry,” she says. “I have to take this.”
“By all means.”
She holds the phone up to her ear. “Hey, what’s up? Are you okay?”
She listens for a second, then shakes her head in agitation.
“No. Absolutely not. You listen to me. You can’t eat that. It’ll send your sugar levels into the stratosphere, Greg. I don’t care what Tucker said. He’s not a medical professional, and if you eat that, I will come over there, and well, I’ll do something. I’ll figure that out later. Seriously, please don’t do that. You’ll feel like shit.”
I scowl and glance her way. She has literal tears in her eyes.
What’s going on?
“Promise me,” she says. “Okay, I’m trusting you. I’ll bake you something delicious tomorrow and bring it over. It’s my day off. No, I wanted to bake anyway. Okay. You stress me out, Greg. For the love of God and all the saints. Yeah, yeah, love, blah, blah. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She hangs up, blows out a breath, and shakes her head.
“Family is hard,” she finally says, and I immediately reach for her hand.
“What’s going on, sugar?”
She links her fingers through mine.
“Greg Hendrix raised me. My parents were shit. It’s a long story. Anyway, Greg was diagnosed with type two diabetes a couple of months ago, and he’s so not good at regulating it. It’s the biggest reason I moved home. If you think I have a sweet tooth? He invented the word. And he’s in good shape. The man has been a rancher his whole life, and he’s still active despite Tucker doing most of the work now. Anyway, he’s stubborn, he doesn’t listen, and I seem to be the only one who can get through to him. Mostly, I use the guilt trip tactic.”